Дэвид Балдаччи - No Man's Land

His air nearly gone, he turned to look back at her.

Her eyes were fluttering as the hypoxia took over.

In another moment their mouths would open and the water would rush in, fill their lungs, and that would be that.

He stopped pushing and turned to her, traced her jaw with his finger.

And then Puller held her tight.

And they died.

ANY MOMENT NOW he thought his head would explode.

Paul Rogers wiped at his eyes and refocused.

Building Q was across the street. He was hidden in a large clump of bushes.

He had decided he would stay here until he saw Claire Jericho walk either in or out of the place. And when she did he knew exactly what he was going to do.

If she didn’t, he was going to head to North Carolina and torture Josh Quentin until he had what he needed to get to Jericho.

It was getting dark now and he had watched workers leaving over the course of about two hours.

Jericho and Josh Quentin were not among them.

The guards made their patrols and Rogers kept his vigil.

Then around nine o’clock he saw the car pull down the street, pass his hiding place, and turn into the gate. It was directed to a parking space next to the gate.

He tensed as the two people got out.

One was the tall guy. Puller with CID. An Army cop. He was with a woman. They were led into the building by a guard.

“Son of a bitch,” muttered Rogers. So Puller was working with them. He was probably reporting to Jericho right now his interaction with Rogers, his dismantling of a team of killers at the bar. Jericho would know now that Rogers had returned.

Puller and the woman were spies for her.

Rogers rubbed at the spot on his head so hard that he could feel some of his scalp peel away. It started to bleed. He took no note of it. It didn’t matter.

He settled back in his hiding place and waited.

Less than thirty minutes later, Puller and the woman came out and got into the car. They didn’t drive off right away but just sat there.

Rogers couldn’t see their expressions from this distance, but he figured they must be feeling pretty good right about now. He imagined Jericho rewarding them somehow for having put her on to him.

He ran to his van and climbed in when they started their vehicle.

He dropped in behind them with his headlights off as they passed by where his van was parked, hidden by the corner of a building.

They drove out the main road leading out of the fort.

Rogers debated what to do. He could punch the gas and ram them, overpower them, and make them tell him what they had told Jericho. He thought he might do that before they reached the small downtown area just over the causeway.

He was just about to hit the gas when he stared straight ahead, amazed at what Puller was doing.

The car shot forward.

Has he spotted me? Is he trying to get away? Is the woman dialing Jericho right now? Will the choppers soon be appearing in the sky?

He started to accelerate when the sedan cut a sharp left, almost flipping over, hit a slight rise in the earth, and sailed over the wall and into the channel.

Rogers skidded to a stop and watched from his van as the car immediately began to sink.

What the hell is going on?

The car disappeared from view, a slight frothing of the water the only sign that it had been on the surface moments before.

As he watched his thoughts whirled.

Okay, they’re dead. That’ll save me the trouble.

But then something else occurred to him.

Puller saved my life. But I didn’t ask for his help. I owe him nothing.

Shit.

Rogers counted off three seconds in his head and then kicked the van door open, leapt out, ran straight toward the channel, jumped high in the air, and dove into the water after taking a lungful of air.

It was very dark down here, but he was following the vertical current caused by the bulk of the descending vehicle.

He was moving so fast his head nearly collided with the top of the sedan.

He felt along the edges and then downward until his fingers closed around the door handle. It was partially open but the pressure of the water wouldn’t let it move another inch.

Through the window he could make out two figures inside. He couldn’t tell for sure, but they seemed to be facing each other.

Rogers planted his feet against the rear door of the car, gripped the front door handle with both hands, and gave a titanic tug.

The door opened fully.

He reached inside and grabbed Puller’s arm and next the waist of the woman. He didn’t know if they were unconscious or even alive. But if they were still alive they wouldn’t be for long unless he got them out of the water.

He kicked off hard to the surface. A few moments later he broke it cleanly and hauled them up, one on his right, one on his left. He used his legs to kick to shore, careful to hold their faces out of the water.

Both were wheezing and spitting up water, but their eyes remained closed and they made no move to free themselves from his grip or try to swim on their own.

He set them both on land. Then he rose, dripping wet, and examined them more closely.

Puller was breathing hard. He turned to the side and upchucked water. When his eyes fluttered and he looked like he might try to sit up, Rogers reached down, gripped his neck, and gave a squeeze firm enough to cut off a substantial part of his airflow. The weakened Puller gave a shudder and passed out.

Rogers turned to the woman. Her eyes were closed and she did not appear to be conscious. He checked to make sure she was breathing and then effortlessly lifted her over one shoulder and used his free hand to grab Puller by the scruff of his jacket. Carrying the woman and dragging the large Puller like he weighed only as much as a child, he got them over the wall and hurried over to the van.

He loaded them both in the back, climbed in, and gave a long searching look in all directions. He saw no one.

He leapt into the back of the van and checked the pulse of each, just to be sure. He was afraid he might have squeezed Puller’s throat a little too firmly. But he found that both were alive and breathing, though the woman turned to the side and threw up, as had Puller, before slumping back, unconscious.

Rogers used some rope from the back of the van to securely tie them. Then he closed the driver’s door, put the van in gear, and drove off.

HE WAS DEAD.

And he knew she was dead because he had watched her die.

But dead people were not capable of thinking, were they?

Puller slowly lifted his head and looked around.

Tools, shelves, ropes, and the smells of paint, oil, and old food met him head-on.

To his left was Knox, her eyes still closed, but she was breathing.

Puller shook his head clear with difficulty.

How was this possible?

The car. The water. The last breaths.

He had been prepared to die.

He thought he had died.

Then he realized he was tied up.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He felt the fingers grip and then dig slightly into his skin.

Puller felt the otherworldly strength in those fingers.

He shook his head again and felt that same grip on his arm, pulling him from a car submerged in thirty feet of water.

The hands lifted him up and turned him around so the men were facing each other.

He looked up into the countenance of Paul Rogers, though he only knew the man as Paul.

Rogers’s features were rigid, though Puller could see momentary flashes of pain, represented by grimaces, flit across the man’s features.

“You got us out of the water,” said Puller.

Rogers rubbed the back of his head but said nothing.