and dropped below the surface once more. The gauge on the oxygen bottle indicated it was a quarter full, more than enough to complete the journey. He set off at a steady pace and spent the time going through the final surfacing procedures.
Twenty-five minutes later lights appeared above him, diffused and rippled by the water, and a few minutes after that they disappeared indicating that the jetty had cut them out and he was now very close. He slowed his pace and was about to reach in front of him for obstacles when suddenly his head slammed into something solid, the shock almost making him lose his mouthpiece. He dropped the compass board that sunk to the end of its line and felt the object. It was rough and barnacled, with a curve to it that dipped away below him. A boat. He followed it down, passing beneath it, and followed it up the other side.
Zhilev carefully broke the surface to find himself between a pleasure craft of some kind and the jetty. He pushed his facemask up on to his forehead and looked around. The rusty corrugated metal wall of the quay went straight up to a line of rails running along the top of it. A few yards away a ramp came down on to a floating platform that pleasure boats used to load and offload passengers. There were voices, the thud of disco music and then a burst of laughter that sounded like girls.
He made his way to the edge of the platform, keeping beneath the ramp and out of sight from the quay above. Once he reached it, he moved around until he was close against the wall of the quay and in the shadows, then held on to the side while he untied the device and attached it to a ring on the platform. He unbuckled the diving harness, pulled it off his shoulder and, with a firm yank, ripped the air hoses out of the bag. Oxygen gushed from it as it deflated and he released it to let it sink to the seabed. After dumping the two rocks from his pockets, he removed his fins and let them sink along with his facemask. He then took a firm hold of the top of the platform and hauled himself out.
Sitting on the edge of the wooden platform, he unzipped the suit and pulled it off as quickly as he could, placing his shoes to one side. Zhilev dug a penknife from a pocket, slashed the suit from toe to neck and lowered it into the water, pushing it under until enough bubbles escaped and it sank. He pulled on his boots, tied up the laces and stood up to sort out his creased clothes and smarten himself up as best he could. The bump on his head throbbed and he felt it to check for blood but the skin was not broken. His sleeves and collar were wet where water had seeped in but otherwise he was dry. He untied the device from the ring, hauled it out of the water and headed up the ramp and into the bright lights of the quay, acting as naturally as a worker coming off one of the boats.
As he stepped off the ramp, several young girls dressed sexily despite the cool air walked past talking energetically. The source of the thumping music was a building in front of him on the corner of the quay, the windows in the top floor washed in coloured lights flashing to the rhythm of a heavy beat. Zhilev hated disco music and did not understand the Western nightclub culture having never experienced anything like it in his life. Young people were everywhere, on balconies around the club, and walking up and down the broad exterior stairs that led to the entrance. None of them seemed to give him a second glance as he walked away.
In front of him, across a broad paved concourse, were several towering hotels vying for an ocean view with massive neon signs on top of each displaying such names as the Hilton and Sheraton. He headed for a dark area to the side of the nearest where a thick collection of manicured bushes grew.
As he walked towards the bushes he looked around to see if many people were about. Several couples were strolling casually, enjoying the night air, or moving to and from the disco in various directions, but none immediately close by. He slipped into