The Captain had evidently given the order to once again change the interior lighting of the submarine from white to red, and that had bathed the control room in an eerie, somber glow. As far as Ed McClure was concerned, the decreased lighting in no way adversely affected what he was now looking at.
"My mother volunteered to be one of the first to go to Cuba, as part of that East German hospital group." Olga Rodriguez leaned farther back against the cornerpost of the navigator's table as she continued her conversation with McClure. She had made her voice as soft and compelling as she could, and she could sense that her efforts were not wasted. "My father had been a very important man in the revolution. He had been part of Che Guevara's group. My mother and father were married very soon after she arrived. They are still in Cuba today, although my father spends much time with the military detachment in Africa."
"Is that so?" McClure edged himself closer. Another button of Olga's jungle camouflage blouse had opened, and it exposed even more of her suntanned flesh. "I can see that you've inherited a great deal from your parents. That endowment right there, for example." McClure allowed his outstretched hand to move slowly toward her chest.
"I have one brother," Olga said as she intercepted McClure's hand before it reached her. She held it tightly in hers. Her eyes looked to the left and right just long enough to search the corridors for any sign of Harrison. He had evidently remained in the rear of the boat where the Captain had sent him a short while before. That was fortunate. Other than the two crewmen at the bow and stern planes a dozen feet away — their backs to where she and McClure stood — the two of them were alone in the control room. "In reality he is my half-brother. His name is Diego. He, too, is still in Cuba. He works in the transport ministry. He is in charge of the railroads." Olga had allowed her voice to trail off. She stood in the ensuing silence with her eyes locked on McClure's face. She caressed him in her mind, from the raised left eyebrow to the trim mustache. His face was almost gentle until he smiled. His smile was cold, almost frightening. It was the smile of a man who was capable of great extremes. She supposed what they were all doing on this mission was considered an atrocity by most of the world. She remembered hearing that during the war Ed McClure had locked a group of young Vietnamese boys inside a hut, then burned it to the ground as an example to the other boys in the village who might also try to lie to him. A drug deal, she had heard. Olga wondered if this was true. She saw only a strong man, a leader. Weaker men will say many lies about men they fear. She wanted this man. Please do not smile, Ed McClure. Do not ruin what I have planned. Olga took McClure's hand to her lips and began to gently kiss the tips of his fingers.
"Not here. This is not the place," McClure whispered. He nodded over his shoulder toward the two men at the diving controls, their backs still turned. "We've got to go somewhere else."
"Certainly." Olga looked up and down the corridor again. "I think it would be best if we go forward."
"Suit yourself."
Olga allowed McClure's hand to slip from hers. She stepped past him and began to head down the narrow corridor. "Follow me."
"Sure thing." McClure followed closely, his eyes fixed on the silhouette of the woman in front of him. It had been more than two weeks since he had taken that cheap whore in New York, and McClure was now more than ready for what lay ahead. Better yet, this particular woman was obviously no twenty-dollar hooker. She would not be satisfied in doing only what she had been paid for. The way she walked, the way she moved, the way she touched him told McClure that the next hour would be time well spent.
They walked quietly past the Captain's cabin. The door remained closed with, presumably, Captain Zindell on the inside. Neither of them made the slightest sound as they stepped farther along, past the empty wardroom. They stepped across the raised ledge that separated the forward torpedo room from the remainder of the boat. As they maneuvered themselves inside, McClure was happy to see that the torpedo room was empty. The rows of neat bunks lined the walls on both sides. Clusters of valves and pipes were jammed in every corner, and chains and loading tackle dangled down from the ceiling above. Two of the twenty-foot-long torpedoes were still positioned in their racks between the bunks. McClure closed the hatchway behind him.
"Use the locking lever." Olga pointed to where the secondary latch could be thrown. "Then no one from the outside can open the hatch to gain access."
"You afraid of Harrison?"
"I only want privacy."
"Bullshit. You're afraid of Harrison."
"There is no sense in not keeping this to ourselves." Olga took a step toward McClure — she realized now that she could hardly wait any longer to have him. "It is a simple precaution, no more."
