“Hold on to me,” he shouted.
She wrapped her arms around him as they continued to bang and twist at the mercy of the current and the landslide. Something slammed against the view port for a second, racing out of the murky water, hitting it hard, and then being swept away. The lights failed, and the wrenching sound of something being torn off the outside of the Grouper ended with a snap.
And then it stopped.
The rumbling sound continued for another minute or so, dissipating into the distance like a herd of buffalo had stampeded past.
Paul held his breath. Amazingly, incredibly, they were still alive.
In the darkness, he felt his wife breathing hard. His own heart pounded, and his body prickled with adrenaline. Neither of them said a word, as if the mere sound of their voices might set off another landslide. But after a full minute of silence, and no further sounds of danger, Paul felt his wife move.
She looked up at him through the dim illumination of the emergency lighting, She appeared as surprised to be alive as he was.
“Any leaks?” she asked.
He looked around. “Nothing up here.”
She eased off him. “When we get home, I’m finding out who built this thing and I’m buying him a bottle of scotch.”
He laughed. “A bottle of scotch? I might put his kids through college if he has any.”
She laughed too.
As Gamay moved back, Paul eased over to the control panel. They were obviously resting at an odd angle, maybe forty-five degrees nose down, and rolled over thirty degrees or so.
“The main power is out,” he said. “But the batteries look fine.”
“See if you can get them back online,” she said, pulling on the headset that their tumble had ripped off.
Paul went through the restart, got most of the systems back online, and then rerouted the lights through the backup line. The lights came back on. “Let’s see if we can—”
He stopped midsentence. Gamay was staring past him, a hollow look in her eyes. He turned.
Packed sediment had pressed itself against the glass of the view port. It looked almost like a sand painting, with a few swirls and striations.
“We’re buried,” Gamay whispered. “That’s why it got so quiet all of a sudden. We’re buried alive.”
18
KURT FOUND THE FIRST SEVENTY-TWO HOURS as chaperone of the sea to be twice as bad as he’d expected. No, he thought, that was an understatement, it was at least three times as bad as he’d feared.
Every group of researchers wanted special treatment, every group seemed to question the rules and his decisions, even his authority.
A team from Iceland insisted that an experiment by one of the Italian groups would interfere with the baseline data they were trying to collect. A Spanish group had been caught trying to plant a flag on the tower of rock in strict contravention of the agreed-to plan. And while Kurt found their boldness somewhat endearing, the Portuguese were ready to duke it out over the incident. He half expected pistols at dawn, the way they spoke.
Meanwhile, the Chinese were complaining about the presence of three Japanese teams, to which the Japanese responded that the Chinese didn’t need anyone there as they would just steal all the data in a cyberattack once it was downloaded anyway.
Dealing with enough squabbling to make the UN jealous was not the only problem. Along with Joe and the rest of the Argo’s crew, Kurt also had to act as lifeguard.
Most of the science teams had only rudimentary training in the ways of the sea, either on the surface or below. Two of the teams had already collided head-on. Their small boats suffered only minor damage, but it was enough to send them back to Santa Maria for repairs.
Others had issues diving. One team narced itself by using the wrong mixture, and two of the Argo’s rescue divers had to corral them before they lost consciousness. Another member of a different team had to be forced to take a decompression stop he didn’t think necessary, and a French scientist almost drowned when an inexperienced divemaster put too much weight on the man’s belt and he sank to the bottom like a stone.
In full gear, Kurt and Joe dove down and rescued the scientist, only to surface and find another team with an engine fire aboard their rented vessel. It was enough to make Kurt wish they’d never found the damn tower in the first place.
As the sun began to head over the yardarm, the day’s madness seemed to be winding down. Most of the smaller boats were heading back in toward Santa Maria. Kurt guessed the bars would fill up quickly, and stories would be tossed around, growing more extravagant with each telling. Or perhaps not. He wasn’t really sure what scientists did with their spare time. Maybe they would plot against one another all night and come out in the morning ready to cause him and Joe more headaches.
Either way he was already regretting his decision to play umpire when he stepped out onto the Argo’s starboard bridgewing and spotted a 50-foot black-hulled trawler he hadn’t seen before.
“You recognize that one?” he asked Joe.
Joe squinted off into the distance. “Wasn’t here this morning.” “I didn’t think so,” Kurt replied. “Get the Zodiac ready.”
FIVE MINUTES LATER, Kurt, Joe, and two men from the Argo’s crew were skipping across the light swells, headed for the trawler. They reached it and circled it once.
“You see anyone on board?” Kurt asked.
Joe shook his head.
“You know,” Joe said, “technically, this boat’s outside the exclusivity zone.” “Come again?” Kurt said.
“We’re three-quarters of a mile from the tower,” Joe said. “The exclusive zone is a mile in diameter. Technically, this boat’s outside that. We’re only supposed to have authority over vessels, divers, and submersibles inside that radius.” Kurt looked at Joe oddly. “Who made that rule?” “I did.”
“When did you start becoming a bureaucrat?” Zavala shrugged, a wry smile on his face. “You put me at the big desk and tell me to take charge, these kind of things are going to happen.” Kurt almost laughed. Governor Joe.
“Well, if you’re in charge, let’s widen that circle.” “We need a quorum,” Joe said.
“Did that boxer hit you harder than I thought?” Kurt asked.
Joe shook his head and looked at the crewmen. “All in favor of enlarging the observation zone say aye.” Kurt and the other two crewmen said aye simultaneously.
“The rule is duly changed,” Joe said.
Kurt tried hard not to laugh. “Great. Now get us aboard that boat.” On board the trawler they found maps, diving gear, and some type of paper with Cyrillic lettering on it.
“It’s Russian,” Kurt said. “We have any Russian teams registered?” Joe shook his head. “We got papers from their Science Ministry requesting information, but no one signed up.” “Looks like they came anyway.”
Kurt moved to the rear of the small boat. A long anchor had been thrown out. There was no flag up, but Kurt was pretty sure a diver had gone down that chain. He noticed a pair of shoes by the dive ladder.
“Only one pair of shoes,” he noted.
“Someone went down alone,” Joe guessed.
Diving alone was crazy enough; leaving no one on the boat up above was even crazier. A little wind, a little change in the current, or the arrival of an opportunistic pirate or two, and you could surface to find yourself lost and alone in the ocean.
“Look at this,” the Argo’s crewman said, pointing to a video screen.
Kurt turned. On the monitor was a murky scene being broadcast from an underwater camera.