He continued driving the little Eurotrash mobile straight toward the end of the pier, and when he got approximately fifty feet from the edge, he lifted his foot from the gas and let the momentum carry him over the edge and into the the water. The speedometer read 10 KPH as the rear tires became airborne, then the Marine's stomach floated giddily to his throat as the car nosed down and plunged perfectly into the waiting water below with hardly a splash. The impact was jarring, and his face was instantly caught in a chilly maelstrom of sea water as it swirled around and through the car, accepting it. But thankfully his foresight to remove the windshield had kept the chance of his getting a face-full of broken glass out of the equation. He had enough to worry about. The vehicle slipped beneath the surface with barely a bubble and quickly fell to its final resting place at the silty bottom, never to be seen again.
The Marine cut through the old nylon seat belt strap in two seconds and swam out the back of the hatchback before the car hit the bottom in a dark plume of mud. He surfaced without a sound beneath the pier and kept his ears tuned for cries of witnesses for a moment, before deciding his escape had been, to this point, clean. He had stashed a rebreathing apparatus behind one of the big, slimy pillars which rose out of the water and supported the pier. He pulled this helmet-like structure over his head and made sure it was working properly before diving to the bottom. Easily tethered to the base of the pillar was a tube-like metal craft which much resembled a hollowed-out torpedo with handlebars attached to it. This was called a Diver Propulsion Device, or DPD. He fired up the DPD and struck out toward the open sea at a steady three knots. This was enough speed to get him to the rendezvous point within the two hour time limit he and his team had prepared months ago. A football player would recognize it as a timing pattern. Because it would be too obvious to have a “Fishing Boat” waiting in one spot for any length of time, it had been decided that the Marine and his rendezvous ship would both reach the appointed coordinates at the same time and then get the hell out of there.
As the two hour mark neared and he saw no evidence of a boat overhead, the Marine began to get a little nervous, but before thoughts of failure began seeping into his consciousness, he saw the shadow of a fishing trawler intersecting his path and his emotional buoyancy soared. He ditched the nearly-dead DPD at the bottom of the ocean and struck for the wavy sunlight overhead. The spotter on board the ship saw him immediately and he was retrieved from the water four minutes later.