Poseidon's Arrow (Dirk Pitt 22)

Dirk slipped on his mask and regulator and ducked underwater. Jamming the hammer handle in the gap by Summer’s ankle, he could tell right away that it offered too little leverage. Still, he pressed himself horizontal and jammed his weight against the handle. The frame wavered but refused to bend or buckle. Further attempts yielded the same result. To force the heavy plates apart he needed more force, but there was nothing available. In frustration, he flipped the hammer around and banged on the frame, creating a tiny dent.

When he surfaced, he saw the water lapping at her chin. She had her mask on as she handed him the flashlight with a disappointed look. He turned the light toward the entry hatch. At any moment, it would become flooded. As he swung the light around, its beam played on an object beyond the exterior canopy. He felt Summer grip his arm, and she tilted her head out of the water to speak.

“Go on without me.”

There was no anger or panic in her voice, just resignation. She knew Dirk had tried everything. As twins, they shared a bond unknown by most siblings. They trusted each other implicitly. She knew if the situation dictated, he would readily give up his own life for hers. She was thankful that at least he would survive.

Dirk looked in her eyes and shook his head.

“Then cut it off,” she cried. “Now!” She had seen the hacksaw blade all along. Dirk could only admire her bravery, particularly as she pulled a bandanna from her jumpsuit pocket, twisted it into a tourniquet, and tied it around her lower calf.

Dirk had to wait for her to stick her head above water before replying. “I’m not ready to play Dr. Kildare just yet,” he said, forcing a grin. “Wait right here.”

Before she knew it, he had opened the hatch and swum out of the submersible, leaving her trapped and alone in the dark.

46

SUMMER COULD NOT REMEMBER WHEN SHE HAD FELT so terrified. Trapped alone in the blackness of the ocean depths, she felt her heart racing. Once the submersible’s interior had flooded, Dirk had opened the hatch and swum away with the waterproof flashlight. She shivered uncontrollably, from the fear and the cold water, as her fingers and ears turned numb.

But the worst was the near silence. Crouched on the overturned seat, she could hear only the pounding of her heart and the sporadic sucking and gurgling of her breath through the regulator. As her mind began inventorying her fears, the act of breathing rose to the top of the list. Her air consumption at the current depth was much higher than near the surface. The cylinder might provide her only a few minutes of air. But what if it hadn’t been filled to capacity? A devilish voice in her head asked whether each breath from the tank would be her last.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to relax, extending the time between inhalations and forcing a steady breathing rhythm. When she felt her heartbeat slow, she pried open her eyes, but still found herself surrounded by a cloak of blackness. Never prone to claustrophobia, she still couldn’t help feeling like she was locked in a very small, very dark closet.

She began to wonder if her brother had changed his mind and headed for the surface—then she saw a dull glow outside the canopy. The light grew brighter until she could make out the flashlight’s beam as it drew closer. Though it seemed he had been gone for hours, it had been only a few minutes.

When Dirk climbed through the hatch a second later, she saw he was wielding a five-foot steel pole with a brass ball affixed to one end: the severed flagpole from the shipwreck. The submersible had struck bottom alongside the wreck, which Dirk had recognized through the bubble.

Dirk crawled forward and wedged the pole between the seat frame and the housing that clamped against Summer’s foot. Grabbing the opposite end, he pulled like an Olympic oarsman. The metal supporting the seat buckled immediately, allowing Summer to free her foot. She gave Dirk a hug, then signaled “Ascend” with an upraised thumb.

Dirk shined the light at the open hatch and gave her a shove. They had spent a dangerous amount of time at a depth close to three hundred feet and knew not to linger.

Summer waited outside the submersible for him, and they linked arms and began their ascent together. They kicked in a slow, measured pace, using their rising exhaust bubbles as a speedometer. Ascending too quickly would be a surefire recipe for the bends, and Dirk made sure they lagged behind the fast-rising bubbles.

It seemed to take forever. Summer was glad for the exertion, which slightly warmed her frozen bones, but her mind still wanted to play tricks on her, telling her they weren’t actually ascending or that they were actually falling back to the depths. It was the cold, she told herself, making her senses numb along with her extremities. She clung to Dirk, who moved like a robot, seemingly immune to the cold and dark.

At a depth of one hundred and fifty feet, the waters noticeably lightened as the surface light began to penetrate the deep. At one-twenty, they passed through a thermocline, and the water temperature warmed. And at eighty feet, Dirk ran out of air.

He wasn’t surprised. Because of his exerted swim to the wreck and back, he knew his air would fail before Summer’s. Drawing his hand across his throat to signal Summer, he jettisoned his tank and regulator. She passed her regulator over, and they began alternating breaths, unconsciously kicking more quickly toward the surface.

Dirk looked up and saw a faint ripple of silver far above their heads. They were now close enough to reach the surface if Summer’s air failed. But now they had another problem.

Exposure to the pressurized depths allows tiny nitrogen bubbles to form in the body’s tissue. If not allowed to dissipate via a gentle reduction in pressure, the gas bubbles can lodge in the body, creating the agonizing and sometimes fatal malady of the bends.

Dirk estimated they had spent close to fifteen minutes on the seafloor. The Navy Dive Tables called for multiple decompression stops, but they had no such luxury. They ascended to what Dirk guessed was about twenty feet and then held their position. Their natural buoyancy and the swift current made it a challenge, but he kept his eye on the surface and fought to keep them in place.

They milked the tank for another ten minutes before Summer spat the regulator out of her mouth and pointed up. They both shot to the surface, exhaling as they swam.

Their heads broke the surface amid a choppy sea dotted with whitecaps. The sun had already vanished, leaving the sky a darkening shade of pewter. The combined effects would render them almost invisible to a passing ship, even one that was searching for them. Yet that wasn’t first on Summer’s mind.

Sucking in a deep breath, Summer turned to her brother. “A flagpole?”

“Best I could do, under the circumstances. How’s the foot?”

“The foot’s okay, but I have a painful cramp in my ankle.” She shot him a concerned gaze. “I don’t think we came anywhere close to covering our deco time.”

Dirk shook his head. “No, we were well short. Do you feel any tingling anywhere?”

“I’m too numb to feel much of anything.”