McClure let out a short laugh. "Sure, lady. There's no sense burning your bridges." He suspected that her real reason in hiding from Harrison was that she didn't want to alienate him — that she might want more of him later. If McClure wasn't so worked up himself, he knew that he might not let her get away with that kind of crap. "You're right, we can keep this to ourselves," he said. I'll fix you later, you bitch. McClure began to unbutton his shirt, his eyes locked on her expression. From where he stood, it appeared that she had begun to tremble in anticipation. "You look like you're in heat," he said coldly, as if he were commenting on a penned animal.
Olga ignored his intent. "Your words are a very poor substitute for what I need." Her tongue ran across her upper lip. "Hurry. We do not have much time."
"This isn't going to take a lot of time."
"Yes it will." She stepped forward and laid her hands, palms open, on McClure's bare chest. Carefully, as if she were running her fingers across a delicate sculpture, she allowed her fingers to travel downward until they were resting near the top of his belt. She was nearly ready to move her hands even lower when she spotted the glass-covered viewing port in the hatchway. "Damn," she swore softly as she pointed to the small porthole. "We must do something to cover that."
"No peep show, huh?" McClure laughed again as he finished unbuttoning his shirt. He took the shirt off. "I'll use my shirt, like that knight guy. How's that for my being a gentleman?" McClure hung his shirt on the hatchway bolt and draped the cloth carefully across the porthole. "Satisfied?"
"Not as yet." There was a grin on Olga's face as she placed her hands on McClure's pants leg. "But perhaps I might be satisfied very soon."
"I'm willing to bet on it." McClure took her arm. He pulled her toward him. With his other hand placed behind her head, McClure maneuvered her mouth to his. Their lips — both very wet, tense, full of energy and aggression — locked together. A considerable amount of time passed before McClure finally forced himself to back away from her.
"Where shall we do this?"
McClure's grin broadened. "In the center of the room."
Olga looked puzzled. She gestured toward the middle of the torpedo room. "There is nothing there. Nothing to lie on, nothing to lean against. On both sidewalls we have bunks." She pointed to the series of mattresses lined against the walls, one strung above the other. "They are small, but they will do."
"Too early for that." McClure took her arm again. This time he led her to the center of the room. Without waiting for another word, he began to undress her.
Olga stood as quietly as she could, her eyes locked on McClure's fast-moving hands. The firm, cold touch of his fingers against her breasts caused her to shiver and catch her breath. As her pants were removed and laid to the side, she watched as the bolas and pearl-handled knife fell to the decking plate with them. Olga tilted back her head and half closed her eyes as McClure continued to work with his hands.
It was something in the far corner that first caught her attention, something partially hidden by one of the torpedoes. Olga opened her eyes wider. It took her several seconds to finally realize what she was seeing. A wool blanket. Erratic motion. An arm, a shoulder. Olga took a startled half-step backward when it dawned on her that the moving hulk in the shadowy corner in the front of the torpedo room was one of the crewmen.
"This is very interesting." Ned Pierce swung his legs out of the bunk, his hand against the nose of the torpedo that had hidden him. He yawned conspicuously, slid the rest of his body out of the bunk, then stood up. "This is one hell of a show. Better than the sex dream I was having." Pierce's face filled with its hideous smile while the gold fillings in his teeth gleamed. His eyes roved up and down Olga's tense, naked body. "You've got your shit together, lady — I'll say that much."
"Close your eyes, nigger. This is out of your league." McClure took a step toward him.
"Sure thing, boss-man," Pierce answered in a trumped-up Southern drawl. "I'll just go on back to playin' in the cotton fields while the white folks is playin' in the poontang."
"Watch your mouth, you son-of-a-bitch." McClure stood between Pierce and Olga. She had come up close to him and he could feel the warmth of her naked body against his own bare back. "You better get the hell out of here as quick as you can."
"No question about it." Pierce strode toward the sealed hatchway at the aft end of the torpedo room. "I've got lots of things to do. My report to Mr. Harrison, for example." Pierce spun around and glowered at the two of them. "I'm sure he's gonna find this news interesting as all hell."
"Don't let him tell anyone," Olga whispered in a frantic voice. "Harrison is a crazy man. He will kill me, just as he had killed his first wife. She had done even less with another man."
"Is that so?" McClure was slightly surprised to hear that Harrison was capable of that sort of thing. "Are you sure he wasn't bullshitting when he told you?"
"The information came from Captain Zindell. It is the truth. He killed his wife when he discovered that she had flirted with another man." There was unmistakable anguish in Olga's voice.
