Page 78 of Identity Unknown
“It’s not a level playing field,” I remind them. “We don’t live there.”
As they continue to discuss sharks and other things that can kill you while diving, Tron tosses me a pair of stretchy bikeshorts. Not keen on stripping in front of others, I disappear into the stall. Sitting on the closed toilet lid, I take off everything except my sports bra.
The shorts fit like a second skin, and I stand up to shimmy into them. They have padding I could do without when I check myself in the mirror. I emerge from the stall to find Lucy and Tron dressed the same. But I sure as hell don’t look the way they do.
“You’re smokin’ hot.” Tron grins, sensing my insecurities. “Seriously.” Giving me a thumbs-up.
“You’d flunk the polygraph,” I reply as we pack up the clothes we had on earlier.
CHAPTER 28
Outside the sun is hot, the wind a cool whisper that barely stirs the trees. Pink and white dogwood petals litter the grass and pavement, the air fragrant with the lemony scent of magnolias. It’s a good day for diving but the problem will be the visibility, never decent in the bay to begin with.
After yesterday’s storm, a lot of silt will be stirred up. Hopefully, the winds will stay calm and we won’t be fighting waves and the currents. Our feet thump along the marina’s long pier, and I’m conscious of how I must look in bike shorts, a sports bra and tactical boots, all black. Lucy and Tron walk in front of me, and I’m reminded that I need to spend more time in the gym.
I stare at the definition in their arms and backs. And the way their calf muscles clench as they move, things flexing, nothing jiggling, their every movement effortless. Nearby, people eating lunch at the Deadrise restaurant are watching from the covered upper deck. Some are looking out at the emergency lights, pointing and taking video with their phones.
The windowless black van from my Norfolk office is parked with the flashers on in front of the marina. Nathan the deathinvestigator rolls down his window, assuring me that what I need is on board.
“I’ll be waiting right here,” he promises.
Our boat is theSea Hunter,a thirty-footer with a wide dive platform, racks for scuba tanks and twin five-hundred-horsepower outboard engines. Two police divers are waiting in swim trunks and T-shirts. They introduce themselves as Liam and Henry while handing out dive gear the Secret Service agents dropped off a little while ago.
“I’ll be leading you down,” Liam informs us, about my age I estimate, bearded, with friendly eyes. “Henry will stay on the boat with the captain, ready to assist with the body bags and whatever else is needed.”
“Also, keeping a lookout for other vessels coming through,” says Henry, rail thin and tan, with a nice smile. “The biggest worry is military ships and subs. They don’t publicize their schedules for when they’re in and out of the naval station or doing maneuvers. We’re not going to know most of what they’re doing, for obvious reasons.”
“We’ll hope nothing major comes through,” Liam adds. “But we can’t guarantee it, and whatever it is? It has the right of way.”
“They won’t even slow down, don’t care a flip about us, assuming they even see us,” Henry echoes. “It’s up to us to stay clear.”
On that happy note, Lucy, Tron and I sit down on the aluminum bench seats, taking off our boots. We pull on three-millimeter-thick wetsuits, helping each other with the back zippers. The outboard engines begin chugging, and soon we’respeeding away from the shore, skimming over the light chop, the bow rising and falling more rapidly the faster we go.
We clean our masks with baby shampoo, rinsing them in a plastic barrel of fresh water. My borrowed mask is heavier than I’d like because of the small camera mounted on it. I make sure everything fits properly and that the lenses aren’t going to fog up. Seeing will be hard enough without that added problem.
“The plan is for the three of us to get the body to the surface and into the boat,” Lucy says to us. “Then we’ll let the Coast Guard and others deal with raising the wreckage. I think we’re in agreement? We won’t be able to chat underwater so I’m making sure we understand each other.”
“Nobody touches the body but us,” I confirm. “And it will be me who gets him out before anything inside the cockpit is disturbed.”
A battleship cuts sharply into the blue horizon, slowly making its way to the Norfolk Naval Station. I’m reminded that where the helicopter went down is in the shipping channel, and I think about Henry’s warning. The police can’t secure the scene above or below water. Our law enforcement and forensic concerns are of no relevance to an attack submarine armed with torpedoes.
We’re closing in on the police boats and Coast Guard cutter where debris from the helicopter drifts on the water. I can make out what looks like blue strips of cabin liner and a blue seat pillow. Lucy and Tron continue to talk, and I can feel their eyes on me as I carefully get up from the bench. The boat rocks up and down, leaving a frothy wake, an American flag whipping from a railing.
“Need some help?” It’s Tron asking.
“No thanks.”
I feel as if I’m standing on a seesaw, lifting a bright yellow aluminum tank out of a rack.
“You sure?” Lucy is on her feet.
“I’ve got it.”
Making my way back to the bench seat, I strap the tank to the back of my buoyancy control vest as Lucy and Tron finish getting ready. I’m attaching the regulator hoses as the boat begins slowing down, the police diver named Liam making his way toward us from the cockpit, zipping up his wetsuit.
“The water’s pretty murky,” he announces over the noise of the engines, throwing on his tank as easily as a sweater. “Best thing is to follow the anchor line at all times. Plus, the current can be deceptively strong even when it’s calm like it is right now. But that won’t last as the wind picks up, and you don’t want to be swimming against the current or pushed off course.”
I sit down on the bench seat to put on my fins, strapping a sheathed knife around my left ankle in case I’m entangled in something. Working my arms into the vest attached to the tank, I adjust the straps to fit snugly. I stand up feeling the pull of fifty pounds on my back, and it’s a challenge keeping my balance in fins on a moving boat.