Breacher (Tom Keeler Book 2) Jack Lively (important of reading books TXT) 📖

eye now. Three low structures, fenced area, beach, skeleton communication tower tucked back in the bushes. None of it in use, abandoned for years. Then there was the long dock in the middle of the water, about two hundred yards out. I put the binoculars up to get another look. Scanning from left to right I saw nondescript, functional structures. I figured there would be desks and chairs, and in the past, computers and calculating equipment. Maybe a kitchen. One of the buildings was likely to be reserved as quarters. Single rooms for the officers, doubles or more if there had been enlisted men. I could see the reason for the fenced area. A round dome was smack dab in the center of the square of dirt. The dome was white, its surface not quite round, but speckled with flat geometric tiles. Like a die with a thousand faces. That would be a satellite communications rig.

Then I heard a sharp intake of breath from Hank. At the same time, Guilfoyle eased up on the throttle. The engine sound went from hell-bent to idle in less than three seconds. Once the Sea Foam’s throttle cut back, I heard the other boat.

Hank said, “Keeler.”

I put down the binoculars. A powerful zodiac had come around the north side of the island. It was cruising on an interception trajectory. I could make out two men. One of them was at the wheel in back. The second man was standing at the bow, legs wide apart. He was looking at us through a pair of binoculars.

I said, “The guy standing at the bow, did he see me looking?”

Hank said, “I don’t think so. He just got the glass up a second ago.”

“Alright, so take it easy. Let Guilfoyle handle it. They’ll speak to the captain, not us.”

Guilfoyle brought the boat to idle and drift-turned so that he was port side to the incoming zodiac. Hank and I sat on the net like hired help taking a break before the hard work begins. The zodiac was alongside us in a half minute. I raised a hand at the two crew members, who didn’t reciprocate. They were guys in their thirties wearing good practical marine gear.

Guilfoyle came out of the wheelhouse onto the little platform above the ladder. He called out, “Howdy.”

The guy at the wheel cut back on the throttle so that the zodiac remained in place. The other guy standing on the bow called out to Guilfoyle. “Government property. Got to ask you to keep your distance. Three hundred yards is the limit. Be happier if you kept off four hundred.”

Guilfoyle nodded vigorously. “No problem. Didn’t know it was still government property. What am I, five hundred yards out now, thereabouts?”

The guy didn’t respond. Guilfoyle said, “We’re gonna set for two and we’ll be out of here. I need the depth so I want to come in about a hundred yards more. Give or take. We’ll stay clear of your perimeter.”

The guy didn’t say anything but eyeballed the boat hard. Then he nodded briefly, almost imperceptibly. The zodiac driver got the signal. He gunned past us and banked around in a tight U-turn. They came roaring by again, skimming the water. The zodiac drifted into an idle at two hundred yards. The men both turned to watch, waiting for us to change tack.

Guilfoyle came down the ladder, walked out on to the stern, and stood with one foot on a pile of webbing, like he was briefing us on the work. He said, “So we’ve got issues.”

I said, “What did you mean by needing the depth?”

“There is a reason the Navy chose Bell Island. It’s got an unusually deep approach.”

Hank said, “I wonder how they spotted us coming in? Kind of touchy, if you ask me.”

I said, “Very touchy. Either a lookout, or electronic sensors.”

Hank said, “How would they do that?”

Guilfoyle said, “Buoys beneath the surface. Seeded a couple of miles around the base.”

I said, “Which makes me curious, Hank. I want to go up on that island, that’s for damn sure.”

He said, “But how are you going to do that now?”

“You know how to drive a boat?”

He said, “Basics, yes.”

“You’re driving the skiff.” I looked at Guilfoyle. “Can you handle the net by yourself?”

He shrugged. “Not my favorite thing to do, but in a pinch, yes.”

I said, “I’m going to need to borrow your dive gear.”

A ripple of worry passed over Guilfoyle’s face. Like every fishing boat, the Sea Foam carried basic diving equipment. This was in case of any tangles with the net and propeller, or other problems beneath the surface. But it was rarely used.

Guilfoyle said, “To be honest, Keeler, I’m embarrassed to say that I’m not entirely sure the dive gear is in order.”

“It’s in order, Guilfoyle.”

“How do you know?”

“I know because I checked and made sure it was. The weight belt clamp was cracked, but I changed it out.”

“When did you do that?”

“Back in Seattle.”

After four months, Guilfoyle knew significant parts of my biography. So he kept quiet. He had nothing more to add to the conversation.

I turned to Hank. “Once we’re set up, I’m going to lie down in the skiff so they don’t see me. Guilfoyle, you’ll screen us with the big boat when we board the skiff. Hank’s going to drive it and tow the net.” Hank was just looking at me, open mouth. I said, “You’ll be fine. Just get me as close as possible to the island. The less swimming I need to do, the better. Then I’m going over for a look around. I want to see what’s out there.”

Hank said, “Shit, you sure that’s safe?”

I ignored that and lifted my chin to Guilfoyle. “What’s with the floating dock?”

Guilfoyle said, “Submarine dock.”

I nodded. “What I thought. Is that because of the depth here?”

Guilfoyle nodded. “That’s right. Trench runs parallel to the beach there. Starts a hundred yards out, ends about where we are now.”

“So a sub can cruise up, enter the trench and dock.