Category Five (34 page)

Michael bent down to see what Lauren was pointing at. He recoiled from both the pain and the mountain of water bearing down on them.

“Go! I'm right behind you!”

With Michael following, she hurried to the cabin. The tremendous force of the ditching was even more evident in back. They'd stowed all the loose equipment they could find, but the cabin was still a disaster. Everything had been catapulted forward; wires and sections of upholstery floated in the green water. Papers and pieces of insulation were strewn everywhere.

“Help us!” Brent cried out, struggling to lift Randy to his feet.

Carl was still seated but nearly doubled over, cradling his left arm, his expression showing his great pain.

“Get the rafts out!” Michael yelled.

Brent nodded and threw the first one out the open emergency exit. He pulled the lanyard and secured the line to the airplane. A foot of water already covered the floor of the Gulfstream.

“Carl,” Lauren said, looking down at him. She could see Brent had freed his hands. “How bad are you hurt?”

“I don't know. It's my elbow. I was thrown against the console.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Help me get him out!” Brent yelled. Randy was unconscious, engulfed in his bear hug.

“I'll get the other exit!” Michael gathered his momentum and made it to the opposite side of the plane and yanked on the handle.

Lauren had just reached out for Randy when a solid column of water poured in through the emergency exit, sweeping both Michael and Brent from their feet, and they vanished under the onslaught. Outside, the ocean roared as the next wave gathered itself.

Gasping for air, Michael and Brent pulled themselves up from the aisle and fought their way forward. The Gulfstream began to tilt from all the water it was taking on.

Lauren pushed Randy toward the exit. Michael was quickly at her side, grabbing the yellow bundle at her feet and lifting it up and out the window. He secured a line and pulled the automatic inflation cord. Instantly, the second raft expanded and took shape.

“Your vest!” Michael yelled, reaching out and pulling the lanyard that would inflate her personal flotation device. “Now go!”

“Randy first!” Lauren stepped out of the way. Brent lurched heavily against the side of the plane as another wave pummeled them. Michael inflated his own vest and tumbled head first out the exit. She watched anxiously as he steadied himself on the wing. He reached back in the opening as Brent eased Randy out. Within seconds, Michael had the injured copilot in the raft. Lauren looked down. The water was now up over her knees.

“Now you!” Michael reached for her.

“No!” Lauren shook her head. She wanted Brent to go next, then Carl.

“Brent!” She turned to him. “The other side. Get Carl to the raft!”

Brent nodded and waded through the water. With great effort he pushed Carl toward the opening.

“What about you!” Brent stood his ground, a look of bewilderment flashing across his wide face.

“Brent, you get out and help Carl.” Lauren instructed. “I'll push from in here.”

“I'm not sure I'm going to fit.” Carl measured his girth against the exit.

“You'll make it. Now go!” Lauren said, angrily. The
Galileo
began tipping on its side. “Don't inflate your vest until you're through the opening. It'll give you more room.”

Carl nodded and swallowed hard. He turned and with two powerful steps lunged at the opening toward where Brent waited. Lauren followed and pushed with all her might. A wave crashed down over the top of the jet and Lauren lost her balance…she went down hard, her jaw glancing off the side of a table. Lauren struggled to her feet. The bitter taste of blood filled her mouth. The exit was clear; Carl had made it out. With water pouring in from both exits, she struggled waist deep, pushing her way to the exit. From outside, Michael called her name. Lauren reached out and tried to steady herself. The floor under her feet tilted further as the airplane began to heel over. Visions of Bermuda flashed through her mind. Was Helena going to finish the job she'd started?

She used her legs to push toward the roof of the plane. Her face broke out into a narrow sliver of air and she gasped for oxygen. Thankfully, her vest held her in the small confines of life-giving air. In the growing darkness of the water-filled plane, she saw a shaft of light below. She took one deep breath and dove for the exit, only to be pulled back up by her flotation device. She only had time for one more breath as the water reached the ceiling.

Under water, she ripped off her vest and left it behind, clawing for the fading square of light. Her lungs screamed for air as she pulled herself one hand at a time through the emergency exit. Her ears popped as she was sucked under by the sinking plane.

