Ark Angel - Anthony Horowitz [70]
And his supply was now down to 650 psi. The needle was only a millimetre above the red.
Alex was cold. He had never been so cold in his life. The wetsuit should have been trapping some warmth for him but his hands and arms were turning blue. There was no sunlight in the hold. He was at the bottom of the sea. But it was more than that. Alex knew he was going to die. He would be found floating in this hellish place, surrounded by rusting machinery and memories of a war long over. This time there was no way out.
500 psi.
How had that happened? Had he somehow missed the last two minutes – two precious minutes when he had so few left? Alex forced himself to think. Was there anything else in the hold that he could use? Maybe the ship had been carrying artillery shells. He had seen an anti-aircraft gun on the deck. Could he perhaps blow his way out of here?
He began to search desperately for ammunition. As he did so he felt something in his throat and knew that it was becoming more difficult to breathe. His air supply was finally running out. He wondered if he would faint before he drowned. It seemed completely unfair. By a miracle, he had survived an assassin’s bullet in London. And was it just for this? For another even worse death just a few weeks later?
Something grey flashed past one of the windows. A large fish. A shark? Alex felt a sense of total despair. Even if by some miracle he did find a way out, the creature would be waiting for him. Perhaps it already knew he was there. In just a few brief seconds, his situation had become doubly hopeless.
But then he saw the grey shape again and with a shock of disbelief realized that it wasn’t a shark at all. It was a diver in a wetsuit.
Someone was looking for him.
He had to force himself not to cry out. He kicked hard with his fins and reached the last window just as the diver was about to swim by. Alex’s arm pushed through the jagged gap and he caught hold of the diver’s leg. The diver twisted round.
Brown hair floating loose. Blue eyes full of worry behind the mask that covered them. The diver hovered on the other side of the window, and Alex recognized Tamara Knight.
Desperately he made the distress signal that he had been taught years before, chopping with his hand in front of his throat. Out of air. Help! He was finding it more and more difficult to breathe, straining to draw what was left in his tank, aware that his lungs were never more than half filled. Tamara reached into the pocket of her BCD and pulled something out. She passed it through the window. Alex was confused. He was holding one of Paul Drevin’s inhalers. What good was that? Then he realized she must have taken it from his room. It was the gadget Smithers had given him in New York. How had she known about it?
And would it work underwater?
Dizzy, barely in control, Alex swam over to the chained door. He had to struggle to remember how the inhaler worked. Twist the cylinder twice clockwise. Why hadn’t Tamara set it off herself? Of course, she couldn’t. It was fingerprint sensitive. Alex had to do it. Breathe! Now the inhaler was armed. He rested it on the chain, then swam back further into the hold.
10 psi. The needle on his air gauge didn’t have much further to travel.
The door blew open. There was a ball of flame, instantly extinguished, and Alex felt the shock wave hit him, throwing him against the truck. He wasn’t breathing any more; there was nothing left to breathe. Where was Tamara? Alex had assumed that there was a way out through the next hold, but what if he was wrong?
Everything was going black. Either the blast had knocked him out or he was suffocating.
But then he felt Tamara’s arms around him. She was pulling his regulator out of his mouth. It was useless, and he let it go. He felt something touch his lips and realized she had given him a second regulator, the octopus attached to her own tank. He breathed deeply and felt the rush of air into his lungs. It was a wonderful sensation.
They stayed