He glanced to the harbor and pier. There were a few docked boats, but no chopper and no blue-and-yellow police cars. If and when they showed up, they weren’t going to be much use, though—not out here and not unless they requisitioned a boat.
He carefully steered the boat around the buoyed dive site and called out to the captain as he approached. The figure didn’t budge from his seat at the wheel until Dean was practically next to him.
From the tapping foot on the rail, Dean figured out why.
The kid broke out into a smile and pulled the headphones from his ears. “Hey, man. I didn’t hear you. What’s up?”
Dean cut the engine. “How long have they been down there?”
The kid was startled by his tone, and had probably gotten a look at Dean’s expression. “What’s wrong?”
“How long?” Dean repeated.
“Thirty minutes. What’s going on?” he repeated.
Dean didn’t have time to explain. “Do you have an acoustic diver-recall system?”
“A what?”
That was a no. Dean wasn’t surprised, given the cost. “Find me a wrench.”
Dean reached over to grab one of the dive boat lines and used it to draw his boat close enough to jump on board.
The kid had hustled to do his bidding and was back in a minute with the wrench.
“Start banging on the side,” Dean said. He took a sniper position, kneeling behind the port-side rail, and pulled out his gun. He didn’t want any of the divers to see him first.
The banging stopped. “What the fuck?” the kid said, his voice shaky. “Who are you? What are you going to do?”
“Stop someone from being murdered. The police will fill you in when they arrive, but until then bang like your life depends on it.”
Dean wasn’t sure whether it was his words or the gun that convinced him, but the kid banged. And banged. One by one the divers surfaced. He counted six. It was hard to identify anyone with only mask- and hood-covered heads popping out of the water like seals—the animal kind—but Dean knew Annie wasn’t one of them.
An older guy had swum over to the ladder and pulled off his mask as he came on board. “What’s going on?” he said to the kid.
The kid turned to Dean, who stood and walked into the man’s view while sticking his gun in the waist of his jeans. He addressed the older guy. “Where is Annie?”
The older guy turned and scanned the water. “She and Sofie must still be in the wreck. Why?”
Dean wasn’t answering. “I need a tank,” he said to the kid.
“They’re all being used.”
“You don’t have a backup?”
“We had one, but one of the divers had to use it. His hose got cut somehow.”
Dean swore. The panic was starting to claw. He strode over to where the older man had just climbed aboard the boat. “Give me your tank.”
“Not until you tell me—”
He stopped when Dean pulled out the gun. Dean was out of patience. “Give me your tank now.”
The old guy was defiant. “I’m not going to let you hurt one of those women.”
Dean cursed. Of course, he had to be the English hippie who decided to play brave knight. “I’m trying to save one of them. The police will explain everything when they arrive, but you need to give me that tank.”
Dean didn’t know whether it was him or the approaching sound of sirens, but the old guy shrugged off the tanks and handed them over.