With one last furious push, Lauren cleared the opening. Disoriented, she opened her eyes, not sure which way was up. She released some of her precious air and watched as the bubbles rose. With the last of her oxygen, she kicked toward the surface. Her body was going numb as she pulled against the water for all she was worth. In a moment of pain and relief she burst to the surface.

“LAUREN!” She heard screams as she took in one painful breath after another and treaded water as she struggled to get her bearings. Next to her, the graceful tail of the
Galileo
slipped below the waves.

“Over here!” Brent called out

Lauren pivoted in the water. A yellow raft was swept up the side of a tremendous wave. Brent steadied himself and threw a line in her direction. With what felt like the last of her energy, she swam to the nylon rope that floated in the water. She gripped the ring with one hand and held on tightly. She felt as if her arm was being jerked from its socket as the line grew taut. The raft vanished as it slid down the other side of the swell. The rope cut through the water like a whip and pulled her beneath the surface. Seawater filled her ears and shot up her nose, but Lauren managed to keep her grip. Painfully, she endured the rhythmic pull on the line as Brent drew her closer. She'd hoped to be in the raft with Michael, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Once again, Lauren broke to the surface, but this time she felt someone reach out and grab her. She was pulled over the soft sides of the inflatable raft and lay gasping on her back. The sound of waves and thunder assaulted her ears.

“I've got you!” Brent shouted, triumphantly.

Lauren opened her eyes. She could see the constricting cylinder that was Helena's eye. All around them the rotating clouds erupted with sharp peels of thunder. Lightning danced in the greenish-black caldron. The wind screamed with an energy Lauren had only imagined.

“Oh thank God!” Brent sat back, exhausted. “I thought I'd lost you.”

“Where's Michael? Is he all right?” Lauren coughed and choked as she tried to speak. Carl was on his side, his fleshy face a mask of shock and disorientation.

“They're in the other raft. But we lost sight of them.” Brent collapsed against the side of the raft. He was breathing heavily. “Where's the other airplane?”

Lauren scanned the sky above them, but all she saw was
Jonah
. “Where are you, Donovan?” she whispered to herself.

As if responding to her silent plea, the C-17 erupted from the wall of the hurricane. In a flash of gray aluminum, it swept over them, the whine from its engines blotting out the ghostly, inhumane roar from the storm.

E
rin moaned and wiped at the blood coming from her forehead. “Are we still flying?”

With the worst of the turbulence past, Donovan released her and sprang up from the floor. Commander Hays had managed to fly them out of the storm. The C-17 was down low over the water. Donovan silently urged the crew to climb.

“Come on….nice and easy,” Hays said out loud, his hands pulling back on both the throttles and the controls.

Donovan rejoiced as the C-17 began a powerful climb away from the ocean. He leaned forward to see if he could find the Gulfstream, but all he could see was empty water.

“Where are they?” Donovan desperately tried to look out the opposite window. “Anyone see them?”

“I'm bringing it around! Somebody keep an eye out for that Goddamned balloon!” Hays clenched his teeth and banked the C-17 in a tight turn. “We saw them hit. We know they're down!”

“There!” Jacobs shouted. “I see something!”

“Hang on.” Hays brought the airplane around in the direction Jacobs had pointed. “Where? I don't see anything.”

“I've got them.” Donovan spotted the two yellow rafts in the pitching ocean straight ahead. Both rafts were riding the crests and valleys of each giant wave.

“I'm climbing up to the drop altitude.” Hays rocked his wings back and forth as they passed over the survivors. He made a wide circle to get into position.

Donovan helped Erin to her feet. She'd taken the worst of the beating when they punched into Helena's wall. As hard as he'd tried to hold her, the massive up and down drafts had been overpowering.

“We've got a problem.” Hays turned around and faced Donovan, his face white and drawn from the stress of the last few minutes. “Taylor needs help. There's a problem with the sub.”

“Oh, no,” Donovan said with a hushed voice. He catapulted himself down the steps to the cargo bay. The instant he saw the sub, his shoulders slumped. Instead of being in the center of the cargo space, it had skidded to one side from the severe turbulence. The aft cargo doors were open; the wind inside the compartment created a continuous low howl.

