"And if they don't," Major Paine said, "you've blown the entire investigation."

Thomas growled deep in his chest and it vibrated against her face.

In a very small voice she said, "Let's get it over with."

The design had really been in her head ever since Thomas had mentioned the suction collars they use on the deep submergence rescue vehicles. She had a circular plate of one-inch steel, two feet in diameter, grooved for a half-inch-thick O-ring around the rim. Within this circle she had the machine shop mill away three-eighths of an inch, forming a shallow dish. Next they drilled and tapped a half-inch through-hole, a foot off-center. The last stage was to weld a D-shaped tab for mounting, directly in the middle.

"Are you sure it can be done in time?" Thomas had asked.

She'd nodded. "Your job is to get them close enough to the Strand that I canlatch on. I'll be ready by midnight."

Mounting the flange to the sub was accomplished by replacing the forward lifting eye with a vertical post, braced to the stern by another steel member, against the edge of the pilot's hatch. A ball-bearing joint connected the brace to the suction plate, letting it rotate and tilt in relation to the sub. This held it like some odd hat, three feet above the top of the front portion of SubLorraine and a foot above the vertical stabilizer at the stern.

An armored vacuum hose was run from the forward trim tank and screwed into the tapped hole in the plate.

This is going to take knots off her speed, thought Patricia. She greased the mounting point at the bottom of the plate so that it could rotate slightly, forward and back. Well, SubLorraine's thirteen knots was never going to match Sycorax's forty-five, anyway.

When they put a sheet of aluminum across the plate and turned on the pumps, the plate stuck tight, then deformed, dimpling in the middle. They turned the pump off and watched the gauge but there was no leakage, and all efforts to dislodge the plate failed until the vacuum was deliberately breached.

She changed into clean shorts and a long-sleeved sweatshirt and took the rig underwater, ten-thirty at night. The wind was picking up outside, generating a heavy chop in the lagoon, but it was calm and still underwater. The plate interfered with SubLorraine's pitch control, slowing her normally snappy response, but not dangerously. Patricia cruised over to the Intercity pier and clamped on to the bottom of the four-fifteen ferry while it was loading. The ferry towed SubLorraine neatly over to Palacios without missing a beat, oblivious to her presence.

There's something to be said for this.

She detached and dove under the dark mass of Palacios and, eventually, found the police motor pen, nicely lit among the dark shadows of Palacios's support hexes.

Thomas was waiting when she surfaced, as promised, with the food, water, and a special secure radio. Seaman Guterson put a rope around the suction-plate bracket and another over the snorkel.

"Well?" she said as she opened the hatch.

Thomas was staring at SubLorraine with wide eyes, and she realized, He's never seen it before.

"It's so tiny!" he said.

"Look, dear, haven't you heard that size isn't important?" She remembered Toni.

"You're not claustrophobic, are you?"

He shook his head. "I used to spelunk, in high school.""What about the Sycorax? Did you manage it?"

Thomas sat on the edge of the dock and held SubLorraine off with his feet. "

Sycorax will be in the Boca del Infierno in three hours to refuel, as a favor to the depot supervisor who has a bad leak in his tank and needs to lower the level so he can work on it."

"And we're sure about the depot supervisor?"

"Doesn't matter. When he leaves, the hydrofoil will be following them again; then it will receive an emergency response order that will make them break off, leaving Sycorax 'in the clear.' " He pointed his finger overhead. "And with Tropical Storm Hermia moving into the area, they may feel safe from aerial surveillance, too."

17.

Becket: La sanguijuela

Patricia used the external floodlights as they traversed the Strand, and Thomas's eyes followed the inverted topography of hexes and the plunging tubes of OTEC intake pipes. The flickering patterns of schooling fish swimming in and out of the beams mesmerized him, lulling his mind.

It wasn't silent, either. Besides the sound of SubLorraine's motor, there was a continuous thud-swish that faded and increased based on their proximity to various OTEC plants.

He was propped against the hatch that separated the pilot compartment from the lockout chamber, his lower back and butt padded by a sleeping bag. He looked forward occasionally but spent most of his time looking up through the transparent acrylic hatch over his head. He yawned suddenly, and it echoed in the humming interior of the submarine.

There was a chuckle from the pilot's seat. "I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee, and they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, and sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep."

He vaguely remembered the source. "Oh, don't be an ass."

She laughed again, and he closed his eyes for a moment, listening to it echo. I could listen to her voice forever... well, for a very long time.

