Infernal - Страница 30

Jack adjusted his own mask, then took a test breath through the mouthpiece. Everything seemed to be working, but he hesitated. He was about to jump into a hole and couldn't help but remember another hole, the one in the Everglades, the one that had no bottom…

Shaking it off, he seated himself on the gunwale, tank over the water and—here goes—toppled backward.

He hit the water and let himself sink. Immediately the tank and the weight belt became weightless, the clumsy, unwieldy, uncomfortable gear became lithe and supremely functional. He held his nose and popped his ears, then kicked toward the bottom, following the hose down to where Tom hovered and waited forty feet below.

This sand hole was a forty-foot-deep oblong depression in the reef, about half as wide as it was long. They'd anchored near the upstream edge, so as Jack dropped through the crystalline water, popping his ears whenever the pressure became uncomfortable, he checked out the nearby coral wall.

Something strange here.

He drifted over for a closer look. The coral looked bleached and barren—no sea grasses, no algae, no vegetation at all. No sponges or anemones, no starfish or sea urchins. A closer look showed not a single living coral polyp.

The reef was dead.

Jack had heard of coral blights that wiped out entire reefs. Maybe that was the story here. He looked around and could not find a single fish. Even in the shallow water by the dock he'd been accompanied by a wide variety of brightly colored fish. He'd been able to identify a parrotfish and an angelfish, but the rest were strangers.

Here, on this reef, however… no movement, no color.

In a way that made sense. The coral polyps were the bedrock of the reef ecosystem. When they died, the hangers-on went off in search of greener pastures.

But you'd think you'd see at least one fish.

Jack did a full three-sixty. Nope. Not one. Nothing alive in this sand hole except Tom and him.

He shook off the creeps crawling up his back and kicked down toward where Tom was impatiently motioning him to come on!

When Jack reached him, Tom signaled him to sink closer to the bottom. When Jack was down, almost prone, Tom aimed the hose at the floor. The invisible stream of water stirred up the sand, billowing it up to then drift downstream, leaving a smooth depression in the floor.

Although Tom had explained it to him, he'd needed to see it in action to appreciate the simplicity of using a stream of seawater to move undersea sand.

Holding the hose at a low angle, Tom swept it back and forth in slow arcs, removing a thin layer, then stepping forward to repeat the process along the center of the sand hole's long axis. Sort of like power washing a patio or walk, except that it exposed no clean surface, just more sand.

Wondering how far down to the bottom of the sand, Jack hovered behind, checking the newly exposed layer for anything that might be man-made. It was slow going, and on their first pass they found nothing.

So it was back to the upstream end for another try. This time, midway along the course, Jack felt a tap on his wet suit hood. He looked up to see Tom excitedly pointing at the sand.

Just ahead lay the edge of a piece of wood, rotted and crumbling but still bearing unmistakable signs that it had been milled. This was no remnant of a sunken log. This had once been a plank.

"We've found her!" Tom said as soon as they broke the surface.

Their air tanks had been running low so they'd ascended to a depth of fifteen feet and hovered there, clinging to the anchor rope, for a brief decompression stop to clear excess nitrogen from their bloodstreams. They hadn't been deep enough to worry much about the bends, but why take the chance?

Well, Jack thought, we found something. Surprise, surprise. Too soon to tell if it was the Sombra. But he kept mum. No point in raining on Tom's parade.

They removed their fins and climbed the transom ladder to the deck. They decided on a beer break before strapping on fresh tanks.

Tom seemed to be a different person. His eyes danced, his movements were full of energy, he couldn't stop grinning.

"Got to be the Sombra." The mask had left a red ring across his forehead and around his cheeks. "Now we know where to concentrate."

Jack gave a noncommittal nod. His thoughts kept returning below, to the sand hole.

"What's up with the coral down there?"

"Yeah, I noticed that. Looks dead. Could be a pollutant, could be a disease."

"But even then, wouldn't you expect some algae or something to be growing there?"

Tom shrugged. "Could be a lot of things. It's a problem all over the world. They've got this starfish in the Pacific called the crown of thorns. A bunch of them can wipe out reef after reef."

