Three Weeks Last Spring (30 page)

John watched Skye's inner struggle and noticed how her fingers had tightened on the ar
m
of her seat as the huge plane lifted off the runway.
Inwardly, he let out a sigh of relief.
Skye was back under his protection and he was going to make sure nothing like this ever happened to her again.
And if that bastard dared to come looking for her, he
would have
to get past him first, and he wasn't about to make Walker's job easy.
Once safely back in London he
woul
d do everything in his power to ensure Skye forgot the two Americans who had so nearly ruined her life.
He reached across the small table between their seats, and took her hand, linking his
strong fingers in hers.

"Try to relax,
and
get some rest.
I'll let you know when they serve dinner.
Do you want a brandy to help settle you?"

Skye didn't drink when flying, but perhaps a small brandy would help take the chill out of her bones an
d ease the misery in her heart.

"I couldn't face another meal, but a drink might help me sleep."

Although clearly exhausted, Skye's body fought against sleep, her mind a maelstrom of thoughts and memories, depriving her of the rest she so badly needed.
The further the plane flew, the paler her face became, the circles beneath her eyes darkening with each passing mile.
She sensed she was near to emotional collapse, but steadfastly refused to give in to the overwhelming anguish.
Somewhere over Canada, tota
lly exhausted, she fell asleep.

John covered her with a blanket, turned out the overhead light and for the first time since seeing her with Walker, he relaxed.

The helicopter had been circling over the
Rosario Queen's
last position for fifteen minutes, the powerful spotlight searching the surface of the sea.
McCabe's eyes burned with the effort of staring at the water, his body tense with apprehension.
He was too late, damn it!
He'd called it wrong.
Walker must still be on the freighter, now miles away to the north.
By the time the helicopter
refueled
on Whidbey, she'd be even further way.
He turned away from the cabin door and rubbed his eyes, his expression dark
ening to an unreadable emotion.

The suddenly the winch man called out.

"There!
About thirty yards off our por
t side I think I see something"

The pilot brought the large machine down into the hover.
McCabe pushed his way to the port window and focused all his attention on the s
pot the young airman indicated.

"Can you see it?
There's something f
loating in the water."

Try as he might McCabe couldn't see anything out of th
e ordinary.
He shook his head.

"You're mistaken, there's nothing out there, damn it!
Pass me those night vision goggles
.
I
f there's
something
out there, they'll pick up the body heat."
He snatched them out of the airman's hand, and turned his head away from the window just long enough to pull them over his head.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the eerie green light.
He
scanned the surface of the sea.

"There's nothing out there.
I can't see a damned—"
Just then the moon appeared through the clouds and cast a ghos
t-like shadow on the water and…
Yes!
God damn it there was something in the water.
He could make out the shape of an object as it floated just below the surface.
It gave off a faint heat trace and so it couldn't be one of the
barrels
he and Walker had seen loaded on the freighter, but he wasn't convinced it was a body either.
The heat trace became fainter.

"It's
a damned porpoise, you idiot."

He pulled off
the goggles and
his headset and threw
them
on the floor of the cabin.
It was hopeless, like searching for a single fish in a shoal of thousands!
If Walker wasn't on that freighter, and his gut told him he wasn't, then he could be anywhere in this huge ocean.
It was an enormous area to search with just one helicopter and time was fast running out.
Without the proper equipment no one could expect to spend more than half an hour—three-quarters at the outside—in
the icy cold water and survive.

He glanced at his watch, and did some quick math.
The tide was on the turn.
The strong current could carry Walker's body to Alaska and back before it was found.
He had no way of knowing if these unscrupulous bastards hadn't tied Walker to one of the
barrels
before throwing him overboard, or worse, killed him.
Whichever, the outcome would be the same
;
Walker's body would be
lying
on the ocean floor along with the bottom feeders.
They could search till Doomsday a
nd never find any trace of him.

One of the crewmen mouthed something to McCabe and indicated his watch.
He guessed the young airman was indicating that the large machine was nearly out of fuel and would be returning to Whidbey to refuel.
McCabe leaned closer, and lifted the airman's ear protectors.

"I don't care if this damned machine is running on fumes, tell the pilot to go round one more time!"

"But, Sir—"

"DO IT!"

McCabe watched as the young airman keyed his mike.
He didn't care if they had to ditch the bird in the sea; he wanted to be one hundred and ten percent certain Walker was not in the water before they left the area.

The pilot did as requested, and took the helicopter in for one more circuit of the search area.
The downwash from the helicopter’s rotors flattened the wave tops and kicked up spray.
McCabe rubbed the ache in his temples, and wiped away the imaginary grit in his eyes before pulling on his
headset and
night goggles once more.
He took up position in front of the starboard window, and
stared out into the blackness.

Up in the cockpit, the co-pilot held his breath, and offered a silent prayer to the patron saint of pilots, his eyes never leaving the fuel gauge, the indicator
already well into the red zone.

McCabe had to admire the skill of the two pilots as they held the huge machine steady with nothing to guide them but the instruments.
It seemingly hung in the sky, held by some invisible thread, impervious to the elements, the only controlling factors being their skill an
d the amount of fuel remaining.

McCabe's jaw clenched, his lips compressing into a thin line.
The pilot's less than calm voice filled his headset.

"Sir, I have no choice.
We have to break off the search
now
, otherwise
we won't make it back to base."

