25
Michael and Bill drove their DPVs elbow-to-elbow. With no running lights, it was the only way to be sure they didn’t lose track of each other. They’d also tied ten meters of line between them, but hadn’t needed it yet.
They were three meters underwater, approaching the south port. They couldn’t see crap, and Michael’s head hurt from the cold. The water was temperate, unseasonably warm for May, but still cold. He and Bill both wore thin-skin neoprene suits under their clothes, but he hadn’t pulled on his hood. There’d been one in the Phase I package in his pack, but he’d been distracted by looking at Claudia. Dangerous mistake, but too late to rectify.
The DPVs tugged them along relentlessly. They were deep enough that they’d pass below any late-night fishing boats. Only big ships wou