"Okay, but no fish either. I didn't see a single fish."

Another shrug, plus a grin. "Neither did I, but that should make you happy: No fish means no sharks."

Tom just didn't get it.

"Maybe I'm being oversensitive and paranoid, but consider this: For the whole time we were down, you and I were the only living things in that sand hole. Don't you think that's just a little strange?"

Jack hoped nothing more than a blight or pollution was at work here.

"Whatever," Tom said, rising and starting to strap new tanks to the vests. He appeared to be vibrating with anticipation. Or was it greed? "Let's get back down there before the sun gets too low."

Concentrating the water stream around the plank they'd found, they turned up more wood, all equally rotted, crumbling at the lightest touch. But no treasure chest, no coins or jewels. Just sand, sand, sand.

With their tanks getting low and the light fading, Tom pointed to the surface. They were done for the day. Jack couldn't say he was sorry. He was tired and he was bored. He realized what he liked most about diving was the sea life. None of that here. He couldn't wait to get back to the surface.

But before he did…

Instead of hanging on the line with Tom for a decompression stop, he propelled himself to the rim of the sand hole and glided over the crest to see how far beyond the blight had spread.

He stopped and floated, gaping. Color… movement… life. He felt like Dorothy opening the door to Oz:

The area all around the sand hole teemed with darting, vibrant-hued fish, waving vegetation, and pastels of living coral. The die-off appeared to be confined to their sand hole. Whatever had killed all the sea life there hadn't advanced beyond it. Since coral predators and pollutants wouldn't have stopped at the lip of the hole, that removed them from the equation.

Something confined to the hole had killed off—and was continuing to kill off—all the sea life in its immediate vicinity.

And the only thing in the hole that wasn't anywhere else on the reef was probably the Sombra.

THURSDAY

Jack was driving Tom crazy.

He'd started yesterday as soon as they hit the surface after the second dive, yammering about how the coral die-off was limited to their sand hole, how every place else down there was teeming with life, going on and on and on about something being wrong, wrong, wrong.

He'd persisted in his inchoate ramblings during the trip back to Hamilton and all through dinner. Tom didn't think he'd ever been so happy to close a hotel room door behind him and collapse on a bed. Shutting off Jack's voice had been part of it; the vodka had contributed too. But mostly it had been the crushing fatigue. He led a sedentary life and the day's exertions had exacted their toll.

Were still exacting a toll. He had muscle aches in places where he hadn't known he had muscles.

Jack didn't seem to be bothered at all. They'd traded their empty air tanks for fresh this morning and he'd hefted them in and out of the truck bay as if yesterday had been just another day.

No doubt about it, little brother was strong.

And fast. Tom's belly still hurt from that punch the other night. He hadn't seen it coming, hadn't seen it happen. Once second he was standing there, the next he was doubled over in pain. Even though it had hurt like hell, the scary part was that he sensed Jack had pulled the punch, hitting him just hard enough to make his point. If he'd put everything into it…

Best to forget about it. He'd almost got them both killed. But who'd have believed they'd cross paths with a tanker? The odds were…

Never mind. He'd fucked up and deserved the punch. But admit that to Jack? Never.

Jack continued with his litany of doom this morning—like a woodchuck gnawing at his brainstem.

"I'm telling you, Tom. We need to rethink this whole thing."

"Will you give it a rest? I'm begging you, Jack, give it a rest. You're wearing me out with this shit."

Tom repressed an urge to tell him to talk about something else or not talk at all. He had to be careful. He needed Jack. He couldn't do this alone.

But he needed quiet too, so he could think. He couldn't get the bank out of his mind. Half a million bucks and he couldn't get to it!

Which made finding something in the Sombra crucial.

He clenched his jaw and tried to think as their pickup crawled through Paget with the rest of the traffic on South Road. He hadn't driven a manual shift in ages; what a royal pain in the ass. But at least they had wheels. No such thing as Hertz or Avis here. Bermuda didn't want tourists renting anything larger than a moped. That made the taxi drivers happy.