The Steel Shark

Chapter 3

Joe Tesla had found freedom in the silent green sea. He loved how the blue shafts of his navigation lights illuminated the murky darkness. He loved the old-fashioned sonar ping that displayed the underwater world on a green screen in his cockpit. He loved the sight and sound of water rushing past the half bubble of thick acrylic that served as his window to the undersea world. He loved the sense of infinite possibility. His crippling agoraphobia had stolen the outside world, but it hadn’t stolen the sea.

Edison was latched into a safety harness in front of him, and he gave him a quick pet. Edison’s tail thumped in response. Joe angled the submarine down. “Just a little deeper, boy, and then the fun begins.”

“Are we rated for that depth?” Vivian asked. His sometimes bodyguard, she was usually fearless.

“This baby can go even deeper. She’s a work of art.”

“Sure.” She tightened her seat belt.

“All the safety money can buy.” His facial-recognition software had earned him millions, but because his agoraphobia had trapped him into an indoor existence, he didn’t have much he could spend it on. Unlike his peers, he had no use for cars or houses or private jets.

But he could use a submarine.

There was something else he’d like to have — someone he trusted to be his eyes and ears in the world above. “Speaking of all the safety money can buy, have you thought about my job offer?”

“You receive great protection via Mr. Rossi and his team. And I’m on call there. You don’t need to hire me full time.”

“You’re better than the others,” he said. “And if you worked for me, you’d have benefits and a much higher salary.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir, but I work for Mr. Rossi. He pays more than enough.”

Mr. Rossi didn’t pay her enough. Joe had checked. “My door’s always open if you change your mind.”

“If your door opens right now, we’ll drown.”

“It’s a figure of speech.” He was hurt she wasn’t taking his offer more seriously, but he didn’t want her to see it. Instead, he reached down and patted his dog. Edison licked his hand. He sensed Joe’s disappointment.

“Are we close to the marker?” she asked.

That was the end of the discussion for today and a not-so-subtle reminder to get back on task. They were on a submarine scavenger hunt. Sponsored by an organization called Blue Dreams and limited to ten private subs, it had an entrance fee of a half million (brown, black, black, black, black, black) dollars. The proceeds were to go to the winner’s charity.

If he and Vivian won, the funds were earmarked for a facility that trained service and guide dogs. He wanted to shorten the average six-(orange)-year wait for these dogs so everyone who needed a helper like Edison could get a dog right away.

A shipwreck took shape in the darkness. He swiveled his navigation lights over an algae-covered hull. Silver fish with big round eyes darted away from the beams.

“I hope the crew got off safely,” Vivian said.

“She’s been down here for five years.”

“Still.”

Even though the shipwreck wasn’t their goal, he eased the sub in sideways for a closer look. His propellers kicked up algae, and he nearly knocked against the wreck. When he pulled back on the stick, she tensed up but didn’t say anything.

“I know,” he said. “But I got this.”

He was still learning to control his craft. A submarine wasn’t like a car — a sub was slow to accelerate, slow to turn, and hard to stop — but it had been so long since he’d driven anything, he could forgive the small yellow craft a lot of flaws. He hoped it could forgive him his.

“What’s it called?” she asked. “The ship?”

“According to my map, she was called the Aronnax. Maybe named after Pierre Aronnax from Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea?”

Barnacles crusted the ship’s surfaces, and anemones softened the sharp edges of her broken hull. Her mast had snapped, and the stump listed to the side, rotted lines undulating like tentacles in the current.

“Doesn’t look like it worked out for old Pierre,” she said.

Slowly, Joe circled her. The Aronnax wasn’t the most famous wreck down here, not even close, but she had a desolate charm. Someone had loved this pile of rotting wood once — painted her hull, varnished her spars, coiled her lines on her shiny teak deck. Until the ocean swallowed her and left her rotting in her grave.

Edison gave a sharp bark, and he followed the dog’s gaze.

