Page 27 of Pervade Montego Bay
Using the map on my wristwatch, I checked our coordinates. Our estimated arrival at the checkpoint was thirty minutes away. I pushed the boat hard and the engine roared against the strain. My shirt stuck to my back from the wet heat, the stickiness nearly unbearable. I felt a dull ache in my bones, aftereffects of the crash, but there was no time to deal with it.
Keeping my eyes open for the Coast Guard, I gunned it through the open water. If we were stopped it would be a catastrophe. They’d arrest us, then keep us locked up long enough for MSS to arrive—Chinese operatives who’d make us disappear.
Checking the fuel gauge, I realized we didn’t have enough petrol to get us back to land if that sub didn’t show.
I looked over at Xavier. He had rolled himself up into a ball.
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m going to throw up.”
“Hang in there.”
“This is why I didn’t join the Navy,” he called up. “That, and you’re all a bunch of assholes.”
“Not appreciating the onboard entertainment?” I flashed a smile.
Using Morse code to signal to theRenowned, I sent a message via my wristwatch to let them know we’d arrived at the pre-arranged location.
Xavier leaned over the edge of the speedboat—to vomit, I assumed—and his eyes widened at the sight of surging water nearby. The long vessel rose out of the water nose first and then crashed onto the surface. I navigated our boat on half throttle towards the sub.
“Leave nothing behind,” I told him, grabbing my jacket.
Minutes later, we’d abandoned the speedboat and were descending the steps into the submarine. I made sure Xavier went first.
We both looked like shit in our scorched, stained clothes—and we reeked of acrid smoke.
The master-at-arms, along with the two military policemen, greeted us.
“Have Doc check him over,” I ordered.
“Yes, sir,” replied a midshipman.
“Where’s the Commander?” I asked.
“He’s in the comms room, sir.”
Xavier was escorted to his cabin. I imagined that was where he’d spend the duration of his time until we arrived in Britain.
I needed to clean up and change before debriefing a man like Oliver Hague. The few crew members who’d noticed our disheveled appearance knew what they were seeing was above their paygrade. They diverted their eyes out of respect.
With my hand on my chest, I tried to make it appear that taking deep breaths wasn’t an issue. Or the neck strain I was feeling didn’t hurt like hell. Or that my ankle didn’t burn with pain as I walked on it.
I went off to wash the rest of the glass splinters out of my hair. This shower would equal thirty seconds to warm the water, thirty seconds to soap up, and less than a minute to wash off the grime. Not the half hour shower I coveted. I’d grown soft since leaving this life.
After wiping fog from the bathroom mirror, I studied the bruises covering my face. There was a small cut on my chin, but it didn’t need suturing.
I stole a few minutes to apply ice to my ankle and rehydrate.
It was a hard fact that Xavier had had a chance to bolt at the crash site. Instead, he’d saved my life. Something wasn’t adding up. Either he’d changed his mind or that crash had given him cold feet. Or maybe, and it felt like a stretch, but there might just be some truth in what he was saying. I needed more time with him to dig deeper.
Back in my cabin, I found a bottle of Advil and swallowed four tablets, washing them down with a glass of recycled water. After getting dressed in black-ops combat gear, I headed out to visit Xavier. The young officer guarding his door was reluctant to let me in. Apparently, there was a no visit order.
I pulled rank.
Even if I was retired, my Commander status still meant something.
Xavier was lying on his bunk. Warily, he watched me enter.
