Rogue Angel 55: Beneath Still Waters (10 page)

Garin crouched beside her. “You’ve got thirty minutes, no more,” he said. “After that, we’re pulling you out.”

“Understood.”

She gave him the thumbs up, put her regulator into her mouth and then pushed off the ice to drop into the dark water below.

Garin had been right; it
was
pitch-black. The thick cover of snow on the ice above, never mind the late hour, kept even the brilliant illumination cast by the halogen floodlights from reaching her. Hovering there with only the light in her hand to guide her, she felt as if she was all alone in the universe.

Time’s a-wasting
, her inner voice chided and she
listened to it, turning her face downward and kicking hard with her legs.

Down she went, deeper into the gloom.

Her dive light cut through the murk around her for a few feet before being swallowed up again, so she kept her pace slow and steady, moving downward a few feet at a time. At that rate it took her several minutes to descend the one hundred and twenty feet to the bottom of the lake.

She paused, orienting herself, and then pushed off again, cutting through the water like a seal with powerful kicks of her legs in the direction Reinhold’s scan had suggested.

If the data were correct, the plane shouldn’t be more than fifty feet ahead of her.

She was upon it suddenly, the dark shape seeming to materialize out of the gloom as if in response to her presence. Her dive light picked out the port engine first, jutting from the wing’s leading edge, the propeller still intact and covered with hanging strands of algae that moved slightly in the water’s current.

Annja moved a few feet to her left, bringing the rest of the aircraft into view. For a moment, all she could do was hang there in the water, staring in amazement at her discovery.

The plane was surprisingly intact, given that it had crashed into a lake and spent seventy years at the bottom. The cold water had limited the corrosion that the aircraft had suffered, and the damage that she could see appeared more the result of the dogfight with Captain Mitchell and his wingman rather than
a crash landing, controlled or otherwise, into the waters of the lake.

The Junkers had come to rest upright on the bottom of the lake. The landing gear had either failed or broken off when the plane struck the bottom, for the gondola beneath the nose was resting on the lake bottom, canting the plane at a slight angle. The damage to the underside of the craft appeared to be quite minimal, however. It was almost as if the lake waters had risen around the aircraft rather than the aircraft having violently crashed into the water and sunk to the bottom.

Perhaps it had landed on the ice, only to have the ice break away beneath it
, she thought.

It was an interesting puzzle and one Annja wished she had the time to figure out, but sadly that wasn’t the case. She continued her inspection, conscious of the ticking clock marking not only the consumption of her air supply but the encroaching deadline for the project overall.

She kicked upward along the nose, and shone her light into the aircraft’s cockpit.

A grinning face stared back at her from behind the glass.

Annja recoiled and nearly dropped her light, her heart pounding madly in her chest. She could feel herself sucking air out of her regulator at an accelerated pace as adrenaline flooded her system, and she forced herself to calm down and breathe easier so that she wouldn’t hyperventilate.

When she was calmer, she approached the cockpit once more.

This time, prepared for what she would see, the grinning face behind the glass didn’t startle her. She could see that it was actually the skull of the pilot, held in place atop its skeleton by the flight suit and hood that it wore. The skeleton wafted gently in the water. Annja followed the edge of the cockpit back a few feet so that she could look into the aft section. Another skeleton sat in that part of the cockpit, still strapped securely in its seat. At first she thought it was a navigator or gunner, one of the regular crew for a craft of this size, but then she caught sight of the twin lightning bolt insignias pinned to each side of the uniform collar that stuck up beneath the ill-fitting flight suit the corpse wore and realized that she was staring at a member of the Waffen SS.

Curiouser and curiouser
, she thought.

Her research had told her that there were two ways into the aircraft—through the cockpit, where a hatch at the gunner’s feet would allow access to the bomb bay in the underside of the fuselage, or through the gondola access hatch on the underside of the plane. Entering through the cockpit made her a bit uncomfortable since it would mean disturbing the dead. She’d do it if she had to, but first she’d try the gondola hatch.

She floated over to the other side of the fuselage to see if the plane’s angle allowed better access from that position.

If anything, the gondola was buried in even more silt on this side.

Perhaps I can find a hole in the fuselage?

She left the cockpit behind and swam the length of the plane toward the tail. A cold chill passed over her at the sight of the Balkenkreuz, the black cross used as symbol of the various branches of the Germany military, still visible through the corrosion spreading across the aircraft’s wings. Along with the swastika, that cross had become a symbol of the Third Reich known the world over and was not something that Annja looked on with any sense of fondness whatsoever.

As she neared the tail, she dipped over the side of the aircraft to take a look. She was surprised to find the entire plane intact; aside from a few bullet holes the fuselage was still in one piece.

It looked like it was going to be the cockpit after all.

A glance at her dive watch told her that she’d been down there for nearly fifteen minutes. It was time to move things along a bit quicker.

She swam above the aircraft and returned to the cockpit. The rear half of the reinforced glass that covered the pilot and gunner was designed to slide backward, opening the section above both seats. All she had to do was look on the outside of the cockpit for the hatch release lever used by the ground crews and she should be able to open it without too much difficulty.

Placing her hands along the lower seam where the
glass met the metal edge of the cockpit, she carefully slid them along until she found the narrow groove that housed the lever. Her thick diving gloves were almost too big to fit inside, but she was patient and managed to work them through the gap well enough to grasp the handle. When she was satisfied that she had a good grip on it, she turned her face away to protect it from potential debris and gave the handle a good yank.

Nothing happened.

She let it fall back into place and tried again.

And again.

The third time turned out to be the charm as the internal mechanism finally loosened enough to pop the latch securing the canopy, allowing it to open a few inches. Annja reached beneath the edge, got a good grip, then pushed it all the way back until it locked into place, providing an opening immediately above the pilot’s and gunner’s seats.