A gray shadow had slipped from the sailboat’s hull and eased into the navigation lights. Triangular dorsal fin, powerful vertical tail, and sleek gray skin.

“It’s just Jaws,” Joe said. “Nothing to worry about.”

A calm dog, Edison rarely barked, but he knew a predator when he saw one, and he growled.

“I’m with you, Edison,” Vivian said.

“You’re such a badass on land. But underwater—”

“Before you finish that sentence, remember we’ll be back on land soon.”

He grinned, tipped the sub upright, and followed the shark. If the animal chose to evade him, he’d never keep up with it, but the shark didn’t seem to mind. It glided through the water with tiny flicks of its fins, more maneuverable and free down here than he would ever be. He envied the beast more than he could say.

The shark headed for a line of algae that looked like a bump on the ocean floor. The line extended out past his vision in both directions. Longer than any snake or eel. The shark had found what Joe was searching for.

The animal opened its massive jaws impossibly wide. White teeth flashed as the creature lunged to bite the line. Brown muck exploded upward, clouding the water and obscuring the shark. He waited. The ocean rewarded patience.

Slowly, the muck settled, and the shark came back into view. It must not have liked what it had tasted when it bit down, because it let go of the cable. After another glance at the strange dark line, the shark swam until the green darkness swallowed it from his view.

He slowed the sub and drifted down. The cable gleamed black where the shark had scraped away the algae, brown otherwise.

“Following a shark is cheating,” Vivian said.

“Nothing wrong with natural inspiration.” He maneuvered closer to the bottom. “That’s definitely a transatlantic communications cable. Maybe the cable we’re looking for.”

People had been dropping cables under the sea since 1858 when the first telegraph line connected Ireland to Newfoundland. That cable had long since gone silent. This one, too, might not be active anymore, but he suspected it was. If so, he just needed to follow it to the marker and the first part of the scavenger hunt would be over.

“Why’d the shark bite it? And will it bite us?”

“It can’t get a grip on the sub.” He hoped. “But it bit the cable because it could detect electric current running through. It happens so often that modern cables are specially designed to withstand periodic bites.”

“Great,” she said. “We’re cruising right next to something sharks like to attack.”

“Bite, not attack.”

“A distinction that doesn’t matter much if it takes off your arm.” Vivian rolled her shoulders, as if preparing to fight to hold on to her arms. She’d definitely land a few punches if a shark tried to eat her.

He followed the cable east into deeper water, and an octopus swam into view. The mollusk danced in his lights, then draped itself over the bubble cockpit.

“Wow,” Vivian said.

Round suckers tasted the outside of his window, and an alien silver eye looked in. He’d read octopi were at least as intelligent as dogs, and he wondered what the creature thought about these strange intruders in its realm.

He let the sub drift forward, not wanting to scare the octopus away before it finished its examination. After all, he was down here looking around himself. The least he could do was let the octopus satisfy its curiosity, too.

Edison’s brown eyes followed each movement, and he leaned forward and licked the inside of the plastic where suckers pulsated inches from his face. Even Vivian seemed enthralled. After a few minutes, the octopus dropped off and glided out of sight.

He followed the cable. According to his interpretation, the clue for the first flag referred to an active transatlantic cable, which meant the flag should be somewhere close by. The sub’s electric engine vibrated under his feet as he increased speed.

“Flag at three o’clock!” She pointed to a row of yellow banners. The first markers in the scavenger hunt.

He aimed for them. “How many?”

“Ten!” she crowed.

The color for one (cyan) flashed in his head, followed by the color for zero (black). Cyan, black meant he’d gotten here first.

But there was another challenge. Blue Dreams’ sponsor was a bowfishing company, and they’d specified the flag had to be shot with an arrow and reeled in. He looked at his depth gauge. They weren’t too deep, about a hundred (cyan, black, black) feet. He could put on scuba gear and go outside to shoot the flag instead of trying to shoot a bow with the sub’s grabber arms.

“Unbuckle,” he told Edison.