The submarine seemed to jerk sideways, and he opened his eyes, his hands flying out to brace himself. "What was that?""I entered an OTEC discharge stream to hitch a ride on the current." Patricia seemed unconcerned. "It saves us energy."

She did it several more times as they passed different plants, before she turned off the lights. "Softly, now," she said. She throttled back the motor to the faintest whine. "That's the depot ahead."

There was a barge tied up near the depot, and she raised SubLorraine carefully to its flat bottom and started the trim pumps. There was a slight thud as the Sucker grabbed hold, and Patricia's shoulders dropped. She rotated the seat to face him, putting her feet down between his, a set of headphones on her head, one ear on and one ear off.

There was a glow coming down through the water, filtered dock lights, but by the time it lit the interior of SubLorraine, it was dim, flickering. It silhouetted Patricia's head and, though he could see a slight gleam from her eyes and teeth, Thomas couldn't read her expression.

"I'm tired," she said. "Getting the Sucker ready was a lot of work." He saw her shoulders move. "Make that tired and hungry. We didn't stop for supper."

Thomas sat up and reached behind him, unlatching the hatch to the lockout chamber. He felt around and came back with an insulated bag and a thermos.

"Here's your sacrament. And here's something Tio Rodolfo prepared with his own hands." He unzipped the insulated bag and the scent of garlic, shrimp, and onions wafted into the room "I ordered it by phone sent Mr. Guterson to pick it up. The Vigils are doing fine, by the way."

"If I didn't already love you, Thomas, this would do it." She took the thermos and poured herself coffee while he unpacked the tortillas, cardboard containers, and napkins.

They hadn't finished when she held a hand to the headphones and said, "Ah, she comes."

"Are you sure it's her?"

"Jet-turbine water jet drive boats that large are very uncommon. Besides, I spent thirty-six hours attached to her bottom. I know what she sounds like."

"Should we be getting ready?"

She shook her silhouetted head. "They're probably fifteen miles away still, coming full bore. We've got time to finish eating. It'll take them another twenty minutes to get to the breakwater and another ten minutes to negotiate the shipping channel. I don't know how much fuel she'll take on, but that can't take less than a half hour. We've got lots of time-I may even nap." She rotated the chair back to the front and hit a switch.

"What are you doing, if you don't mind me asking?""I'm pumping out my middle trim tank, to take SubLorraine negative. That way, when I release the Sucker, we'll drop immediately." She rotated the seat back to face Thomas. "I had the weirdest feeling running up here with you behind me. You're much bigger than Toni-the crew member I had with me when I was running from Sycorax-but I spent that entire time resenting her presence. I'm much more comfortable with you."

Thomas smiled to himself. "Maybe this Tony fellow wasn't your type."

Patricia chuckled. "No, she wasn't. But it's more than just the relationship. Toni couldn't hold still. She was constantly shifting, throwing off the trim, and when she did move, she jerked, always banging herself against something."

"Well, my shoulders are almost touching on both sides. I don't really dare move." But he knew what she meant. He'd realized immediately upon entering the sub that he'd have to take a Zen meditative attitude. You must sit like a rock! That's what his sensei used to say. "I'm glad you're comfortable with me. I wouldn't have asked you to be mi novia if I didn't feel the same way."

She shoved the cardboard containers to one side and put her knee down, shifting carefully to him, then kissed him. He pulled her closer, causing her weight to rest against his good side, and let his hands wander down her back.

"Oh damn," she said after a few minutes. "I've put my knee in the frijoles." She was breathing heavier than the exertion warranted. So was Thomas.

"Let me see. I'll clean it off."

She shifted back and he pulled the container off, then leaned forward, careful to avoid bumping his head on the ventilator fan housing.

Patricia jerked, then breathed in sharply. "Well, that's one way to clean it off."

She leaned back in the seat and added somewhat breathlessly, "And the beans don't go to waste."

Thomas finished with her knee and moved a few inches up her inner thigh.

Patricia gently pushed his head away. "That is entirely too distracting... at this time."

He returned to his position with a sigh. "Name the time, lady." He forced himself to lighten the tone before he drove himself mad. "Did I tell you when I decided to marry you?"

She shook her head.

"I think it was when I bumped my head under the seawall and you laughed at me.

I figured it was the only punishment suitable."

Her laughter was an echo of that earlier time.

"See!"

