The interference was thick, buzzing like a nest of hornets in the receiver.

“They’re jamming us,” I said, gasping for breath.

“Of course they are,” Hayes growled.

We reached the concrete edge of the pier.

The submarine’s deck was level with the floating dock, bobbing slightly as the propellers gathered speed.

The heavy steel gangway was beginning to slide backward, pulled by an automated winch on the pier.

“Jump!” Hayes yelled.

He went first, landing heavily on the black non-skid deck of the submarine.

He turned and reached out his hand to me.

I looked down at the gap of churning, freezing water between the concrete dock and the steel hull.

I jumped.

My hands caught Hayes’s thick forearms.

He hauled me onto the deck with a single, violent jerk.

Lieutenant Carter hesitated on the edge of the pier.

“Come on, Lieutenant!” Hayes barked.

“I can’t!” Carter screamed back, looking at the widening gap of black water.

“The lines are parting!”

With a sharp crack like a pistol shot, one of the thick nylon mooring lines snapped.