ten feet and stroked toward the tower. He had no idea what he would find once he got there. He had looked at the steel pipes that extended downward into the depths when he had been there that morning. He could see about ten feet, and nothing had looked unusual.
At least he could do a good scouting job, and if he did find anything out of the ordinary, heâd go back out with the sheriff and make a thorough inspection. What could you hide around an oil-drilling rig? It didnât make a lot of sense. But then neither did the murder of a man who the platform boss on 27 thought had had suspicions about Oil Rig 4.
The next time Nevin surfaced, he was fifty feet from the tower. He dove then, working down to fifty feet and sensing change in the air/chemical mix that would keep his body functioning despite the added depth pressure. He came on the first tendon and touched it. He circled it and looked upward. No huge mass obstructed his view of the surface where the half-moon and the rigâs lightbulbs gave off a faint glow. He dove down, checking the pipe all the way to the bottom. Nevin had no idea how deep the water was here, but well beyond what the old Draegr would tolerate.
Nothing. He found nothing. That troubled him. There had to be something here or nearby. What in the hell was going on? He worked his way back up. At forty feet he saw aswimmer above him, moving slowly back and forth from one steel tendon to the next. Hunting him, or patrolling? Either way it was bad news and good news. It could mean they knew he was there. The good news was if they had a swimmer out at night, they did have something to hide.
He worked up cautiously, trying to stay away from the swimmer above, confident that the one on top could not see him in the gloom of the deeper water. Then the swimmer above turned and came directly toward him. Nevinâs hand flashed to the KA-BAR knife in its leg scabbard. He had it out and ready when some sixth sense made him turn his head and look behind him. Another swimmer was there within armâs reach and Nevin saw the blade in his hand. Nevin tried to power away, but he was too late. He hadnât watched his back the way every good SEAL always did. The thrust of the blade missed his back, but cut a slit across the wet suitâs side, letting in a surge of cold water.
Nevin spun around to face the fighter just as the second diver above reached him and drove his own knife into the Draegr, disabling it and ripping off the mouthpiece. Nevin kicked and powered for the surface. He figured he had about ninety seconds. That was as long as he could hold his breath, and he was getting no air from the torn-apart Draegr. The second diver followed him, slashing at his kicking feet. Then he was closer to Nevin and the knife went into his side, daggering through the tough wet suit and bringing a gush of water into his screaming mouth.
His beating legs slowed and then stopped. Nevin had never felt pain like that. It overwhelmed him. It burned in his side; it exploded in his brain. He mouth refused to close and more water surged in. He tried to find the attackers. They had pulled back and he could barely make them out. They had attacked. Now they rested and let the sea claim one of her own. His arms went limp. He had no control over them or his legs. The lights from above fuzzed out, came back, then went almost black. He didnât know if he was floating upward or sinking. He hadnât thought about dying since leaving the SEALs. Now the idea came into his fogged brain and he rejected it. Spewed it out with the water in his mouth and held his breath. Another few strokes and he would be on thesurface and find plenty of air. But his arms wouldnât work. His side hurt like fire. For a moment his whole body shook, and then a strange calm settled over him. He looked up at the lights, but they faded more and more to a dusty gray, and then to full black. He let out the last breath in his burning lungs and let
At least he could do a good scouting job, and if he did find anything out of the ordinary, heâd go back out with the sheriff and make a thorough inspection. What could you hide around an oil-drilling rig? It didnât make a lot of sense. But then neither did the murder of a man who the platform boss on 27 thought had had suspicions about Oil Rig 4.
The next time Nevin surfaced, he was fifty feet from the tower. He dove then, working down to fifty feet and sensing change in the air/chemical mix that would keep his body functioning despite the added depth pressure. He came on the first tendon and touched it. He circled it and looked upward. No huge mass obstructed his view of the surface where the half-moon and the rigâs lightbulbs gave off a faint glow. He dove down, checking the pipe all the way to the bottom. Nevin had no idea how deep the water was here, but well beyond what the old Draegr would tolerate.
Nothing. He found nothing. That troubled him. There had to be something here or nearby. What in the hell was going on? He worked his way back up. At forty feet he saw aswimmer above him, moving slowly back and forth from one steel tendon to the next. Hunting him, or patrolling? Either way it was bad news and good news. It could mean they knew he was there. The good news was if they had a swimmer out at night, they did have something to hide.
He worked up cautiously, trying to stay away from the swimmer above, confident that the one on top could not see him in the gloom of the deeper water. Then the swimmer above turned and came directly toward him. Nevinâs hand flashed to the KA-BAR knife in its leg scabbard. He had it out and ready when some sixth sense made him turn his head and look behind him. Another swimmer was there within armâs reach and Nevin saw the blade in his hand. Nevin tried to power away, but he was too late. He hadnât watched his back the way every good SEAL always did. The thrust of the blade missed his back, but cut a slit across the wet suitâs side, letting in a surge of cold water.
Nevin spun around to face the fighter just as the second diver above reached him and drove his own knife into the Draegr, disabling it and ripping off the mouthpiece. Nevin kicked and powered for the surface. He figured he had about ninety seconds. That was as long as he could hold his breath, and he was getting no air from the torn-apart Draegr. The second diver followed him, slashing at his kicking feet. Then he was closer to Nevin and the knife went into his side, daggering through the tough wet suit and bringing a gush of water into his screaming mouth.
His beating legs slowed and then stopped. Nevin had never felt pain like that. It overwhelmed him. It burned in his side; it exploded in his brain. He mouth refused to close and more water surged in. He tried to find the attackers. They had pulled back and he could barely make them out. They had attacked. Now they rested and let the sea claim one of her own. His arms went limp. He had no control over them or his legs. The lights from above fuzzed out, came back, then went almost black. He didnât know if he was floating upward or sinking. He hadnât thought about dying since leaving the SEALs. Now the idea came into his fogged brain and he rejected it. Spewed it out with the water in his mouth and held his breath. Another few strokes and he would be on thesurface and find plenty of air. But his arms wouldnât work. His side hurt like fire. For a moment his whole body shook, and then a strange calm settled over him. He looked up at the lights, but they faded more and more to a dusty gray, and then to full black. He let out the last breath in his burning lungs and let
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