"This business is gettin' more interesting with every passin' minute." Pierce gave a wave with his free hand as he reached for the hatchway locking lever. "I'd sure as hell like to hear more, but I've got this important business elsewhere in the boat."
"Wait."
Pierce glanced disinterestedly over his shoulder, but what he saw immediately received his fullest attention. McClure, who was still standing in the center of the torpedo room, had produced some sort of small weapon out of his pants pocket. It was aimed directly toward Pierce. "Put that thing down." Pierce had tried to sound angry, but his words had come out too nervously to appear as anything other than pure fear. Pierce slowly turned himself around to face McClure fully. "If you fire that gun in here, you'll put a hole in the boat."
"You're right. No gun-firings are allowed." McClure had the smallest smile at the corner of his mouth, as if he were privy to a secret that no one else shared.
"Do not fire the pistol." Olga took her hands away from where she was covering her bare breasts and put them on McClure's shoulder. "It is too much of a risk. Reason with him, that will be enough. I am sure I can find something to satisfy him enough to keep his silence."
"Shut up, you goddamned whore." The thought of sharing the woman behind him with a man like Pierce was enough to turn his stomach. "I'll take care of you later," McClure said as he turned his head slightly to glance at her.
"Look out!"
McClure jerked his head around and saw that Pierce had begun to lunge toward him. Without another conscious thought, McClure pressed down on the weapon's trigger.
The forward torpedo room instantly filled with a strange noise that sounded more like a suddenly flattened tire than the explosion of a bullet. A blur of darkness propelled itself from the front of the small weapon and toward the black man who lunged at McClure. For an instant all action froze as the three of them stood their ground, the black man stopped in mid-flight by some mysterious force that had caused him to grab for his arm. Pierce's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. He emitted one short gasp before he tumbled forward and fell heavily to the floor.
"What happened? What was it?" Olga stared down at Pierce's body. It had begun to twitch obscenely. The man's head and neck trembled from a series of continuous muscle spasms. First one leg and then another began to convulse wildly.
McClure put the weapon back in his pocket, then kneeled beside Pierce's body. "Shit." He rolled the man over and looked into his eyes, then at his arm. "It's right here. This is where I nicked him."
"With what?"
"A poisoned dart." McClure patted his side pocket. "It's a great weapon in a confined area. Normally, it would kill a guy instantly. I guess he didn't get much of a dose."
"Will he live?" As Olga continued to look down at the black man's body — several of his muscles still twitched, but the general convulsions seemed to be lessening — she suddenly became aware that she was still naked. "What should we do?" she asked as she again put her hands up to cover her breasts.
McClure stood up. "I don't know if he’ll live.” There was a frown on his face. "His heart is beating. It shouldn't be. That probably means that he'll survive."
"Oh." Olga was at a loss for words.
"When Zindell finds out that I've got a weapon, I'm going to get that I'm-the-captain crap from him all over again."
"It will be difficult to cover the facts." Olga pointed down to the body on the floor. The black man had already begun to look better: his muscle spasms had stopped and his eyes were partly opened. "He is beginning to revive. When he tells Zindell what has happened, there will be much trouble between the two of you."
"Maybe." McClure allowed himself to scan slowly around the torpedo room, as if he were looking for something specific. His eyes locked onto an area toward the forward end of the room. He began to smile again. "But Zindell's first got to figure out what I did before he can cause me a problem over it." McClure bent down and started to pull Pierce's inert body toward him.
Olga stepped toward the sidewall, grabbed a blanket off one of the bunks to wrap her naked body in, then turned back to McClure. "You cannot be serious," she said in a low voice as she watched McClure drag the semiconscious black man across the floor. "If you kill him, we gain nothing but his own silence. It will be more than obvious from his wound that a weapon of some sort was used. The Captain will most certainly figure out that much."
"That's where you're wrong." McClure reached the forward end of the torpedo room and allowed Pierce's body to slump back to the floor. "But I don't have time to debate it with you, he's starting to come around already." McClure glanced again at Pierce, who had found enough strength to open his eyes and raise his head up off the cold decking plates. "In another few minutes he'll begin to shout his goddamned head off. That'll bring Zindell in here — and trouble for both of us. Come over here and give me a hand."