McCabe bowed his head in defeat.
Although anxious for his friend, he couldn't justify putting five other lives at risk by expecting the pilot to continue searching when fuel was so dangerously low.

"Break off and head for Whidbey, but tell the boys on the ground that I want this bird
refueled
and back in the air in under five minutes
.
"

The pilot acknowledged the transmission.
He gained height, and banked slightly to the
right in readiness to peel off.

"There!
About twenty feet off our port side, I've got a heat trace.
It's…it's a body.
Yeah, it's definitely a body!"

McCabe shoved the man roughly aside.
By God, this time he was right.
In the powerful glare of the searchlight, he could clearly see the outline of a body in the water.
He
secured his
safety line, and stood back as the diver opened the door and clipped his harness to the winch cable before easing himself out and i
nto the blackness of the night.

Slowly, all too slowly, the c
able paid out, lowering the wet
suit-clad diver closer and closer to the sea, until finally he disappeared from view under the belly of the aircraft.
McCabe held his breath as the pilot delicately
man
o
euvered
the large machine, holding it stationary less than fifty feet above the rising
waves
.
The winch man lay on the floor of the cabin, his body half out of the open doorway, his hand steadying the cable, his voice calm and steady, as he guided the diver and the pi
lot, ever closer to the target.

McCabe hardly dared hope, and for eight long minutes the only sound that filled his head, was the powerful beat of the helicopter's rotors.
There was an urgent string of commands in his headset and the remaining crew leapt into action.

"What's happening?
Has he reached him?
Is it Walker?
Is he alive?
God
damn it!
Someone talk to me!"

But McCabe’s questions went unanswered.
He watched as inch by inch the cable was winched in.
Unable to bear the tension, he leaned out of the doorway as far as he dare, the only thing between him and certain death being the thin line
attached to his safety harness.

In the moonlight he could make out the form of the diver emerging from the sea.
McCabe turned away from the doorway, unable to watch the unfolding scene, fear, stark and vivid in his face, for in the second harness he'd seen the unmistakable shape of a li
mp and seemingly lifeless body.

All hell let loose as the diver appeared in the doorway of the aircraft.
W
illing hands reached out and dra
gged him and the unconscious form into the cabin.
The crew worked as a well-oiled machine, their actions honed by years of training.
Anxious as he was to see if it was Walker, McCabe stayed out of their way, knowing that in this situation his presence would be a
hindrance rather than of help.

Within seconds the bonds securing the inert form's hands were cut and the body rolled on to its back.
Resuscitation equipment and blankets appeared from nowhere, as the crew medic set about clearing the airway
,
and putting a line into a vein.

The tension was unbearable, and resting a hand on an airman's shoulder, McCabe gently pushed him aside, just long enough to get a glimpse of the body's corpse-like face.
He staggered backwards, blindly search
ing for something to hold onto.

Walker appeared to be in a catatonic state, his face grey and ghost-like.
His lips had an odd blue tinge about them, and where McCabe had briefly touched him, his body had felt colder than an Alaskan winter.
He couldn’t tell if Walker was breathing—his chest barely
rose and fell with the effort.

McCabe did his best to hold hi
s emotions in check, but failed. T
ears
ran
silently down his weatherworn face.
He slumped to the cabin floor and put his head in his hands, experiencing a mixture of uncontrollable rage,
fear and unbelievable sadness.

Walker
looked as though he were dead.

It was his fault!

A raw and primitive grief overwhelmed
him
.
The crew continued
to work on Walker, trying to breathe life into his lifeless form.
They
stripped his body of its wet clothing, wrapped
him
in blankets, adding a heat retaining space blanket as a final covering.
A drip was attached to one arm and a heart monitor to his chest, although it
barely register
ed
a beat.

The pilot came over the radio.

"Whidbey want to know what we've got and the patient's status."

In response, the medic started calling out Walker
's vital signs.

"Tell them we're bringing in a male, approximately six feet tall, one hundred and eighty pounds.
Unconscious, pupils fixed and dilated, no discernable output, with a body temperature of less than ninety-four degrees.
CPR commenced.
Ask them to have a full cardiac-pulmonary resuscitation team standing by, including a surgeon experienced in cardio-pulmonary bypass techniques and an emergency operating room.
He has a head injury requiring a CT scan."

"What's the point?
Can't you all see he's dead?"
McCabe said.
A hand descended o
n his shoulder.

"He's still in with a chance,
s
ir.
In circumstances such as these, the body kind of shuts down—the technical term is hypoxemia.
It's similar to hypothermia.
The body loses
heat;
the heart rate slows, as does the respiratory rate.
Cold-water near-drowning can be survivable
. I
n some cases
,
people who've been submersed in very cold water for as long as an hour can be fully resuscitated.
"
He nodded towards Walker’s inert form.
"
In his case there's been a cessation of breathing."

"He's dead.
He's dead and it's my fault!"

"No, sir, he's not dead
,
at least not yet.
He's in cardiac arrest, but we've started CPR.
His body temperature has dropped a little since we've picked him up, but that's only to be expected.
We call it ‘afterdrop.’
We've removed all his wet clothes and have heat pads around his body.
He's wrapped in blankets.
The doctors at Whidbey are experienced in dealing with near-drowning victims.
Once we land they'll put him on cardiac-pulmonary bypass to re-oxygenate his blood.
They have other techniques for raising his body temperature too.
How he responds depends a great deal on how long he's been unconscious and in the water.
Don't give up hope yet."