Annja slipped into the rear section of the cockpit, head downward, being as careful as she could not to disturb the skeleton. Her feet were sticking out of the open canopy above when she reached forward to access the hatch on the floor where the gunner’s feet rested, but that was the only way she could reach it. The door had a handle on it that needed to be turned ninety degrees, and she was worried it might be stuck the way the canopy lever had been. But this one worked without a hitch. Once turned, the hatch fell forward, provided her with room to slip into the narrow access space below.

The short corridor—really just a gap between internal struts and the frame of the aircraft—allowed the gunner to reach the munitions storage compartment in the event that something went disastrously wrong, such as having an armed bomb get hung up on the rack. The gunner could assess the situation and attempt to manually release the weapon from inside the bay, removing the danger from the aircraft. The space was tiny; there was no other word for it. Annja was not a big person, but there was barely enough room for her and the added bulk of her suit and dive tank to slip along its length, her shoulders nearly touching the walls on either side as she went. She was grateful she didn’t suffer from claustrophobia or the route would have been impossible for her to manage.

Reaching the other end, she shone her light into the starboard munitions bay and gasped at what she saw.

In the space where a 500-pound bomb would normally sit was a rectangular stack of gold bars at least three feet wide by two feet high!

She’d guessed what she would find, but guessing it and seeing it sitting there within arm’s reach were two entirely different things, especially when you were talking about a fortune in gold.

She could see a few pieces of rotting wood along the base of the stack and realized that the gold had originally been inside a wooden crate that had slowly rotted away over the years. As the wood dissolved, the gold was slowly revealed until it stood there on its own, still perfectly aligned in the manner in which it had been packed.

Annja rolled over and shone her light into the port bay, only to discover the same thing: stacks of gold bars patiently waiting to be discovered by some lucky soul.

The stack in the port bay was closer to the access tunnel, and Annja was able to reach out and pluck one of the bars from the top of the stack. It was heavy, which somehow made it seem more real to her. When she brought it closer, she could see that there was an image of a crown atop a shield etched into the surface
of the gold brick. She wasn’t positive, but she thought it might be the Hungarian coat of arms.

If it was, that meant that she had located a small portion of the Hungarian national treasury that had gone missing during World War II at the hands of the Nazis.

It was a stunning find.

And one the world would probably never know about, for it was going directly into the hands of a criminal.

No matter
, she thought.
Doug is the important thing. Save him and worry about recovering the gold later, if at all
.

She slipped the gold brick into the bag on her dive belt and was in the process of trying to maneuver herself around to head back the way she had come when the watch on her wrist vibrated.

Ten minutes of air remained.

It was time to head back to the surface. Turning, she began to pull herself back down the access tunnel in the direction that she’d come. It would take a minute or two to exit the aircraft and then a few more to follow the guide wire to the surface; she’d make it without difficulty.

Or so she thought.

The last thing she expected was to reach the end of the access tunnel and find another diver poking about in the front section of the cockpit.

His dive light was secured to the front portion of the canopy and pointing into the cockpit, illuminating the area well enough for her to see by.

At first she thought that Paul or Garin had disobeyed her instructions and had come down with her despite their lack of cold-water diving experience. But then she noticed that the other diver was dressed in a different model of dry suit than the one she wore, which eliminated that theory. All of the gear Garin had purchased had been of the same make and design.

That meant there was a stranger down there with her.

Annja immediately doused her dive light, not wanting to give away her position to the newcomer. She also recognized right away that she couldn’t remain where she was. Getting caught in the access tunnel while her air ran out was not something she intended to experience.

The skeletal remains of the pilot and gunner were gone, apparently tossed out of the cockpit by the newcomer. Annja could see him crouched inside the front section of the cockpit, most likely on the pilot’s seat, but she couldn’t see what he was doing.

Knowing that every second she waited was another second of air she wasted, Annja didn’t hesitate. This was probably going to be her only chance to get out. She reached up, grabbed both sides of the opening to the access tunnel and propelled herself forward with a downward thrust of her arms so that she came floating out of the opening in one smooth motion.

Her sudden appearance, rising up out of the back of the cockpit like a ghost, had to have shocked the other diver, for he started in surprise and dropped whatever it was that he’d been pulling on, giving her
the time she needed to get herself completely clear of the access door. She was close enough now to see that the other diver was a man, but she didn’t have a clue who he might be.

Nor was the other diver going to give her the time to puzzle it out. He recovered from his surprise quickly and did the one thing Annja was hoping he wouldn’t—he launched himself at her over the seats that separated them.

Annja was floating half in and half out of the rear section of the cockpit when the diver’s bulk slammed into her. With nothing for her to brace against, she was forced backward until her tank slammed into the edge of the canopy behind her.

Her assailant raised an arm above his head, and Annja caught the glint of steel as the illumination from his diver’s light reflected off the blade in his hand.

There was no doubt about his intentions at that point.

As the arm came down, Annja swung her own out to block it, striking the inside of the diver’s forearm and forcing the knife off target to hit the canopy beside her.

She didn’t wait for him to recover, but went on the offensive instead, slamming the palm of her other hand directly into his face mask.

Annja knew she didn’t have a hope of breaking the glass of the mask, but that wasn’t what she was after. She did it for the sheer shock value, using his own fear of losing the security of his equipment against
him, and she smiled grimly when he recoiled from her as a result.

That opened up enough space between them for her to do what she really intended.

She reached into the otherwhere and grasped the hilt of her sword, drawing it forth into the real world just as the other diver was preparing to attack her with the knife once more. Instead of an helpless opponent, suddenly the tide was turned and her assailant found himself facing a woman armed with a blade that was four times longer than his own.