14

OFF BANDAR’ABBS, IRAN

Ferg actually found it easier to swim pulling Reid, either because of the adrenaline rush or the other man’s powerful kick. The swells from the patrol boat’s wake reared across the channel, the water surging up like a pile of dirt plowed by a bulldozer blade. Something had drawn the craft to the south, and as it started to fire its cannon, Ferg realized it had to be the SEAL team.

“Well that was altruistic, but not terribly bright,” said Ferg.

“What?” said Reid.

“How close are we to the ASDS?” asked Ferg.

“Mile to the south. Long swim.”

“We’re going to have to go ashore,” said Rankin.

“Hey!” said a voice in the distance. It seemed to come from the wake of the gunboat.

“Hey,” said the other SEAL. “James?”

“Where the hell have you guys been?”

“Looking for you.”

He handed out swimming gear, including a small inflatable life jacket that they put on Reid. He offered one to Rankin, who refused it at first.

“Don’t be macho, Skip,” said Ferg, who took one for himself. “We may be in the water a long time.”

Rankin finally took the bib, sliding it awkwardly over his neck and trying to square away his gear.

The patrol boat had stopped firing and seemed to have stopped moving. Thin needles of light scanned the water in front of it.

“Our best bet’s to get south,” said Ferg. “We can head back and make shore where Conners and I landed yesterday, round up Keveh, then look for the others.”

“What about the ASDS?” asked the SEAL who’d brought the gear out. “MC wanted us to meet him there.”

“Even if we can get past that patrol boat, I don’t want to leave the other guys here,” said Ferg.

“You think they went ashore?”

“They may be dead,” said Ferg.

“Nah,” said James.

“It’s okay,” said Reid. “Head for the ASDS. MC’ll be there. Guaranteed.”

There were trucks and lights passing on the shore. The patrol boat was a low shadow in the channel, temporarily quiet.

“All right, we’re going back south,” said Ferguson. “No more debate.”

They’d gone only a hundred yards when one of the machine guns on the patrol boat began firing again. Two or three seconds later, an explosion that sounded something like a grenade going off inside a fifty-gallon drum shook the vessel. A whistling shriek like the exhaust of a steam kettle followed.

“Wu knows how to place’em,” said James, increasing his pace.

The other SEAL had taken a limpet mine and attached it to the hull of the patrol boat. The Iranian crew started firing every weapon they had, but it was far too late—the highexplosive mine had blasted a huge hole in the thin hull, and the boat quickly settled at the stern. One of the Iranian’s guns either overheated or jammed somehow, and there was another explosion, this one unmuffled by the water; a fire flared, and rounds began cooking off like firecrackers.

“Nice of them to provide a light show,” said Ferg, changing direction as the fire died out. “Which way is our sub?”