The dog leaned down and bit the release button in the center of his specially constructed harness. He wriggled out of the restraints and turned to face Joe.

“Dang,” said Vivian. “Smart boy!”

Edison ducked his head as if the compliment made him bashful.

He unclipped his own harness and climbed out a lot less gracefully than the dog.

The sub dipped upward. If left to its own devices, it was designed to surface — a fail-safe to keep an injured or unconscious submariner from sinking into the depths of the sea.

“You have the bridge,” he told Vivian.

“Aye aye, sir.” She took hold of her controls and leveled the sub.

He maneuvered past her, foot catching on a red emergency suit stowed under her seat. He’d equipped the sub with four (green) — one for each potential human passenger and an extra for the dog. If the submarine got stuck underwater, the passenger had to climb into that suit, exit the sub, and pull a tab. The suit would inflate automatically and send the wearer rocketing toward the surface. Or at least that was the theory. He hoped he’d never have to test it.

Edison squeezed past him to the stern, where the designers had installed the wet exit. The feature had cost a fortune. Worth it.

First, he had to get Edison ready. After he bought the sub, he’d assumed he would have to leave his best friend inside when he went diving. Instead, he’d discovered dogs could be taught to scuba dive. When he’d first stumbled across videos on the Internet of dogs paddling around underwater with bubble helmets and special vests, he hadn’t believed his eyes.

But after he’d run down the source and contacted the dogs’ owners, he’d discovered he was wrong — dogs could and did dive. He’d been surprised at how easily he’d collected the gear: a yellow buoyancy compensator tailored to Edison’s furry form, a bubble helmet that made him look like a space dog, and a miniature air tank. After that, it had been a simple matter to train the dog to swallow when his ears hurt, to stay close to him, and to follow hand signals when they couldn’t speak. Edison was a smart dog.

He waited while Joe hooked everything up, regular thumps of his tail betraying his excitement. They both loved being out in the water together. They’d been on many dives, and Edison knew what was coming.

Joe shrugged on his bulky buoyancy compensator and attached his weight belt. The extra lead around his stomach made him clumsy as he checked and turned on his tank, put his mask on, and slipped into long fins. Ready to go. He put his regulator into his mouth and took a quick breath. All good. Then he folded himself into the airlock and snatched up a dive light and the bow and arrow. The arrow was connected to the boat by a long line, usually used to haul in fish. He angled it carefully to the side so it wouldn’t hurt him or Edison.

“Here, boy!” he called.

Edison climbed awkwardly into his lap. Joe triple-checked the dog’s air lines before closing the inner door. A hug to reassure Edison, then he pressed the button to flood the compartment. Cold ocean water seeped in around them as the pressure slowly equalized. In a few minutes, the pressure in their little chamber would match the pressure outside. Once it was done, they could exit at current depth without damaging their ears.

Edison bonked his helmet against Joe’s snorkel mask, and he patted the dog’s yellow suit. We’re fine, he told Edison silently. The dog seemed to agree and relaxed to wait it out.

Joe checked his dive computer. At this depth, they had about twenty-two (blue, blue) minutes of dive time before they had to worry, but it’d still be best to do a safety stop at a higher depth before they got back into the sub if they spent much time out there. Vivian could bring the sub up to twenty (blue, black) feet and wait for them to finish the safety stop before they climbed back inside.

Eventually, the airlock filled with water, and the outer door opened. Joe uncurled into the sea. Edison doggie-paddled next to him. His wet tail waved from side to side like a tentacle, and his furry head swiveled back and forth to follow the flashlight beam.

Joe loved it out in the ocean, too, but today he had to hurry. His competitors might arrive at any moment. The clue had been complicated, but they were smart, or had smart teams. He didn’t have time to be complacent if he wanted to win this thing. And he liked winning.

He pointed the light at his chest and touched the top of his head with his glove to indicate he was OK. Vivian returned the signal from her position at the controls inside her illuminated bubble. His sub was in good hands.

