He stayed there only a few seconds before going back under.

 

The guards had recovered and were firing at him from the bridge.

 

The bullets pinged into the water, but at this distance and in the dark they

would be lucky to hit their target.

 

And they weren’t lucky. Tonight, the luck all seemed to be with Rogers. Yet,

like he had told the visitor, it was never about luck. The bottle he’d been

sprayed with had held nothing but oxygen. The guard’s comment about the bridge

had been his signal to act. The rest of it had been up to Rogers.

 

But a little luck never hurt either.

 

He struck off for shore with powerful strokes of his arms and kicks of his legs.

The channel was not very wide. They would deploy people to cover as much of it

as possible.

 

But Rogers had spent a long time here training, and a great deal of it had been

in this body of water. He had discovered landing spots that he suspected few

knew about.

 

He pointed himself toward one of them and in short order arrived there. It was

wooded and isolated, and when he came ashore his only companions were woodland

creatures that ran away at his approach.