Armont felt the cold surf slam against his leg as they slipped the two
black Zodiacs back into the swell, taking care to avoid the jagged
rocks along the water's edge. The surf was washing over them, and
everything felt cold and slippery. Reginald Hall was the first to pull
himself aboard, after which he looked back, as though trying to account
for everybody and everything. The weather was starting to clamp down
now, faster than anybody could have expected.
"Pierre, _vite, vite_," Hans was already in the second Zodiac, tossing
a line across. Their "insertion platforms," both equipped with small
outboard motors, were lashed together with a nylon line. "Hurry up." He
turned and used an oar to hold the raft clear. "We need to get moving
before this thing gets ripped to pieces." Neoprene was tough, but there
were limits.
Willem Voorst tossed the last crate of equipment into the second craft,
then grasped a line Hugo had thrown and pulled himself aboard. Dimitri
Spiros went next, and then Armont. The wind and current were already
tugging them toward the south, so the outboards would have some help in
battling the choppy sea.
Reggie Hall was muttering to himself as he tried to start the engine.
He bloody well didn't fancy anything about the way things were going.
Everything about this op was starting to give him the willies. When
this much went wrong this soon, you hated to think about what things
would be like when the going really got tough.
As they motored into the dark, Willem Voorst kept an eye on the eastern
horizon, watching for the first glimmer, and prayed the storm would
keep down visibility. He also monitored the compass and hoped they
could stay on course. Where had the weather come from? The woman who
had said her name was Andros was probably right, though; this one would
blow out by dawn, but in the meantime it was a hell of a ruckus. And
the reception coming up on the island wasn't going to be brandy and a
dry bed, either.
"You know," Reggie was yelling, "this bloody weather might even be a
help with the insertion. If it keeps up, it could be the perfect
cover."
"What we really have to hope," Armont shouted back, "is that a storm
like this might force them to delay the launch. She said it wouldn't,
but who knows. Still, we can't count on it. By the way, how're we
doing?"
"I think we've already made a kilometer or maybe a klick and a half,"
Hans yelled. "If we can keep making this kind of
headway, we should make landfall just before 0500 hours. In time to
join everybody for morning coffee." He looked around. "This has got to
be the stupidest thing we've ever tried to do. We're just motoring into
a shitstorm." He shook his head, and the raindrops in his hair sprayed
into the dark. "I can't fucking believe we're doing it. I really can't
fucking believe it."