Rogue Operator Read Free Page A

shadow
crossed overhead. The hull of a boat. Two more shadows, smaller, hit the water.
It took him a moment to realize it was people jumping in. He wanted to shout,
to let their rescuers know where they were, but his sealed lips, his burning
lungs, were about to give into the instinctual temptation his rapidly fogging
brain was demanding.
    Breathe!
    His legs
were barely kicking now, his arm was still stretched out above him, but had
stopped its desperate clawing, and he felt his grip loosening on Carl’s wrist,
Carl’s own fingers limp. Jason looked up, and saw the shadows moving overhead,
but the hull of the boat was receding, the surface getting farther away.
    Images
of Maggie, Ayla and Darius flashed before his eyes, the last hug he had given
Maggie, in haste as he rushed out the door, late. Ayla, none given, he deciding
not to wake her up, Darius, who he had afforded only a pat on the head as he
gave his one armed hug to his beloved wife.
    I’m
so sorry!
    He felt
his chest heave with the thoughts of what his family’s last memories would be
of him. The father, the husband, in too much of a hurry to take the few seconds
necessary for a proper goodbye.
    His
heart sank as he remembered the reason why he had let Ayla sleep in. The night
before they had had a fight, and he had taken her cellphone away. His heart
ached at the thought his daughter’s final memories would be of anger, and the
guilt she would feel over that.
    No!
    He
kicked, hard, yanking Carl with him, focusing instead on the rapidly
approaching shadow, rather than the fading surface. He stretched his hand out
as far as he could, and just as his final burst of energy was about to give
out, he felt a hand grab him by the wrist, and one of the shadows suddenly
blocked the surface from his view. Something pressed against his mouth, trying
to push it open, but he fought, shaking his head, knowing if he opened his
mouth, the last bit of air he had would escape, and he’d drown.
    The hand
left his wrist and instead grabbed the back of his head, pushing whatever it
was against his mouth even harder. It was then he felt the bubbles tickling his
nose, and he opened his mouth. Water rushed in, but so did the mouthpiece from
the scuba gear his rescuer must be wearing. He clamped down and breathed out,
forcing the water from his mouth, then sucked in a deep breath, knowing if he
was wrong, this would be his end.
    The
sweet relief of oxygen filled his lungs. He gulped in breath after breath, the
fire subsiding, his head clearing, his strength returning slightly, the oxygen
doing little to fortify him against the frigid waters.
    Carl!
    He pulled
Carl up beside him and took the mouthpiece and shoved it into his friend’s mouth
as he and his rescuer kicked toward the surface. He felt another hand on his
arm as the second rescuer took charge of Carl. The surface rapidly approached,
and suddenly his head was clear of the water.
    He
gasped for air as he was pulled toward a boat he didn’t recognize. Two pairs of
strong hands reached unseen over the edge and he was hauled from the water, and
dumped onto the deck. As he coughed to clear his lungs, shivering, the bright afternoon
sun, so warm only minutes before, felt a frigid imitation of its former self.
    He heard
something drop beside him and he turned to see Carl’s blue face. He rolled over
to try and begin CPR, but was shoved aside, the form of a man he didn’t
recognize now leaning over Carl, checking his pulse.
    “Jason!
Carl! Are you guys okay?”
    It was
Phil. Jason struggled to his elbows, then a sitting position. He crawled over
to the side of the deck of the much larger boat, and draped his exhausted frame
over the side. He gave Phil a half-hearted wave.
    “You
okay?” asked Phil.
    “I’ll
live.”
    “And
Carl?”
    Jason
looked over at Carl and saw two men working on him, one doing chest
compressions, the other performing mouth to mouth. Jason’s chest was tight as
he realized his friend of over fifteen