If The Seas Catch Fire(68)

Which had seemed more than reasonable right up until Sergei’d found himself unable to make his planned escape from the yacht. He’d lost precious minutes. And not just minutes—the yacht was farther out than he’d anticipated.

It was going to be a long swim anyway, but if he didn’t make it to Baltazar in time, that was going to be a long swim back to shore.

He checked his compass and started swimming. He had to swim hard—between the current and the time crunch, he had no choice. And damn it, even the exertion wasn’t enough to keep him warm this far down. The water was f*cking cold. Inside his fins, his toes were already getting numb. His gloves did almost nothing to keep him warm either. Gripping the regulator with his mouth kept his teeth from chattering, but just barely.

Just what he needed—hypothermia. But that wasn’t his biggest concern. Between the cold and the exertion, he was asking for the bends, but he’d be okay as long as he could surface gradually.

He passed one of the red navigational buoys, which had been marked underneath with a number six. Only two to go. Thank God.

Motion above his head caught his eye, and he looked up as a catamaran sliced two white gashes into the surface. Another boat—single hull this time—shot past. Moments later, another went by, crisscrossing the wake from the previous one. The closer he swam to buoy five, the more boat traffic cut across the water. It didn’t get any better as he neared buoy four.

Damn it. Too many boats out today, and no way to tell if they were friend or foe. He didn’t dare surface out in the open. Even without the goons who liked shooting divers for sport, the harbor was too busy to come up just anywhere. He had to surface beside a boat with a diver down flag flying to warn other boats, or else a hull or a propeller could kill him even before a coked-out Mafioso with a pistol did.

Finally, he saw the buoy he was looking for, and the boat bobbing nearby.

He ascended a few meters at a time, doing decompression stops for as long as he could. Still too far beneath the surface for a fast ascent, he looked at his watch.

10:27.

His heart sped up. He was almost out of time.

All he had to do was let Baltazar know he was here, then go back under and come up again slowly. It would take time—he’d have to go down slowly and carefully since he’d already been down and up once—but the alternative was being left out here in a harbor full of boats, sharks, and trigger happy Italians.

He made a few more decompression stops. Not much farther to go. Maybe he could still—

The props came on.

Sergei cursed into his regulator, and then swam upward for all he was worth, his heart pounding all the way.

The instant he broke the surface, he yanked the regulator out of his mouth. “Baltazar!”

The Greek turned and leaned over the side. “Oh, shit, kid. We almost left without you!” He extended his arm. “Get in! Now!”

“I can’t.” Sergei shook his head, teeth chattering furiously. “I need to go back down and come back up so I don’t get the f*cking bends. I need at least—”

“No time.” Baltazar pointed past Sergei.

Sergei turned around, and swore. The Coast Guard was out. So were the Cusimanos. With a dead Mafioso dead on a boat out here, Sergei didn’t want to be around when fingers—and guns—started pointing.

He faced Baltazar again, and this time clasped his hand around the Greek’s forearm. Baltazar grabbed Sergei’s tanks with his other hand, and helped him over the side, but as soon as Sergei’s center of gravity had shifted enough to keep him from slipping back into the water, Baltazar let him go.

Sergei tumbled unceremoniously onto the deck. “Thanks, *.”

“Sorry.” Baltazar gestured to his nephew, who was at the wheel, and the kid gunned the throttle, knocking Sergei off balance again.

Sergei cursed in his native tongue as he unfastened his tanks and kicked off his fins. “You’re gonna get me the bends.”

“You should’ve been here sooner.”

“Yeah, well.” Sergei spat some salt water on the deck. “Things didn’t…” I got an innocent man killed. I almost had to kill… Shuddering, he muttered, “They didn’t go as planned.”

“Occupational hazard, my friend,” Baltazar said coolly.

“Just give me a f*cking oxygen tank. And a blanket before I f*cking freeze.”

Baltazar dug into one of the compartments beside the helm, and pulled out a small tank and mask. He also found a thick brown blanket and tossed it to Sergei. “You get it done?”

Sergei shrugged off his scuba tanks. “Yep. Dropped Privitera in the—”

“Privitera?” Baltazar froze. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Sergei nearly dropped the tanks on Baltazar’s foot, and met his glare unapologetically. “I took out the second man down. What was I supposed to—”

The Greek’s hand came out of nowhere and connected with Sergei’s face, his ring cracking against bone. “You f*cking idiot!”

The pain caught him off guard. Sergei touched his cheekbone and narrowed his stinging eyes at Greek. “What the f*ck was that for?”

“I had a lookout on the marina who said Domenico Maisano was on that boat, Dmitry. How in the f*ck did you think—”

“What?” Sergei lowered his hand, carefully schooling his expression to hide the shaky panicky feeling in his stomach. At least this violent shivering was good for something. “I didn’t see him.”