Authors: Sharon Calvin
Except... Caitlyn had disappeared to the south. His elation died. There would be no reason for her to waste time circling around to approach from the north. For all he knew, she was tangled in the twisted wreckage of her beloved
Fly Baby
in a hundred feet of water.
He swore and slipped his arm around Yasin’s shoulder to help him move away from the LZ. One of the helos was approaching with Caitlyn’s characteristic speed. Hell, maybe it was a Coastie trademark.
Rotor wash kicked up its own wind and Stillman turned his back to it. The number illuminated on the Jayhawk’s fuselage confirmed what his heart already knew. It wasn’t
Fly Baby
.
A navy gunship hovered menacingly off their port side daring anyone to make a hostile move. It took several minutes for the Jayhawk to land, but the pilot didn’t shut down its engines. Stillman needed a plan. Whoever that Coast Guard pilot was, he, or she, knew Caitlyn. Surely they’d allow him to accompany them in their search for one of their own. He looked down at his flight suit. Hell, maybe he could bluff his way on. He could—
“Colonel Gray, get your butt in gear. That’s an order!” a familiar voice shouted from behind him.
Stillman spun around in time to get tackled by the mechanic he’d help “kill.”
“What the hell—”
Joe grabbed Yasin and helped hustled him toward the helo. “We have to deliver Yasin to the ship first, since he’s injured, but then we’re going after Caitlyn,” he yelled above the turbine’s rising sound. Stillman felt like he was waking from a dream. Another Coastie was on Yasin’s far side helping Joe carry him. Only then did he notice the rotors were ramping up.
Like his damn heart rate was doing. He grinned and punched Joe’s shoulder. “Hot damn, but you’re a sorry sight for this old slug-driver.”
“Wait till you see who’s waiting on the helo. It’ll feel like a freakin’ reunion.”
Stillman ducked and ran to the open door of the Jayhawk with Joe and Yasin right behind. He helped the Coasties lift Yasin into the helo, then followed him. Joe donned a helmet before tossing one to Stillman.
Once he was connected to the intercom and buckled into a jump seat, they lifted off. Only then did he take note of his fellow crew members. “I’ll be a son of a bitch.”
Clay, the young rescue swimmer, sat in the jump seat facing him grinning like a drunken baboon.
“Let me guess, Joe sprung you from the hospital for this rescue mission,” he said over the intercom.
“Yeah, the lame-brain didn’t know when to take it easy,” said a husky female voice. Someone tugged his flight suit sleeve and he turned to find a grinning elfin face looking back. “Hi. I’m Kelly Razzamenti.”
She held her hand out to him and shook his with surprising strength.
“I’m the swimmer going in after the queen if she has to ditch in the water,” she said matter-of-factly.
Stillman took in her slight form. “You’re a rescue swimmer?” He didn’t know the Coast Guard had women swimmers.
“Hey, watch it, Doc, or she’ll leave you on the ship with Yasin,” Joe warned.
“She’s the swimmer we told you about that night at Jose’s,” Clay said.
Awe in the young swimmer’s voice completed the connection. “You’re the one that rescued a kid during a hurricane.”
She nodded, and cast a quick look at Clay. “Yeah. Don’t tell me these yo-hos are still talking about that old story.” She shook her head. “You guys need to get a life.”
“Kelly used to work out of our air station. When she got married she moved up to North Carolina. Now she teaches rescue swimmers how to be the best of the best,” Joe said with no small amount of pride in his look at the woman next to Stillman.
“When I heard Caity had been hijacked I volunteered to help.” She touched Stillman’s arm again. “We’ll get her back. Don’t you think for a moment we won’t.”
Her conviction and intense expression helped Stillman believe it was true.
The good-natured ribbing and the preparations for lowering Yasin to the cutter below faded into the background. Caitlyn Stone, US Coast Guard lieutenant and sexy redheaded Queeny, had done what he swore no woman would ever do to him again. She’d made him believe he could trust in love.
