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The water was cold, but not cold enough to kill. By the time he was in up to his knees, he could feel the pull of the incoming tide resisting his efforts to move forward. He eyed the column of rock that stood just a few yards out from the mouth of the cave. Waves were breaking across its dark surface, and soon it would be swamped by the incoming tide. He would have to be quick.
He was not a man who routinely prayed, and even now his prayer was without words, but he was certain that it would take more than his own strength to do what needed to be done.
Pitting his muscles against the flow of the tide, he swam toward the mine. A breaking wave washed his glasses away and his vision blurred. The mine was now a heaving gray monstrosity at the very edge of his focus. He already knew where he was going, and he had no need to see with any greater clarity. Perhaps it was better not to see. He stopped swimming. He had no need to move toward the enemy, the enemy was coming toward him; and it was moving faster than he liked. Soon he would be out of time.
He imagined Carol climbing the stairs to the top of Southwold Hall. How fast could she climb with Anita beside her, and the flashlight flickering and almost useless? He had to give her whatever time he could.
The mine swam into his shortsighted focus with every detail visible. Its gray surface was scarred and scoured by its time in the ocean, and it bobbed and swayed in the waves, presenting its deadly spikes with every movement. He imagined it had only recently broken loose from its mooring on the seabed. It had waited eight, nine, maybe ten years for this encounter.
He trod water while he eased the coil of rope from his shoulders and found the loose end. He had to do it now before the mine drifted past, and if it exploded at his touch, at least it would not explode in the cellar beneath the house.
The wet rope was stiff and heavy in his hands. He watched as the mine rolled with a wave, and a spike came within reach of his arms. He would have only one chance. If the mine passed him now, it would be on the rocks before he could catch it.
He kicked with his legs and heaved himself out of the water. The rope settled around the base of the spike. Hardly daring to breathe, he lifted himself from the water again and caught hold of the adjacent spike. The two loops held and the mine was steady, no longer rolling but still moving with the tide.
He hung onto the rope, feeling as though he had a tiger by the tail, and swam awkwardly out toward the open ocean where a rocky spur still held itself above the high-tide mark. He knew he would never be able to hold the mine by himself, but if he could loop the rope around the rock, the tide would do the work for him. The mine would strain against the rope and be unable to reach the rocky shore.
All fear left him as he towed his terrible burden out to sea. The shame that had haunted him for years was finally banished. Whether he lived or died here in the cold water, he would finally have come face to face with the enemy. The war was over, but the threat remained. His weak eyesight that had kept him from combat was now his friend. His enemy was a gray blur behind him, and his destination was a black blur ahead, and nothing else was real. He welcomed the moment.