“Over here!” Taylor yelled and waved from where the
Atlantic Star
had impacted the side of the plane.

“Hurry!” Graff was out of the submarine. He stood next to Taylor.

Donovan scanned the sub for any immediate signs of damage. He knew Hays would leave inside of ten minutes—whether they'd dropped the sub or not.

Using the sub as a handhold to steady himself, Donovan slid around the stern and was met with a grisly sight. Pinned between the sub and the curved wall of the C-17 lay Buck. Donovan recoiled. He couldn't imagine that the SEAL was still alive.

“He's hurt bad,” Taylor yelled, as Donovan quickly knelt beside them. “He was going for the straps. He tried to stop the sub from fishtailing in the turbulence.”

Donovan swallowed hard as he saw Buck's misshapen shoulder and collarbone. The hull of the sub was pressed hard against his chest. Buck was still conscious. The SEAL slowly reached up with his good hand and gripped Donovan's arm with an iron grip. Donovan leaned down and put his ear next to Buck's mouth.

“You can do it. Get this sub in the water,” He gurgled.

Donovan pulled off Buck's dive mask. The SEAL's face was a sheen of sweat and agony. Without hesitation, Donovan fumbled for the radio in his pocket.

“Hays. I want you to bank this thing thirty degrees to the right. Hold it there. We have to get the sub away from the wall!” Donovan slid his arm until he had Buck's hand in his. “Get ready. This thing is going to be off of you in a second.”

Donovan felt Buck squeeze his hand as the C-17 began to heel over.

“I'll tell you when to stop!” Donovan yelled into the radio. He braced himself, ready to catch Buck before he fell. He felt the forces pull on his body as the floor canted. He used his shoulder to try to push the sub away.

“It's moving…” Taylor warned; he, too, trying to push the sub.

With a shriek, the pallet holding the
Atlantic Star
began to slide away from the wall. Donovan supported Buck with his body and put the radio to his lips.

“Level off now!” Donovan yelled as the pallet scrapped and pivoted across the floor of the jet. With all of his strength, he
slowly lowered Buck to the floor. The SEAL's eyes were narrow slits as he fought the pain. He reached out and clutched Donovan's arm.

“She needs you. They all need you,” Buck gasped, then lost his fight to remain conscious.

“Oh my God.” Erin appeared at Donovan's side. She was holding her hand to the slash on her face. “Is he dead?”

“I don't think so, but he will be if we wait around here any longer.” Donovan looked behind him. Taylor crouched down, looking at the bottom of the submarine.

Donovan stared at Graff. “Can it still go?”

“Yes!” Graff yelled. “That part of the sub is almost indestructible.”

Donovan's palms grew wet as he pulled himself up. The floor of the C-17 seemed to be swaying beneath him. He tried to ignore the warning bells sounding in his brain. He felt sick. He knew what the waves were doing in the ocean below them. In a flash, he saw his mother's hand as it slipped beneath the waves, heard her cries for help. Donovan looked down. He had a death-grip on the side of the sub. If he went into the water, Donovan knew the sea would kill him. If he didn't, Lauren and Michael would die. He thought about what he'd told Erin—how terrible it was to survive. There was really no choice. He was dead either way. With trembling hands, he bent over and picked up Buck's diving mask, then slid the knife from the sheath strapped to his leg. He looked into the expectant eyes of the others.

“Is the rest of Buck's stuff in the sub?” Donovan asked. The inside of his mouth felt like cotton. The shrill whistle in his head wouldn't stop. He turned to find Erin.

Donovan leaned close to make sure she heard every word. “You have to find William VanGelder. Tell him about my daughter. He has to get her and Lauren's mother somewhere safe. If Lauren and I don't make it, please let him get to Abigail before you
publish the story. He'll know what to do. It's the last favor I'll ask of you.”

Erin nodded and lowered her head at the gravity of Donovan's request.

“What are we doing?” Graff shouted.

“We're going!” Donovan said as he followed Graff up the welded steps that led to the small hatch.