Chapter Fifteen
Jacksonville,
FL,
Saturday, 24 September, 2315 hours
Shouts and a sharp, earsplitting whistle woke Valerie with a start. The conference room had erupted into chaos. She sat on a leather chair and looked around for Munson. When she spotted him he was gesturing with his arm for quiet. He held a phone receiver against his ear, listening intently. It took a few seconds, but finally, the general roar in the room fell to a buzz. His gaze circled and fell on her. And he grinned.
Like a fool, she smiled back.
“Let me know when they have the helicopter in sight. Yes, sir, I appreciate the update. Thank you. Your assistance has been invaluable.” He set the phone in its cradle then punched the air with his fist.
“They’ve picked up the signal again and have a navy gunship and another Coast Guard helicopter in pursuit. Our agent was shot, but is going to be all right. They transferred him to a ship where he’s receiving medical care.”
His grin faded and he looked around the room at the other agents and assistants. Their soft talk and laughter slowly died. He cleared his throat. “From what the agent told the Coast Guard, they think Atwah may have been hit before he escaped with the bomb. Unfortunately, unless the pilot gains control of the helicopter, and establishes communication with our guys, they’ll shoot it down over the Gulf.”
Several women gasped and the general sound level climbed again. Valerie stood on sleep-numbed legs. “They’d kill one of our own?”
Silence fell immediately as everyone waited to hear Munson’s answer. “If it will prevent a dirty bomb from detonating on U.S. soil and a helicopter from crashing into a populated area with the potential for civilian casualties—yeah, we will.”
The Gulf southwest of Everglades National Park, FL,
Saturday, 24 September, 2330 hours
Caitlyn split her attention between the fuel gauge, altimeter and the shoreline off her left shoulder. She needed an uninhabited clearing where she could put the Jayhawk down and call for reinforcements. She wanted to burn off more fuel, but Atwah’s anger was growing and she couldn’t discount the fool might go ahead and shoot her.
If that happened, and he didn’t kill her outright, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to control the resulting crash. Or be strong enough to swim to the surface if they went down over water. But why borrow trouble? She had managed to find enough on her own.
“Fly me back to the island. I can give you the coordinates. We are not far from there now.” He poked her with the MAC-10 with every other word, his voice tight and high-pitched.
Her shoulder was going to have a bruise the size of Ohio before he was done. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. If I can’t control our descent we’re likely to crash. “ And that was likely to end in an explosion.
And wasn’t that another nice little factor to add to her growing list of things to worry about? She continued to ease the Jayhawk lower. Maybe a rescue helo was following them. She thought about doing a slow circle to look, but then smarty-pants would catch on if they were being followed. That wouldn’t make him happy at all. Hell, he’d probably shoot her for sure.
“If you can’t control your landing, how do you propose we get back on the ground?” That got her four pokes and a grinding dig with the gun barrel.
“Dammit, quit poking that thing in me.” She smacked the gun away and it went off in an explosion of sound and blinding light.
She screamed as the windshield shattered, blasting Plexiglas pieces into her face and chest like shotgun pellets. Gale-force winds tore through the jagged opening, filling her eyes with tears and forcing her to squint. The altimeter’s reading brought mixed blessings. Ready or not, they were going down. And there was no doubt when they hit they’d sink a whole hell of a lot faster now that they had another damn opening for the water to rush in through.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Atwah screamed into the headphones before launching into a tirade in Arabic.
“Calm down,” Caitlyn shouted back and eased their airspeed down. No need to test his claim on the bomb’s trigger if she didn’t need to. “There are life vests attached to the bulkhead. Grab one and put it on. Get your butt in one of the jump seats and buckle yourself in as tight as you can pull it. You’ll have a few seconds to get your harness off after we hit the water. The helicopter will flip toward the open doorway. That’s the direction you’ll want to swim once we go under.” She spoke as calmly as she could over the shrieking wind.
The constant flow of tears made it a bitch to see the altimeter. Near as she could tell, they were about fifty feet off the water and sinking at that same rate per minute. She hauled back on the collective needing to slow their descent even more. If she timed it right they’d land as lightly as she’d touched down on the ship earlier.
But once a rotor hit the water, all hell would break out.
