The Deep

CHAPTER FIVE

The double-tank setup was awkward and heavy, and Adriana struggled to get used to its bulk. The extra air supply made sense, though. Since they didn’t have to worry about decompressing back to the surface, PUSH aquanauts could dive for hours at a time.

As Dr. Ocasek swam around to help get the others outfitted with extra air cylinders from the underwater rack, a four-foot moray eel followed him like an adoring puppy. Every now and then, the scientist would reach into his dive pouch and toss the creature a lump of food.

“Peanut butter sandwich,” he explained into his regulator.

Peanut butter was the staple on the station. Adriana had checked the tiny pantry and found fourteen jars of the stuff, and precious little else.

That’s how you know when it’s time to leave PUSH, she thought to herself. When your tongue is permanently stuck to the roof of your mouth.

At last, all was ready, and the four yanked the trigger handles of their DPVs. The propellers whirred, pulling them forward. As Adriana glided silkily through the water, her awkwardness fell away. It wasn’t the speed that astonished her. In fact, she was only traveling a few miles per hour. No, what amazed Adriana was the total ease with which she moved over the coral and sponge formations of the reef. Diving had never been second nature for her, like it was for Star.

Hanging on to the handles of the scooter, she fell into line behind Star, who navigated by the compass on her dive watch. A pair of eagle rays raced her for a while before veering off, wings undulating. Even her breathing was easier — slow, natural breaths instead of her usual gasping sucks on the regulator. Kaz flashed her thumbs- up. Even Dante was grinning. This was the only way to travel.

She felt like a tourist, taking in the scenery and enjoying the ride. Freed from the mechanics of scuba, she vibrated with nervous anticipation. A seventeenth-century shipwreck!

Her brow clouded a little. After two straight summers working with her uncle at the British Museum, the job had fallen through this year. Alfred Ballantyne could only bring one assistant to Syria on his archaeological dig. He had chosen Adriana’s brother, Payton. The Poseidon internship had been almost a consolation prize.

But a three-hundred-year-old wreck! That beat a Middle Eastern dig any day — or at least it would have if it hadn’t been for Cutter and the team of treasure hunters.

By the time she noticed the roar, she realized she’d been hearing it for a while already. She peered past Star, trying to identify the source of the noise. But up ahead the water had become murky, almost opaque.

They had seen this effect before. Something was kicking up tons of mud and silt, churning the clear blue Caribbean into a turbulent blind tunnel of swirling brown.

An explosion? Cutter had done this before — dynamiting the reef to get at what was underneath the coral.

But no. The sound was steady, not a sudden blast. And it was increasing in volume. Whatever the source of the roar, it was getting closer.

And then, directly ahead, an unseen power grabbed hold of Star and flung her contemptuously aside.

Adriana froze as she tried to wrap her mind around what had happened. By the time she could react, the irresistible force had pounced on her.

The ocean itself was moving, a deep-water riptide. With overwhelming strength, it hurled her — up, down, sideways? It was impossible to tell. Rocks and chunks of flotsam battered her, caught up in the whirlpool. The mask was torn from her face as she whipped violently around. All sensation ceased to be. There was only pure motion, pure speed.

When she struck the coral, the collision sucked the wind out of her and knocked the regulator from her mouth. She lost her grip on the DPV. The scooter fell away, its auto-shutoff cutting power. Everything went dark.

Am I dead?

Her next gasping breath drew in a lungful of water. The choking was violent, desperate.

No — alive — The thoughts were fragments, half formed, rattling around the darkness of her mind. Alive — and drowning —

With effort, she forced her eyes open against the sting of salt water. She flailed for her mouthpiece, finding it at last and biting down hard. The rush of air brought her back to herself. Her body ached and her eyes hurt like crazy.

Can’t close them! Have to see!

Dante was taking the brunt of it now. Fins windmilling wildly, he spun out of control, striking a mound of brain coral. Was he okay? Where was Kaz? And what had happened to Star?

All at once, the roar ceased. As the silt storm began to resolve itself, Adriana could just make out a silhouette standing near the source of the disturbance.

Too big to be Star… Kaz?

She reached up to wave, but an iron grip held her arm in place. Strong hands pulled her behind the stout base of a coral head. There crouched Kaz and Star.

Then who is the silhouette?

Star scribbled the answer on her dive slate: REARDON.

Adriana squinted. She could make out the stocky diver’s beard below his mask. Chris Reardon, Cutter’s other partner. The third treasure hunter wielded what looked like an enormous hose, a foot thick or more. Was that what had tossed the interns around like wisps of algae?

Her eyes were killing her. She had to find her mask! Wincing with pain, she searched the bottom. Where had it fallen? And then she spotted it, nestled in a growth of pink anemones.

Reardon hit a switch, and the roar returned. In less than a second, the mask disappeared in the blizzard of silt. Adriana squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to protect them from the swirling particles that were everywhere in the water.

She was stuck. They were all stuck.