Then he turned and sprinted up the exterior stairs, taking them two at a time.
At the top, he saw Sylvia straining to pull Eric out of the bridge. Two dead mercenaries blocking her way didn’t make the task easier.
She ripped off the gas mask and handed it to Juan.
“He’s in there.”
Juan put it on, noting that only the upper parts of the Centaurus’s cranes were now sticking out of the water. One minute left.
“Will the water short out the rocket ignition?” he asked.
“I doubt it.”
“Get some life jackets. Locker one level down.”
She dashed down the stairs.
Juan went into the bridge. Linc was on his back.
“Lying down on the job, buddy?” Juan said.
Linc responded with a hearty groan. Juan didn’t know if that meant he appreciated the joke.
Juan reached under the shoulders of the massive Navy SEAL and pulled him to the exit. When he was outside, he laid Linc down and tossed the mask aside.
Sylvia came back with four life vests. They put them on Linc and Eddie first, then donned their own.
By this time, the bridge was only thirty feet above the water instead of sixty.
“All right,” Juan said to Sylvia. “Jump. Be ready to assist Eric.”
She nodded. Without hesitation, she climbed the railing and leaped into the water below.
Juan easily picked up Eric. “Time for a quick swim. Hold your breath.”
He tossed Eric into the water. The moment he landed, Sylvia came over to him to make sure she got his head above the surface.
Linc was going to be a tougher one to deal with. Juan bent over and pulled Linc’s arm over his back and put his shoulder against Linc’s midsection. He then squatted the entire two hundred and fifty pounds into a standing position.
Juan edged over to the side with his rear toward the railing. As soon as he felt the steel, Juan tipped over backward just like he did when they were scuba diving off a boat.
The two of them tumbled through the air and splashed into the water.
In less than thirty seconds, two hundred and ninety-eight rockets were set to detonate virtually under their feet.
* * *
—
Polk’s eyes fluttered open, and he wondered why he was wet. Dim lights shined from the corners of the room. His last memory was that he’d been looking for that woman. He’d entered the ship’s galley and saw the mercenary’s body. Then he had a vague recollection about his wife, but that was all he remembered.
The only sound was the water rushing to fill the room. The air was ripe with the salty tang of seawater.
And then he realized he was no longer wearing his mask.
He tried to get to his feet, but his legs wouldn’t move. His arms would only make jerky movements.
He was paralyzed.