Think or Swim: Part II
"You see," said the Iranian. "Is just 300 metres now. You never leave light trail. OK?"
"And you never leave light trail, either, mate," Ajani said, jabbing his big index finger into the Iranian's chest.
"Is good, friend. Is good," answered the submariner, stepping back a pace. The Irishman and the Nigerian turned their attention back to the path that led towards the outer edge of the underground wall, which looked white on the screen and grey through the sub's viewports.
Kelly had hooked up his communicator, in protected mode, to the sub's navigation system and as far the co-ordinates went, it seemed as if the Dutch engineer had been telling the truth. If the zig-zag route he'd memorized was accurate, they'd get around the barrier, alright. After that, it was blue water and an hour's freestyle swimming.
"Time to go," said Kelly. The Iranian pecked again at his keyboard and the door of what was once the sub's rescue chamber opened. Ajani and Kelly entered, checked their scuba gear, double-checked that their headlamps were working and triple-checked that their communicators were safe in the pockets of their waterproof backpacks. They gave each other the thumbs up as the door closed behind them.
When the red light came on, they pulled on their dome masks and switched on the oxygen. The chamber began to fill with water and the digital meters on the wall sprang into action. A minute later, the two men were out in the Mediterranean.
"You see," said the Iranian. "Is just 300 metres now. You never leave light trail. OK?"
"And you never leave light trail, either, mate," Ajani said, jabbing his big index finger into the Iranian's chest.
"Is good, friend. Is good," answered the submariner, stepping back a pace. The Irishman and the Nigerian turned their attention back to the path that led towards the outer edge of the underground wall, which looked white on the screen and grey through the sub's viewports.
Kelly had hooked up his communicator, in protected mode, to the sub's navigation system and as far the co-ordinates went, it seemed as if the Dutch engineer had been telling the truth. If the zig-zag route he'd memorized was accurate, they'd get around the barrier, alright. After that, it was blue water and an hour's freestyle swimming.
"Time to go," said Kelly. The Iranian pecked again at his keyboard and the door of what was once the sub's rescue chamber opened. Ajani and Kelly entered, checked their scuba gear, double-checked that their headlamps were working and triple-checked that their communicators were safe in the pockets of their waterproof backpacks. They gave each other the thumbs up as the door closed behind them.
When the red light came on, they pulled on their dome masks and switched on the oxygen. The chamber began to fill with water and the digital meters on the wall sprang into action. A minute later, the two men were out in the Mediterranean.
"He leads me in paths of righteousness," Kelly murmured and began to swim.
With an almost comical inevitability, the mini-sub's tracking beam vanished before they'd covered the first 100 metres. Darkness. The Iranian didn't intend to hang around and see them die. He wanted to be back inside the Mediterranean Union's border before the EUSA patrols tracked him.
It was madness to trust the Iranians, Kelly knew, but they were the only ones who would risk this kind of operation, now that their contaminated country offered no economic prospects for native ingenuity and recklessness. They hated the world and double-crossed their partners on every deal, but they were the best fixers and they didn't fear death.
That's why a plan B was always needed when working with them.
Treading water, Kelly switched on his headlamp, held up his right hand and stopped. It was going to be memory and fancy footwork from now on. He hoped Ajani would follow his every move.
A metre to the left, two to the right, three to the left and then straight ahead. That was the way. Soon, the wall was within reach, but first they had to duck under a line of sensors thinly disguised as marine algae. Suddenly, Kelly was flattened by a pressure wave. Sand, stones, dirt and body parts swirled around him.
Ajani, who'd saved Kelly's life in a battle with fundamentalist Islamists outside Fez, must have triggered a mine. The big Igbo had family in London and he'd had his heart set on seeing them. Now, he was part of the Mediterranean eco system.
Kelly waited, face down, for an after-blast, but nothing happened.
"Fucking Iranians!" "Fucking Irish!" "Fucking world!" But no one could hear him cry.
Three minutes after he resumed swimming, he touched the Malaga Barrier with both feet and propelled himself around the corner. All clear. For now. The two small tanks on his back were calculated to provide air for 40 minutes based on the dept and his breathing rate so he could stay underwater for a good half hour still, if he wished to do so. But he didn't.