"How?"
"You'll see." McClure stepped around Pierce's body, grabbed him by the ankles and spun him around. In a few seconds he had the man facing feet first toward the front of the submarine. McClure leaned forward and took hold of the brass locking handle on the number-five torpedo tube. He spun the lever several times, then swung the heavy metal door open. "Get behind him. Shove."
"Okay." Olga followed the order without question.
The pressure from the woman's hands on his shoulder caused Ned Pierce to waken even more from his drugged stupor. By the time his legs had been guided into the dark and gaping mouth of the torpedo tube he had regained enough of his senses to know for certain what would happen next. Pierce attempted to squirm sideways, but he had nowhere near enough energy to do it. He tried to shout, but all he could force up through his throat was an odd and curdled squeal. By the time his entire body had been shoved inside the opened torpedo tube, Pierce was able to control his muscles long enough to turn slightly around to face McClure. Other than that move, he could accomplish no more.
McClure looked down at the frightened, pleading eyes that faced him. "Glad to see that you're feeling better," he said passively. McClure knelt closer to where Pierce's head rested inside the rim of the long and polished-steel cylinder. "But I think I know what will make you feel really great. It's something that you've been asking for." McClure stepped aside. He pushed closed the heavy brass-plated door and spun the locking levers shut. "Pleasant dreams."
"This is no good," Olga said. She readjusted the blanket she had wrapped herself in. "It will take only a short time before someone finds him inside there. Even if he has already suffocated — the volume of air in the torpedo tube is large, it would take some time to suffocate — his wounds would still be obvious."
"You're batting a thousand today, lady." McClure stepped around her to position himself next to the control panel for the torpedo tube. "Except that you're wrong again." In rapid sequence he began to throw the necessary valves and levers as he had learned how to do just a few hours before from one of the other crew members. "Watch this."
As Olga stood, incredulous, McClure tripped the last lever in the sequence. A charge of compressed air was suddenly released into torpedo tube number five. It caused the room to fill with a near-deafening roar. McClure laughed loudly, but his voice was buried beneath the sudden wall of sound from the torpedo tube firing.
Inside the torpedo tube, the first impact of the high-pressure compressed air forced out both the cold water that had poured into the tube moments before and Ned Pierce's limp body. Pierce was still conscious at that point, still holding his breath against the force of the incoming water that soon would have drowned him.
But as the compressed air propelled Pierce's body through the torpedo tube, the rapid motions against his neck and shoulders caused Pierce to bang his head hard against the metal lip of the tube as he was pushed out. Involuntarily, the impact caused Pierce to take a deep breath, which caused the salty ocean water to pass through his nose and mouth and down his throat. The last sensation that Ned Pierce experienced before he finally lost consciousness for the last time was the aching pain and rapid swelling of his chest as the cold seawater filled his insides and pushed away what little life-giving air he had managed to hold in his lungs.
"God Almighty!" Olga grabbed McClure by the shoulder and shook him. "What will I say to the control room? How will I explain this torpedo-tube firing to the Captain?"
"Simple. Tell them that you've fired a water slug."
"Water slug?"
"Yes. Tell them that some asshole must have left tube number five flooded down. You fired a water slug to clear it."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm a fast learner. I've got a good memory. Trust me."
"Okay. If you're sure."
"I am."
Olga reached for the telephone handset that hung on the bulkhead partition. Within a moment she had both the control room and the Captain on the line. Within a few moments after that, she hung the handset back into its cradle again. "They were satisfied," she said, amazed herself at how easily her lie had been accepted. "The Captain thanked me for taking care of the matter. In fact," she continued, "he said that he felt that Pierce was probably the man responsible."
"Then it serves him right for being turned into shark bait, doesn't it?" McClure grinned, then reached up and slowly but forcibly pulled away the wool blanket that Olga had wrapped herself in. With one more powerful motion, he spun her around. He leaned Olga's body against the rounded nose section of the torpedo that lay on the port rack.
"Hurry. We have little time left," Olga said in a hoarse whisper as she closed her eyes and pressed her body against the metal of the torpedo's warhead. The cold, sterile sensation caused by her bare stomach and chest being laid against the smooth metal sent a shiver through her.
"Take it easy. We've got enough time." Ed McClure then began to complete the task that he had started more than a half hour before.