Don Pendleton - Doom Prophecy

A knife scythed through the water and deflected off his body armor, Kevlar and water resistance teaming up to save Encizo from being instantly gutted. The swarthy Cuban diving expert pulled his own Cold Steel Tanto knife from its sheath and in a single fluid motion raked the chisel-shaped tip across the face of the killer. The enemy diver thrashed violently as the blade carved through one cheek between his teeth and out the other. An explosion of bubbles and black blood spiraled stormily to the surface.

Encizo’s lungs were starting to burn, so he knew he had to finish this quickly. A kick to the underwater attacker’s knife arm jarred the enemy blade loose. A hard tug on the hose connected to the swimmer’s tanks and the Phoenix Force diver pulled his foe closer and plunged his knife deep into the joint between the killer’s neck and shoulder. With a quick twist, he’d gotten his knife free, then wrapped his lips around the diver’s mouthpiece. He exhaled and sucked in a fresh lungful of air, the foul taste of the chemicals in a Draeger bubbleless rebreather filling his mouth.

No wonder the swimmers had snuck up on the boats. He looked around, trying to make sense of the situation, but saw only mayhem as bodies thrashed underwater. Taking another deep breath, he stomped his foot into the chest of the dead attacker and kicked toward the surface, hoping to find James.

As Encizo broke the surface, he noticed that Johnstone’s remaining forces had been halved yet again. The enemy swimmers had taken them by storm, and the one thing that the Phoenix Force pro knew was that he was a sitting duck if he stayed in the water.

“Get on board!” Encizo shouted. He drew his Glock 34 and clicked on the Insight Technologies XM-6 gun light with the rocker switch at the front of the trigger guard. He kicked below the surface again and hoped that the 9 mm rounds would have enough punch to take out an enemy, even through water resistance. James and Encizo had tried out the handguns under water, and they fired and cycled reliably while immersed. That, plus their polymer frame and rust-resistant finish, made them seawater-proof. John Kissinger had left one of their Glocks fully loaded at the bottom of a seawater tank for six months, and when he pulled it out, there was only a slight bit of rust. It worked perfectly, and the rust had buffed out.

But now, using it in underwater combat for the first time, Encizo wondered just how well it would do. He certainly couldn’t swim up to each attacking diver and knife them to death, not before they dragged more of the CIA strike force under to their doom.

He swung the cone of light toward one diver, who stopped, caught like a deer in the headlights. As far as Encizo was concerned, terrorist season was year round, and he triggered the Glock twice. The 9 mm slugs from the long barrel smacked the killer and tumbled him backward, blood reddening his white light’s glare.

So it worked. Encizo was relieved; this meant he could continue to protect the helpless strike force members swimming for the railing.

Another figure knifed into the water downrange and suddenly a separate cone of white light split the inky blackness. More thumps of a weapon discharging underwater reached Encizo’s ears, and he knew it was James entering the conflict.

Encizo was glad he wasn’t going it alone, because in the glow of his XM-6, he spotted three men kicking toward him, knives drawn. One had a speargun and swiveled it toward the stocky Cuban. Encizo kicked forward, making himself a smaller target and spearing his Glock ahead of him. A 9 mm bullet smashed the speargun-wielding diver through his face mask, jolting him to a halt. The launched spear sliced the water, glancing off Encizo’s boot.

However, the shooting-fish-in-a-barrel phase of the battle was about over. One knife-wielding swimmer wrapped his hand around Encizo’s gun wrist, pushing the muzzle away from him. Under the water, the agile Cuban let the momentum of his enemy’s tug swing him around as he kicked both of his heels into the face mask of the terrorist diver. The man’s head snapped back brutally, and Encizo twisted free, kicking as if to go to the surface for a fresh breath of air.

The other rebreather-equipped murderer turned to come after Encizo, but the Cuban jackknifed instead, pressing the muzzle of his long-barreled Glock into the man’s head. As soon as he felt the jolt of the skull against his gun, he pulled the trigger and the water erupted into a blossoming cloud of blood.

The dead diver tumbled backward, disappearing into the murky depths. The remaining member of the trio recovered his senses from Encizo’s head kick. He twisted and plunged after his partner’s corpse. Encizo swung his gun, but the flashlight only reflected so far, and the rebreather-equipped killer had disappeared for now. Encizo twisted and saw that James had extinguished his gun light.

Encizo shut his off, as well, and kicked to the surface, making for the junk.

“Shit,” Johnstone growled. “I’m sorry I gave you boys a hard time.”

The CIA man reached down for Encizo’s hand and helped haul him aboard. James was pulled on deck by other men, as well, and the Phoenix Force pair swiftly reloaded their pistols.

“It was a trap,” James grumbled.

Encizo looked out over the water, wiping his brow clear. “Yeah, but they still got a lot of good people.”

“It’s not over yet, Rafe,” James said.

“I know,” Encizo replied. “We’ll get them.”

“Not that…” James noted. “Look!”

“All this racket’s drawn the harbor patrol,” Johnstone snarled. “Crap.”

“Cal, take the helm,” Encizo called. He pulled out his knife again and rushed to the railing where the anchor rope was visible. “The rest of you, make sure there’s no more booby traps on this tub. If you’ve got a multiband communicator, check to see if there’s surveillance equipment aboard, too.”

Johnstone stood frozen for a moment, then waved for his men to follow the Phoenix Force vet’s orders. Encizo chopped down on the anchor mooring, the sharp edge of the Cold Steel blade easily cleaving though the thick hemp.

The engine struggled to turn over and James gave the outboard another pull. When that failed, he opened the casing on the engine, slowly and carefully. Encizo rushed over to his side.

“Anything?”

James lowered the casing back down. “I felt a wire hooked to the lid.”

“Booby trap?”

“I’m not taking a chance. Rafe, get the other launch,” James said.

“Got it,” Encizo responded, and he leaped over the side, spearing into the water like a dolphin.

With the leap he made, and a few powerful kicks, he was at the other launch in moments. James assembled the survivors of Johnstone’s team on the deck after heaving the possibly booby-trapped engine over the back. Just because it looked like a dud didn’t mean that it couldn’t still be dangerous. Even as Encizo pulled himself into the motor launch, the water shook and bubbled, an explosion ripping through the inky depths.

He glanced over at his friend and partner.

“Good call, Cal,” Encizo said as he reached for the outboard.

James gave his friend a thumbs-up. “Hurry up, the patrol’s getting close.”

The stocky Cuban fired up the electric motor and zoomed the craft, much quicker and more agile without the weight of a full load, over to the side of the junk. James plunged into the water, rather than come aboard the craft, while Johnstone and the others clambered over the railing.

“Where’d he go?” Johnstone asked.

“Checking to see if our raiders left a mine attached to our hull,” Encizo answered. He looked across the water, seeing the Hong Kong harbor patrol closing in. A spotlight splashed across the opposite side of the junk, throwing it into stark silhouette. Encizo and the strike force survivors ducked down so they wouldn’t be visible.