She put the earphones back on. "Ah, they're slowing at the seawall. Time for onemore cup of coffee."

Thomas bagged up the trash and stored it in the lockout chamber. "I never asked, but what do we do about a toilet?"

"You can't hold it for three days?"

He didn't bother responding to that.

"There's a 'comfort bottle' with a catch spout for urinating. We brought extra bottles this time, though last time Toni and I ended up cycling the lockout chamber to empty the bottle more than once. I feel bad about that. During all of my inspections I take water samples, which are checked for urea and E. coli contamination. It's the boat people who are the worst."

"What about the maquiladoras?"

"There've been some accidents, but the industrial compacts are strict. Violation of the environmental or work safety regulations is grounds for termination of license and confiscation of hex. They can sell or remove their factory equipment, but they can't do business anymore."

"And they still build out here?"

"It's only been exercised three times. Look at the positive side: we have cheap power, an excess of workforce, and no taxes, just the city membership dues, which, while not cheap for a factory hex, are a flat rate not tied to income.

"And real estate. We have to make it, but compared to the cost of land and facilities on the mainland since the Deluge, it's very attractive." She paused. "Uh, that inquiry, about the toilet... was that theoretical or was there a more pressing need to know?"

He laughed. "Theoretical. The coffee will make it a practical matter in the due passage of, uh, time."

She took the headphones off. "We want to be pretty quiet, now. Their sonar operator was pretty good."

Thomas dropped his voice to a whisper. "Yes, that would be Chief Marine Science Technician Hallett. He was a naval sonar operator in nukes. He was not allowed to reup at the end of his term, but they didn't dishonorably discharge him so he passed screening for INS."

"Did you find out why?"

"Same story. You can't be a bigot on a nuclear submarine. The navy is well mixed and quarters are too tight. He got top marks, though, on job performance."

The Sycorax pulled up to the dock. Thomas couldn't see it, but the noise of her engine plant and water jets could be heard and felt through the hull."Okay. Let's get on while she's still noisy." Patricia did something to the controls and SubLorraine dropped, then tilted slightly forward, banking to the left, under the adjoining hex.

By tilting his head, Thomas could see the flat screen monitor. Engine thrust was zero. "How are we moving?"

"We're gliding-flying if you will. We're negative, so we're sinking, but we have wings, just like a plane."

Thomas looked up through the top hatch and could see the glow of the dock lights defining the barge they'd just left, the edge of the hex, and now the pointed prow of the Sycorax.

"You can see the sonar dome," Patricia said. "That rounded tip on the bottom of the bow." The sub was receding, moving deeper and to the west. When they were parallel to Sycorax, Patricia threw another switch, and there was a soft pumping sound.

"And now?" he whispered.

"Pumping out the trim tank, taking us positive. Now we're going to glide up."

SubLorraine continued parallel to Sycorax, but now she was rising slowly. He had to crane his neck, now, looking back to see her; then Patricia was banking the sub to the left, a medium turn that brought them back out from under the hex and right at the stern of Sycorax.

"There's the jets," Patricia said. "There's the intake grate ahead. I want to grab on between them." She was still ten feet below the hull. She pitched the nose forward and the sub slowed markedly, momentum trying to drive it forward and buoyancy driving it back. After a moment it stopped and began moving slowly backward. "Let me know where we are in relation to the jets, please."

"They're still aft, about six meters? Five. Four. Three." As he spoke, the hull of the Sycorax was also getting closer. "Two."

Patricia raised the nose again. SubLorraine drifted back a bit more, then slid forward again. Patricia was leaning forward, twisting her head between the hull overhead and her compass, while muttering to herself, "Come on, baby, just a little more." She threw a switch and Thomas heard water rush into a tank. SubLorraine hung suspended, level, seemingly motionless, neither dropping or rising.

"I think we're still positive," she whispered. "Ever so slightly, but I can't tell if we're rising or not. The fathometer isn't that sensitive and I can't see well enough in this murk." She reached out and touched a spot on the monitor that said, "12 FSW."

Suddenly it changed to eleven and Patricia exhaled.

She was right. There was no way I'd be able to try piloting this without her years of experience. He felt confused. At least he hadn't risked her life for noreason, but was it good enough? Was this safe enough? Safer with her at the helm.

The Sucker bumped the hull and Patricia stabbed at the switch. The pump went on and there was a slight thud as it clamped on. Patricia let the pump go until it was laboring, then shut it down.

"Mr. Shark has a remora, now."