Devil's Gate (NUMA Files 9)

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.

“Could it be live?” Kurt asked.

“It looks that way,” the crewman said, examining the setup.

Kurt studied the screen. The dark water and swirling sediment were obvious as the camera maneuvered in what looked to be a confined space. He saw metallic walls and equipment.

“Whoever it is, they’ve gone inside one of the wrecks,” Joe said.

“Unbelievable,” Kurt said. Short of antagonizing a group of sharks, wreck diving was about the most dangerous thing you could do underwater. He could not believe someone would try it alone.

“This person is far too stupid to be in our exclusivity zone.” Joe laughed and nodded.

Kurt pointed to a second set of tanks. “Are those charged?” Joe checked the gauge. “Yep.”

“I’m going down,” Kurt said.

A minute later Kurt was in the water, breathing the compressed air and kicking with long strokes as he made his way down the chain. Approaching the bottom, he saw a pinpoint of light and angled toward it.

Whoever it was, they’d gone into the downed Constellation. Considering that the middle of the plane was broken open like a cracked egg, that didn’t seem so reckless. But the movements of the camera had seemed odd, and as he stared at the shaking beam of light he wondered if the diver was in some kind of trouble.

Kicking harder, he made it to aircraft’s triple tail. The cone of light from inside the fuselage continued moving in a random pattern.

He swam to the break in the aircraft’s skin. The light was coming from the forward section. The random movements made Kurt think it might be floating loose. He feared he was about to find a dead diver, one who’d run out of oxygen but whose light, probably attached to his arm by a lanyard, still had battery power and was floating around above him like a helium balloon on a string.

He eased inside, working his way around tangled insulation and bent sheet metal. Clouds of sediment wafted from the front of the plane, and the oddly moving beam pierced the darkness, faded, and then came through again.

Kurt swam toward it. Emerging through the cloud of silt, he found a diver digging voraciously, twisting and pulling frantically. The flashlight was attached to the diver’s belt.

He reached out and put a hand on the diver’s shoulder. The figure spun, swinging a knife toward him.

Kurt saw the blade flash in the reflected light. He blocked the diver’s arm and then twisted it, dislodging the knife. Bubbles from both regulators filled the cabin. Combined with the swirling sediment and the waving light, they made it difficult to see.

The knife tumbled through the water and disappeared. Kurt held the diver’s right arm in a wristlock. His other arm shot forward, grabbing the diver by the neck. He was about to rip the diver’s mask off — a classic underwater fighting technique — when he saw that the diver was a young woman, and her eyes were filled with panic and fear.

He released her and held up a hand with his fingers spread. Calm down.

The woman nodded but remained rigid. She motioned toward her feet.

Kurt looked down. Somehow she’d gotten her leg caught between a twisted part of the fuselage and some equipment. A jagged cut in the sheet metal marked her attempts to saw through the metal with her knife. It didn’t look like she’d gotten very far.

Kurt had a better idea. He sank down, wedged his back to the skin of the fuselage, and placed both feet on the attached equipment box. With all the strength in his back and legs, he pushed against the metal box. He expected it to snap and break loose, but instead it bent just enough.

The woman pulled her foot out and immediately began rubbing her ankle. When she looked up, Kurt put his index finger and thumb together, making a circle — the universal OK symbol. Are you okay?

She nodded.

Next he brought his two index fingers together parallel and then looked at her questioningly.

She shook her head. Apparently, she wasn’t diving with a buddy.

Just as he thought.

He pointed at her sharply and then made the thumbs-up signal.