I’d heard of drug smugglers building their own submarines and using them to get their product into the US, but I’d never thought someone might use one to smuggle across Lake Michigan. The Coast Guard boat we’d seen made sense, now. Grushin hadn’t wanted their patrol routes from Yakov so he could avoid the Coast Guard, it was so the submarine could sail right behind them, in their sonar blind spot.
The men above me were laughing and joking in Russian while they waited for the people on board to unseal the hatch. They weren’t in any hurry...but I was already starting to get tired. There was only about an inch of air between the surface of the water and the underside of the catwalk, so I couldn’t tread water normally. I had to arch my back and half-lie so that my lips stayed above water, and that made it very hard to kick downwards and stay afloat. If I could have grabbed the edge of the catwalk and clung on, I would have been okay, but I didn’t dare: if one of the men glanced down and saw my fingers, we were dead. Worst of all, the submarine had churned the water up, and every few seconds, a wave would fill the gap beneath the catwalk and swamp me completely, cutting off my air. I was already getting tired.
That’s when I had a horrible realization: no one was coming to rescue us. Gennadiy had told Valentin to stay put. They wouldn’t have been able to see the submarine arrive. They had no idea we were in trouble.
To take my mind off the tiredness, I focused on what was going on. A hatch had opened in the top of the submarine, and a bearded man threw ropes to men on the catwalk to hold the thing in place. He gingerly climbed out, down a ladder, and across a makeshift gangplank to the catwalk.The cargo will be next…
But then a woman in her twenties appeared, looking around fearfully. As she climbed down the ladder, another woman emerged from the hatch.Jesus, it’s sex trafficking.Grushin was selling Russian women to American men.
Then a boy emerged, no older than ten.What?And then a man in his thirties.What the hell is going on?
I was getting seriously tired, now, my thighs burning fromkeeping me afloat. Every time a wave broke over my face, my body went into panic mode, and I had to force myself not to scramble out from under the catwalk to breathe.Just a few more minutes. That must be almost all of them.
But the people kept coming. Mostly men, but some women and a few children. Nine of them in all. Nine people, plus the pilot, plus a couple of men with guns who came out last. The submarine wasn’t big: they must have been packed in like cattle. I tried to imagine being stuck in the windowless metal tube for the hours it must have taken to cross from Canada, knowing that a single leak or fault in the homemade engineering would send you straight to the bottom of the lake...and that no one would even know to look for you. I shuddered.
I was praying that once all the people were out, everyone would leave. But apparently, there was a whole procedure for shutting down the submarine and making it safe, and the men weren’t in any hurry.I started to really panic: my muscles were cramping, and my legs felt like lead. I looked across the warehouse to see how Gennadiy was doing. Helooked to be suffering, too, but at least on his side, without any men around, he could wrap his fingers around the edge of the catwalk to rest his legs occasionally. His eyes were locked on me, willing me to keep going.
And I did, while the pilot climbed back aboard and vented gas and closed valves and then scribbled notes on a notepad. But then my left leg really started to cramp and—come on, come on—now the pilotwas fixing the rubber seal on the edge of the hatch—come on, please! —and then another wave hit me in the face, and I needed so badly to cough, but I didn’t dare, and my lungs were burning?—
My muscles cramped again, and this time, I sank. As the catwalk moved away from me, I panicked and clawed my way upward, swimming with one leg. I managed to get a gulp of air, but after a few seconds, the adrenaline rush faded, and my limbs felt as heavy as lead. The men were finally leaving.Just another minute!But then a wave came out of nowhere and went up my nose, and I was choking on lake water?—
I sank again. This time, when I clawed, my muscles didn’t haveenough energy to get me to the surface. For a moment, I hung in place, thrashing but not moving, using up what air I had left. Then everything went black, and I was sinking down and down and down.
54
GENNADIY
I could see her weakening,see the waves mercilessly smacking her in the face, but I couldn’t do anything to help. If I swam out from under my catwalk, the men would see me and kill us both. I had to hang there, watching the strength fade from her, and it was agony.
It took me straight back to another time, two decades ago, when I’d had to stand and watch helplessly, and the guilt burned even through the anger, searing my soul from the inside out.
She sank, and my heart almost stopped. Then she recovered, and I breathed again. My eyes were darting non-stop between Alison and the men: they were packing up, getting ready to go…
She started to sink again.
The last of the men turned away, and before he’d even reached the stairs, I’d let go of the catwalk and pushed off hard, swimming as fast as I could for the other side of the warehouse. With the submarine in the way, I couldn’t go straight across: I had to curve around it. My legs were already aching from treading water, but I ignored the pain and kicked, wishing I didn’t have my suit flapping around me.
I reached the back of the submarine and turned, heading straightfor Alison’s catwalk.Where is she?She must have slipped under the surface?—
The lights went out.
I froze for a second. I hadn’t thought of that: of course, when the men left, they’d turn the lights off. And with no moonlight, it wasn’t just dark, it wasblack. Blyat’! I started swimming again. All I could do was keep going and hope I was still heading in the right direction.Where is it? I should be there by now…
My hand whacked into the metal catwalk, hard enough that any other time I’d have yelled. But I was too busy feeling along it, sweeping my arms underneath to find her,frantic. “Alison!Alison!”
My hands clawed at nothing. She wasn’t there.
I took a lungful of air and dived, going straight down from the catwalk, arms sweeping around me, praying for a touch of her hair, a brush of fabric, anything.
Nothing. I dived deeper, hysterical.I’ve lost her. Oh, Jesus, she’s gone.
And then my fingers dug into muddy grit. I’d reached the bottom.No, no, no, please?—
Something bumped my leg, I twisted around, and grabbed at it. Fingers. A hand. I squeezed.
It didn’t squeeze back.
I pulled the body to me, and it was her; I could feel the bun at the back of her head. I kicked for the surface with her hanging limp in my arms.