Formalities out of the way, he headed straight for the flags, long fins lending him speed. Edison couldn’t keep up when he went all out, so he pulled the dog under his belly and towed him along.

The dog’s bubble rubbed his chest as Edison turned his head from side to side to take in the underwater world. Visibility was about twenty feet (blue, black), so the dog couldn’t see far through the green darkness. But it seemed to be enough for him.

Joe stopped about five (brown) feet away from the fluttering yellow marker. That was the official maximum distance, probably to make bowfishing look easy. He let go of Edison and pointed to his heel. Obligingly, Edison doggie-paddled there.

His buoyancy was solid. Joe nocked the arrow, aimed at the flag, and let fly.

And missed.

Bubbles shot out of his regulator as he swore.

Hand over hand, he reeled the arrow back in. He’d practiced this before, and he ought to be better. First-day jitters.

He set up, aimed, fired, and was rewarded by seeing the flag jerk forward. When he reeled the arrow in this time, the bright yellow flag was attached.

Edison bumped his heel, and he swiveled around to make sure the dog was all right. His mouth opened and closed in a silent bark. Joe played his flashlight around the water, searching for whatever had caused the dog to bark. He hoped it wasn’t a shark. Even though sharks were rarely dangerous, he didn’t want to meet a predator that size out here with Edison. He’d read that sharks didn’t usually attack people, but there wasn’t a lot of literature about how sharks would react to a dog.

A flash of artificial light cut through the water, and his stomach dropped. Not a shark. Worse. A competitor.

He recognized the submarine the second he saw it. Although it looked green down here, he knew it was Ferrari-red at the surface and tricked out with features even he couldn’t afford. The sub belonged to a foreign prince who had outspent him by a factor of ten (cyan, black) and had a team of fifteen (cyan, brown) men working round the clock to maintain his craft and figure out his clues — Prince Timgad.

Joe’d already had an argument with him when the prince had tried to have women formally banned from the competition, even though no women had signed up as competitors. To spite him, Joe had added Vivian to his team as the lone female competitor. He doubted he’d have gotten her into the water if the prince hadn’t been so abrasive, but she wasn’t about to let the prince ban women and get his way.

And he, Vivian, and his tiny yellow explorer had beaten the prince to the first flag. He’d win the first round, so long as he got the flag back to shore first. And he damn well would.

Vivian’s sub hovered a few yards from the prince’s sub. She looked between that sub and Joe and waved at him, her gesture making it clear he needed to hurry. She didn’t want to lose either.

Joe grinned. He could do this. Edison must have been watching his face, because his butt moved in a tail wag. He drew the dog in close and swam toward Vivian as fast as he could. They’d been out in the ocean only a few minutes. They could skip the safety stop and hightail it back to shore. Then the woman’s team would defeat the prince’s.

A shadow loomed out of the water behind the red sub. Impossibly big. Bigger than a shark. Bigger than the subs in the contest. A whale?

He kicked harder, keeping a tight hold on Edison. Whatever it was, he’d feel safer once he had the dog back in the yellow submarine. Edison wasn’t the kind of dog to panic, but he didn’t want to take chances. Too dangerous out here.

The shadow was blacker than a whale. Bigger, too.

It bore down on the green craft as if it meant to engulf it.

Joe took in the sleek lines, the stubby fin at the top, and the sheer size. A submarine. A military submarine. No military subs should be in this water, not this close to New York City. His blood turned as cold as the seawater around him.

The small sub looked like a remora tucked under a shark’s belly. The pilot’s startled face stared up at it. His hands yanked at his controls, but he couldn’t escape the relentless shadow.

The military sub settled to the bottom, crushing the little submarine under its massive hull. A brown cloud spread around it. A wash of white bubbles shot up its sides and escaped toward the surface. The cockpit must have been breached. The man must be dead. A single dark ribbon threaded through the brown murk.

A victim of its own momentum, the shadow crept forward. It aimed straight for his little yellow submarine.

And Vivian.