A small, unmanned submarine was slowly lowered into the water, followed by two slightly larger "shallow transport vehicles." Jack bit his mouthpiece, waved to Hannah and Jiejie, who were looking at him worriedly, and flipped backward into the water.
This dive wasn't particularly challenging. While they needed to circle around Alcatraz to reach the previously selected drainage entrance, the entire journey was only four kilometers.
As old Mason had said, a snorkel and a pair of flippers would make it easy.
Indeed, aside from the somewhat nervous Goosby, this underwater armed swim was no more challenging than their daily basic physical training for the SEALs.
Although the "shallow transport vehicles" had a maximum underwater speed of seven knots, or 13 kilometers per hour, with ammunition and weapons and four or five crew members aboard, they could only move at a crawling speed of less than four knots.
Fortunately, the sea conditions were good today, and with a small unmanned submarine ahead to guide the way, they arrived at their target location quietly after just over half an hour, despite not being able to follow a perfectly straight line.
Mason spent ten minutes successfully finding the entrance to the drainage channel amidst a pile of kelp and seaweed. It lay on the smooth side of the cliff, only about a meter below the water.
The iron fence at the entrance was already rusted and had a large hole in the middle, which was unknown whether it was the work of the old man during his escape.
The drainage channel was very narrow, only wide enough for one person to pass through. Although it was a bit winding, it was no more than 50 meters long, or the 57 steps Mason had mentioned earlier.
Considering that he had climbed out at low tide, even Jack could not help but admire the old man's courage; it was truly not something that ordinary people could do.
Jack and B5 Brock Reynolds, the assaulter, emerged from the reservoir like water ghosts, each rotating a half circle with their Noveske N4 assault rifles in hand. After confirming the surroundings were clear, Brock slowly descended again, making tactical gestures behind him.
Since their opponents this time were on their own side, they would maintain radio silence throughout the operation to prevent any unusual signals from being detected.
Although each member carried a GPS tracker, the underground location, isolated from signals,
meant that command could not monitor the team's movements. This was a challenge even for SEAL Team B, as it meant they would receive no support from behind, including the Predator drones circling high above, until radio silence was broken.
Jack removed his heavy diving suit and handed his Type 83 water bottle to the shivering Goosby. "Have some, but only a small sip."
Although San Francisco and Los Angeles share a common Pacific Ocean location, the cold front keeps the seawater temperature there rarely above 20 degrees Celsius, even in midsummer.
While the diving suits provided considerable insulation, the water, currently at only 15 or 16 degrees Celsius, could easily lead to hypothermia.
Just as Goosby hesitated, Mason, who had already sensed the scent, snatched the water bottle away. He took a long sip, then exhaled heavily and spoke loudly.
"Nice Stoli Vodka, tastes just as I remembered."
The space they were in was far from quiet. An old gas turbine, operating for who knows how many years, rumbled, providing electricity for the entire island.
Team B's captain, Jason, circled the room, stopping before a heavy, rusted iron door and trying to turn the knob.
"Don't bother, this door can only be opened from the other side." Mason returned the kettle to Jack and crouched down in front of the gas turbine, staring blankly at the base of the boiler, which was spewing flames from time to time.
"What do you mean? How are you going to open the door?"
Jason lowered his head in confusion, following his gaze to the bottom of the boiler. He saw several huge wheel-like structures rotating continuously, like giant guillotines, moving through the base of the gas turbine, which was less than a meter high, in a rhythmic manner.
Combined with the occasional burst of flames, it gave the illusion that this small passage was a miniature version of hell.
"Of course, we'll crawl through it and open the door on the other side," Mason said as if it were a trivial matter.
Sonny Quinn, who was pulling explosives from his backpack to break the door, was startled by the words. He crouched down and looked down for a moment, then looked back at Mason, who looked calm and composed. He couldn't help but shrink back, looking at Jack with a gloating look.
"Luckily Jason arranged for you to go with him."
Mason looked at Jack. "Are you coming too?"
"No, I believe you, really." Jack shrugged. It wasn't that he couldn't get over it, but he didn't know how to explain why his clothes were burned but he was fine.
"I remember the time difference, I hope it hasn't changed," Mason said, dropping to the ground.
"Wait." Jack pulled out his FK7.5 and handed it to the old man. "It's for self-defense, but it's my treasure. Don't lose it, or I'll have your daughter when I get back."
Mason was slightly stunned. The veteran SAS agent didn't know how to respond to the little bastard in front of him.
-
Watching Mason disappear in the flames, Clay asked worriedly, "He's not going to abandon us and run away, is he?"
"Then we'll just have to risk being discovered and blow the door open." Jack shrugged, unfazed.
Although he hadn't spent much time with this man, he felt he had learned some lessons from interacting with some of the veteran spies from the Cold War era.
These old men were all soft-hearted. Instead of coercion or bribery, a little show of kindness and trust might be more effective.
Time ticked by. Though it had only been four or five minutes, everyone trapped here felt as if they were living for years.
Even Captain Jason, always composed, couldn't help but glance at the Luminox military watch on his wrist. Just as Sonny, unable to contain himself, was about to unpack his backpack and remove the explosives, a dull thud echoed from the rusted iron gate.
Lieutenant Ray Perry, crouching at the gate, exchanged glances with current B6 "Full Metal" Scott Carter, standing opposite him. Their rifles were pointed at the slowly opening gap in the gate.
"Welcome to Alcatraz!" Mason appeared from behind the open gate, his face drenched in sweat, his body still steaming.
(End of Chapter)