She blinked furiously, trying to clear her eyesight. Shit. The way her eyes were watering she’d be damn lucky the helo didn’t explode when they hit. Her heart pumped furiously in her chest. No matter how many times she’d practiced in a pool, a water ditching tested a pilot like no other emergency. Add to the natural disorientation of being violently flipped upside down she had the blackness of nighttime to contend with.
Never mind her irrational fear of the dark.
“Do you have your life vest on?” All she heard in her headset was ragged breathing. “Atwah. Put your life vest on. Now.” Why the hell was she concerned if he lived or died? She clamped her mouth shut. Because saving lives was what she did, dammit.
Son of a bitch, she was running out of air, or the Gulf was rising at a hell of a fast rate. “Strap yourself in.
Now
.” She slapped at the switches and cut engine power as she pulled the collective up another couple of notches. A second later they slammed into the Gulf and Atwah screamed.
Shock waves shook the helo like an earthquake. Shit, double shit, she’d hit harder than planned. But hallelujah, they didn’t explode in a ball of flame. “Atwah. Unbuckle your harness and take a deep breath.” As she spoke she undid her own, and the helo shifted hard port. She finished shutting down the remaining controls, plunging the interior into terrifying blackness.
She tore off her helmet and yanked her door handle as a rotor hit water and the top-heavy Jayhawk flipped over with neck-wrenching quickness. A wave poured into the cockpit through the shattered windshield swirling cold water around her legs as she pushed against the pilot’s door. For a breath-stealing moment it refused to budge. Water closed over her head and she braced her legs against the seat and leaned her shoulder into the metal door. The pressure equalized and it popped open. She swam free, following belching bubbles to the surface, where she sucked in a grateful breath.
The Jayhawk continued to sink in a boiling cauldron of air and water, sucking at her as if unwilling to make its final journey alone. She kicked harder and fought panic that would expend too much energy. She was alive and her head above water. Time to take a calming breath and a quick inventory.
She felt along her flight suit for the pocket where she stashed one of two flashlights. Her shaking hand closed on it with relief. She slowed her kick, and did a measured three sixty, looking for any sign of life in the black night. Bubbles broke the water’s surface with soft pops and gurgles as
Fly Baby
continued to settle. But she didn’t have time to mourn her favorite helicopter’s passing; she had to find Atwah.
Swells more than waves lifted her in slow motion. She sent a prayer of thanks heavenward—for calm seas, calm weather and Johnny’s calm hand on the collective with hers.
She carefully worked the flashlight from her pocket, making sure its lanyard was looped around her wrist before pulling it free of her uniform. Dropping it now would certainly send her into screaming meemies. She clicked the switch on and a white beam of light shot from the end like a laser, easing her ridiculous fear of the dark. “Atwah! Atwah!” she called and drifted around, treading water with slow, even kicks.
She took a deep breath preparing to dive when something grabbed her foot. Before panic erupted into a scream, her childhood nightmare yanked her below the water’s surface.
* * *
Stillman heard the pilot and copilot talking about the signal they were following from Caitlyn’s helo. Between that and what the C-130 was receiving at higher altitude they thought they were only a few minutes behind her.
“Jesus, did you see that?” the copilot said over the intercom. Quiet urgency in his tone spiraled fear through Stillman’s gut.
The helo immediately lost a hundred feet of altitude and shot forward in a burst of speed. “What the hell happened?” Clay and Stillman demanded at the same time.
“We saw a flash of light. We think it came from the lieutenant’s helo. But we’re not positive.”
Surely they would have heard something if it had been an explosion. Several seconds of silence redlined the tension level in the back of the helicopter. Joe swore, and after making sure everyone was buckled in, slid the side door open and used his NVGs to scout for signs of Caitlyn’s helo.
Stillman held onto the tube frame of his jump seat until his hands cramped. God
damn
,
he hated not being in control.
“Listen up. We’ve got an ELT signal. She’s in the water,” their pilot announced.
Stillman’s insides heaved and he prayed like he’d never prayed in his life. Nothing had ever meant as much to him as Caitlyn did. Nothing.
