The Good Spy

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Kirov plowed into the gloom. The firestorm deep inside his right shoulder raged but he hung on. He’d lost all sensation below the left knee — it was just dead meat. If the unfeeling crept into his other limbs he was doomed for sure.

He focused on the captain’s orders: “Get to shore. Call for help and then coordinate the rescue. Don’t get caught!”

He was the crew’s only hope. If he failed, they would all perish.

The diver propulsion vehicle surged against the aggressive tidal current. As he gripped the DPV’s control handles with both gloved hands, his body trailed prone on the sea surface. Hours earlier he’d exhausted the mixed gas supply, which forced him topside where he used a snorkel to breathe.

The chilled seawater defeated his synthetic rubber armor. His teeth chattered against the snorkel’s mouthpiece. He clamped his jaws to maintain the watertight seal.

Shore lights shimmered through his face mask but he remained miles from his destination. The DPV’s battery gauge kissed the warning range. When it eventually petered out, he would have to transit the passage on his own, somehow swimming the expanse in the dark while combating the current.

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