FIVE HOURS UNDERWATER.
That was how long it took them to reach Tarifa, Spain.
They boarded the yacht. They momentarily lay on the deck exhausted as hell; relieved to have made it out in one piece. They could be forgiven if they had lay there all night, but deeply ingrained discipline forced them to their feet. Any longer on deck and they would fall asleep and compromise the mission. Having risked life and limb, the last thing they wanted was to cause an international incident.
They went inside and shut the windows and doors to minimise sound drift. In the dark, they stripped off the wetsuits and changed back to the only clothes they’d had on for close to a week. Thank God, they had been laundered at least once.
In hushed tones, G told Bryce he would never forget how his socks felt like