“Swimmer in position,” Joe called. Kelly immediately unsnapped her seat belt and scooted across the floor in front of Stillman. She slipped on a pair of fins, and Joe helped her attach the cable to her harness. Chemical light sticks were activated, bathing her in an eerie green glow.
“We’re over the signal spot but I don’t see anything,” the copilot said over the intercom.
Joe leaned out the door, hanging on the gunner’s strap, scanning the water’s surface with the NVGs.
“Do you want to use the NightSun?” the pilot asked.
“Negative,” Joe replied.
Stillman hated the growing sense of helplessness. And doom. She could be drowning this very second, while they hovered above, oblivious to her terror.
“Put me in the water,” Kelly said.
Joe didn’t respond, but continued his slow sweep as the helo circled.
“Joe, they already dropped the navy swimmer in. They don’t care about Caity, only the bomb.
Put me in the water
,” Kelly demanded.
Hell, she sounded as bossy as Caitlyn. Maybe it was a prerequisite for women in the Coast Guard.
“Got something!” Joe bellowed over the intercom. “Drop down to twenty and back fifteen.”
The pilot did as Joe instructed while Kelly fidgeted, looking over his shoulder, her legs dangling out the doorway where she sat. He handed her the NVGs and pointed to something but didn’t speak.
Stillman’s blood pressure spiked. Why weren’t they talking about what they saw? He caught Clay’s worried expression and felt his heart constrict tighter. God, please let her be alive.
“Swimmer deployed!” Joe yelled.
Stillman looked up in time to see Kelly swing out of the doorway on the thin steel cable. She disappeared from view as Joe played out the line on the electric winch.
“Joe!” Stillman waited until the hoist operator turned to look at him. “What did you see? When you had Kelly look at something in the water?”
Joe’s expression closed up like a government building at five o’clock. “Lights. We saw lights.”
When he didn’t elaborate, Stillman’s gut burned with more acid. But he had to ask the question. Hell, it hung in the air like a damn neon sign. “And?”
“They were underwater.”
* * *
Caitlyn kicked hard but didn’t dislodge the iron grip on her ankle. The rational part of her brain told her to aim the flashlight at her leg while the primitive part feared seeing flat black shark’s eyes staring back dispassionately as it munched on her like a fish stick. Rational thought won.
Her hand shaking, she aimed the powerful light on her ankle and illuminated a different kind of predator. Atwah squinted against the glare then jabbed something shiny toward his lower body, which was hidden inside the yawning doorway of the listing Jayhawk.
Was he stuck? Did he want help, or did he simply want to prevent her escape?
He pulled her downward as he ducked into the helo. Two of the rotors were bent, wedging
Fly Baby
precariously on a rock shelf. They’d prevented the machine from flipping upside down and plunging into deeper water. Panic whispered as the need to take another breath became more pronounced.
Silver flashed again as Atwah grabbed the front of her flight suit and hauled her inside the doorway. A jumble of sensory inputs later and she realized her head was no longer underwater. She sucked in a deep breath as Atwah did the same.
Light glowed from her lantern and she could make out the protected corner where an air pocket provided temporary sanctuary. They had roughly a three-foot by ten-inch headspace to breathe in. If the Jayhawk shifted again, the air could very well escape.
“Air bubble...foot caught...can’t...reach,” he said as if translating to English took all his concentration.
He thrust an eight-inch knife toward her face and she banged her head on a protruding piece of metal in an attempt to escape.
“Cut me...loose.” He stared at her for a long moment, their mingled breathing loud in the confined space. “I will...pay you. Whatever—”
She shook her head. “No. I won’t do it for money.”
He gripped the knife as if he was going to plunge it into her any second. “Please,” he forced the word out as if birthing an elephant. Then surprised her by flipping the knife around, giving her the handle.
She took the wicked-looking blade and nodded. “It might take several minutes. Don’t panic on me. I’ll go to the surface for air so your supply will last longer.” She shifted the knife to her left hand and delved into her flight suit for the second lantern. “Take this light. It will make it easier for me to find you again.” She didn’t mention it might ease his panic. Or maybe she was simply projecting her own fear of the dark.