“At your pleasure.” Giordino released a small stream of compressed air from the forward ballast tank, which fed through the flexible hose and into the lower third of the PVC pipe. Air bubbles sailed up the pipe and out the open end, expanding as they rose and generating suction at the bottom end of the pipe. The soft sand beneath the boat began swirling up the pipe, disgorging in a brown cloud behind the submersible that dissipated with the current. It took just a few minutes to clear a large enough gap beneath the boat’s stern quarter to insert the sling.

Giordino killed the air release, and they moved to the opposite side of the boat and repeated the process. Then they pulled the sling under the exposed corners and gathered the free ends above the cabin. As Pitt held them in place, Giordino retrieved a heavy D ring and snapped the four ringed ends of both slings into it. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he worked the manipulator claws to clasp the last ring in place. Now they just needed to attach a lift cable from the barge’s crane to the D ring and it could hoist away.

“Performed with the delicate hands of a surgeon,” Giordino said, securing the manipulator arms.

Pitt glanced at his partner’s meaty paws and shook his head. “A surgeon who moonlights as a butcher, perhaps. Nicely done, all the same.”

Pitt purged the ballast tanks, and the submersible began a lazy ascent. The sun had just slipped beneath the horizon when they broke the surface off the Drake’s beam. Gunn stood by the crane as the sub drew alongside. He expertly lowered the jaws and clamped onto the submersible’s hoist ring. Gunn lifted the sub out of the water to deck level, then left it dangling.

“Come on, Rudi,” Giordino said, “bring us on in.”

Pitt stared out the view port, then stiffened. A large man unknown to Pitt stood near Gunn, holding a pistol. The man smiled at Pitt, but there was no warmth in the expression. Gunn eased his hands off the crane controls, then gave Pitt a grim shake of his head before stepping away.

Giordino saw Gunn abandon the controls and asked, “What’s going on?”

Pitt kept his eyes fixed on the gunman aboard the Drake.

“I would say that we’ve been hung out to dry.”

Chapter 13

13

THEY HAD ATTACKED THE DRAKE UNDER THE GUISE of helplessness.

The crew on the Mexican powerboat floating nearby had surreptitiously monitored the NUMA vessel all day—until they spotted their objective. When the sun began to follow the submersible beneath the waves, a Spanish-accented voice hailed the Drake over the marine radio, feigning a shortage of fuel. Taking the call on the bridge, Gunn told the boat to come alongside if they were able and he would pass across some gasoline.