An hour or more had gone by and he needed to get out of the water, had to get above the incoming tide. They’d stripped his clothes down to his shorts, had taken a knife, a second gun, the telelocator off him. How long would it take Douglas to figure out that someone else was running the Zodiac? He’d get sus-picious when the calls didn’t go through, but when would they start searching the caves? Get up, he thought, get off the sand and on the rock as high as you can. He lifted his head, staring into the darkness, head throbbing and not thinking clearly, his body trem-bling with cold. He could make out the cave entrance but there was little light. Pushed off with his heels, dug them into the sand, used the rocks to help pull himself up and then fell again. Fought his way back up as a wave ran as high as his knees.
There’d been a rock ledge near here when he’d swept his light across. If he could find it, maybe there was a way to get onto it. Four feet higher would buy a lot of time and sooner or later they’d come here. He got to his feet, his back resting against the rock, breath coming in gasps. Had to get out of here, had to get high enough to last through the changing tide. Where was Douglas? What was taking so long? He pressed against wet rock, leaned into it, hopped sideways, working his way along.
She’s on a boat, the crew’s favorite, the Irishman said. Then she’s alive. She’s alive and can be found. He felt the gap in the stone now, leaned his head into the hollow. How deep was the ledge? No way to tell, and he tried jumping up and sliding onto the rock. Got partway onto the shelf and slid out, fell on his back on the sand, his shoulder striking a rock. He lay there, numbed. A wave touched his legs and he rolled to his side, got on his knees again, to his feet, tried again, fell again. On the fourth try he finally got enough of his weight onto the ledge. He rested and inched forward, praying there was enough room, that his shoulder wouldn’t brush rock too soon.
But there was plenty of room. The shelf was deep and worn smooth by the ocean. Marquez slid toward the back and lay on his side, watching for light, moving his legs and feet to fight the cold, trying to keep his fingers from going numb as another half hour or more passed. Waves finished against the rock now, spray reached him, and where was the Zodiac now? Why was it taking Douglas so long to backtrack?
Then he saw light but not from a boat, something surfacing in the cave, another diver, he thought, and slid against the back wall. The light came closer, moved toward him, and he heard rubber, the snap of a mask, a man’s hard exhale lost as a wave came in. The light had vanished and Marquez strained to hear, knew the diver was on the small beach where the Irishman had left him. Now he heard the tanks clank against rock, saw a beam of light working low along the water to his left and then quickly turned off.
“Where are you?” a voice said, but the light didn’t come back on.
Afraid to leave the light on, Marquez thought. Looking for me and surprised I wasn’t where they left me. The light scanned again, this time the beam reaching closer. He heard the air tanks clank against the rock again, the rip of Velcro, the man reposition-ing himself, and briefly the light was on again. When it clicked off Marquez got ready. The next pass would reach him. He brought his knees up, thought he’d try to kick out, drive his legs into the man’s chest.
Then without warning, the sound masked by rough water at the cave entrance, there was a boat motor and a searchlight played along the walls. Marquez slid forward as the boat turned around. He heard a hard splash and the boat swept into the cave, its lights raking across him.
“Identify yourself.”
“Marquez,” he shouted. “Watch out! There’s someone in the water under you! Don’t let the diver get away, stay with his light!” But either they couldn’t hear him or didn’t understand. And then there were arms grabbing him and they struggled to get him aboard.
“Do we have her?” Marquez asked. “Do we have her?”
“No.”
“Stay with the light, there was a diver,” and a blanket was wrapped around him, a woman telling him they couldn’t do any-thing about the cuffs yet as they tried to pick up the light outside the cave, and a search began along the beach.
“We’ll find him,” he heard the boat’s pilot say, but he knew they wouldn’t. He’d lost the money and they had nothing. He leaned over the side looking down into the dark water. Who was the diver? Was it Kline?