He heard one of the sailors call out the depth: thirty meters. They were getting close.

 “Les avions! Ils arrives!” The lookout shouted the warning.

The captain barked, “Preparez a plonger.”

Ready to dive. Woolsey kept his eyes on the sky. He wanted to ask for the binoculars, but the captain had them glued to his eyes. The sun slid behind a bank of clouds on the horizon, and while the shadows would work in their favor once they dove, for now, the Surcouf still stood out as a huge target on that pale-colored sea.

There. He spotted them. Three small dots in the sky. Flying a V formation. Only they weren’t so small anymore.

“Lieutenant, they will make one pass for observations. That is your chance. Tell them we are damaged, but are not stopping here. We are Free French, not Vichy.”

Right, Woolsey thought.

Only the helmsman and two look-outs remained with them on the bridge. The others had already clambered below to ready the boat to dive. He began spelling it out for Michaut. The lantern clacked-clacked-clacked as Michaut sent out the signal code, and Woolsey felt his heart hammering just as loud.

Who had issued the orders for these planes? Had their orders come from Washington? In that case, they might believe this story Lamoreaux was fabricating. But if their orders were from New Haven, they were more concerned with that pouch below — and not letting it fall into the wrong hands — than with the sub’s destination.

Woolsey heard the planes’ engines now. The sound started off thin and tinny, like toy planes, but as the V-formation neared, the engine noise dropped in pitch to a throaty roar. He recognized the American planes because of their twin engines. They were P-38’s and they were coming in low. This was no practice run.

“Plongez!” the captain yelled into the voice tube. He ordered his men to clear the bridge as he dashed below.

The claxon sounded, drowning out the men’s voices as they scrambled after the captain, pushing for the hatch. Their lack of training turned the cramped conning tower deck into a free for all. The helmsman nearly knocked Woolsey to the deck when he shoved him out of the way.

As he struggled to regain his balance, Woolsey saw the bright red tracers seconds before he heard the pop-pop-pop of the gunfire. The lantern continued clacking behind him as he struggled to reach the hatch. He saw the water rising up the sides of the sub.

With his feet on the second rung he turned and looked behind him. “Henri!” Woolsey called. The young man did not stop signaling as the water erupted in a peppering of mini-geysers far off the bow of the sub. “Michaut!”

The young signalman stopped and turned at last. His eyes grew huge as the sea rushed up toward him. The lower decks were covered and the water was nearing the top of the conning tower. If the hatch was not secured, the sub would flood and they would all drown.

Henri threw down the signal lamp and began to run, but those last few seconds of hesitation had made all the difference in the world. Woolsey saw that it was too far, too late. He would never make it. Waiting any longer would doom them all. Woolsey stepped down a rung and pulled the hatch closed behind him. He spun the wheel to engage the airlock.

The diesel engines stopped and the electric motors kicked in with a soft whine. From two decks down, he heard the captain give the order to take her down to twelve meters. Clinging to the ladder, his cheek resting against the cold steel of the top rung, Woolsey listened to his heart pounding in the sudden silence. Clang-clang-clang. It was his heart, he insisted, until the banging suddenly ceased.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

Scott’s Head Bay, Dominica

March 30, 2008

11:35 a.m.

Stepping into the knee-deep water off the village, Riley thought about the dream she’d had that morning when she’d first arrived in Scott’s Head Bay. Cole and Theo had arrived hours earlier, but she told them she needed a few hours in her bunk after the all night sail. That’s when Mikey had come to her in her dream, told her what to do, and that she needed to hurry.

Riley knew why, too. She’d seen the fury on Dig’s face when they were at her father’s townhouse. He was coming for her and she had no doubt he would find their trail. If they were going to succeed at finding whatever it was James Thatcher wanted them to find, they had very little time. Cole lifted the outboard engine so that the propeller wouldn’t hit the stones, and she hauled the dinghy up the rocky beach.

“I think we’re wasting time,” Cole said. “We have a few precious hours of lead time, and we shouldn’t squander it.”

She realized she and Cole had been thinking parallel thoughts. “I know we haven’t got much time. But I think it makes sense to ask if anyone in the village was around back then. See if they remember something that will give us a clue as to where to look.” It was more than that, but she didn’t know how to tell him about the dream. About Mikey who had told her to go ashore and talk to him. Only she had no idea who he was.

“And if we don’t find anyone who remembers, we’ll have wasted an hour.”

“Cole, they won’t know which way we went. And there’s no reason to believe they’ll come straight to Dominica. But you’re right — I think our lead is measured in hours, not days.”

“They found us quick enough last time.”

“I know,” Riley said. “Either it was luck, or I don’t want to think about the second possibility.”

“What’s that?”

“That Dig has somehow placed a tracking device on your boat.”

“Why my boat?”

“We only took Shadow Chaser to Dominica last time.”

“Shit,” Cole said. He grabbed the small anchor out of Riley’s dinghy and buried it in the black sand and pebbles above the tide line. “I’d much rather be out there helping Theo rig up the ROV. And searching my boat for a god damned bug.” Cole stood up, brushed the sand off his hands and stared out into the bay. “That’s a mighty big search area out there, though.”

“My point exactly. We don’t have time to search it all.”

Shadow Chaser had arrived in Soufriere Bay before 3:00 a.m., and the guys had been up and starting their search grid towing the proton magnetometer over the bottom when she motored into the bay at dawn, then anchored. Afterwards, she’d crawled into her bunk for a few precious hours of shut-eye. When Riley finally pulled alongside in her dinghy four hours later, the guys had agreed to reel in the magnetometer’s fish and drop the hook so Cole could accompany her to shore.

“Come on, Cole. One hour, okay? That’s all I’m asking.” The man was exasperating. He’d been fighting her on this issue ever since she’d picked him up in her dinghy.

“Dammit, Riley, this is the closest I’ve been. I feel it. I know this is where my father sent us.” He pointed to the cone shaped island to the south. “Scott’s Head is a tombolo. He wanted us to come right here to this bay. It’s plenty deep enough for a sub out there.”

“I know all that, Cole, but what’s the likelihood a submarine sank right off the beach out there in Soufriere Bay and nobody on shore saw a thing? Besides, what would she have been doing here?”

He threw his hands into the air. “How the hell do I know? Something happened on board that boat when they left Bermuda maybe. I don’t know what. Mutiny? Hell, this is more than five hundred miles away from where she was supposed to be. I don’t know why she was here, but if James Thatcher is telling me she’s here, I believe him.”

Yeah, Riley thought, your dead father is telling you what to do, and now my dead brother is telling me to go visit somebody in the village – and to make sure Cole comes along. “Cole,” she said. “This is one of the hottest dive spots on the island. If there was a three hundred and sixty foot submarine out there with a hold full of gold, trust me, somebody would have found it by now – even way out there where it’s over six hundred feet deep.” She turned away and climbed up the soft sand embankment that led up to the paved road. At the road, she turned. He still stood on the beach, his feet planted far apart, his fists clenched at his sides.