Deep Fathom

something for himself from this adventure.

The sound of an outboard motor sounded, buzzing through the gentle slosh of waves against his acrylic bubble. Jack turned and spotted the Fathom’s Zodiac dinghy, its green pontoons bouncing through the small swells.

Grinning, he slipped on his sunglasses. He spotted Charlie at the wheel. The tall Jamaican waved a long arm in his direction. Here comes the cavalry! Then Jack saw someone standing beside the geologist. Someone in a black wet suit. He frowned. Who’s that?

Charlie pulled alongside the bobbing sub and hopped over. As he secured the mooring lines, the dinghy’s other occupant dumped over the side before Jack could get a better look at him.

Charlie clambered over and unscrewed the acrylic dome. Jack pushed from the inside and shoved the dome back. Fresh air swept into the cabin and he breathed deeply, not realizing until this moment how dead the air in the sub had become. He had shaved this dive a little close.

Pulling with his arms, Jack yanked himself from the compartment. “Who’s with you?”

“One of those NTSB investigator boys. He’s here to make sure the black boxes are secure.”

Jack stretched, joints popping, then clambered over toward the nose of the sub. “I could have brought them in myself.”

“They’re not taking any chances. National security and all that. Someone had to be present.”

Jack knelt and saw the man, in snorkel and mask, working at the grips of the submerged arms. He worked fast and efficiently. At least they sent someone who knew something about submersibles. The man loosened the first pincer and collected both data recorders into a bulky float bag. It bobbed to the surface, tied by a tether to the man’s belt. The man did not even come up for air as he turned his attention to the second pincer. He freed the jade bust and collected it into another float bag.

Jack felt a twinge of respect. The man knew his stuff.

As the second float bag broke the surface, Charlie called to Jack, “Help me turn the dinghy!”

Jack left his observation point and assisted Charlie with the final preparations to haul the submersible back to the Fathom. Not that they would have far to go; the Fathom was already motoring toward their position. Jack squinted at his ship, a welcome sight.

The dinghy suddenly rocked under Jack’s feet. He grabbed the back of the pilot’s seat to keep his footing. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the NTSB man haul himself over the leeward pontoon. Jack stumbled over to assist the man into the dinghy, but by the time he got there the man had rolled aboard and was hauling one of the float bags inside.

“Let me help you,” Jack said, leaning over the side and grabbing the edge of the other float bag.

Jack found himself hip-checked and knocked onto his rear. “Leave it!” the man ordered. His words were harsh and carried a tone of command.

Jack pushed to his feet, his cheeks red, his blood up. No one shoved him around his own boat. He stepped nearer. “Who the hell do you think—”

The big man turned, ripped away his mask and pulled back the hood of his wet suit.

Jack gasped as he recognized the diver. It could not be. He had not seen his former teammate in over a decade. “David?”

The tall blond man’s face was twisted with hatred. Before Jack could move, a fist flew toward his face. Hard knuckles struck his lower jaw and threw him backward. Sparks of light danced across his vision as he hit the floor.

Charlie was instantly there, stepping between the attacker and his captain. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, mon?”

Jack sat up. “Stay out of it, Charlie.” He pushed himself to his feet, tasted blood on his tongue. The tall Jamaican moved back a half step, ready to defend his friend if necessary.

David Spangler’s thin lips sneered at Jack. “That was for Jen!” he spat.

Jack rubbed his jaw. He had no answer for that. In fact, he couldn’t blame David for his reaction. “What are you doing here?” he simply asked, leaning back against a chair.

“I’ve been assigned to the investigation by the new President.”

“What’s the CIA have to do with this?”

David’s right eye twitched.

“Yeah, I heard about your transfer,” Jack said, tired. “It seems you’ve moved up in the world.”

“And you should have stayed gone from it,” David said. He turned and hauled the second float bag into the dinghy.

“It wasn’t my idea to come here.”

“Let me guess,” David said harshly. “Admiral Houston called you in.”

Jack shrugged.

David dumped the second black box into the boat, none too gently. “Houston always had a hard-on for you, Kirkland.”

Jack’s voice grew gruff. “He was a friend of Jennifer’s, too.”

“Yeah, and look what it got her.”

Jack nudged Charlie toward the wheel. “Get us out of here.” Jack stared David down. In the other man’s blue eyes, Jack saw all the blame he felt in his own heart. “I’m sorry about Jennifer—” he started.

“Fuck your apology,” David spat back. “I have my job, you have yours. Just stay out of my way.”

Jack knew no words would ever settle this old score. David would never forgive him for his sister’s death. The chasm between them was unbridgeable. Giving up, Jack crossed to the stern to make sure the mooring lines remained clear of the motor. As he moved past the former SEAL, the man leaned close to him, his breath hot on Jack’s face.

David’s eyes shone with rancor and malice. It was like looking into the eyes of a rabid animal. He whispered so his words were heard only by Jack: “This isn’t over, Kirkland.”

Off the coast of Yonaguni Island, Okinawa Prefecture

“Get back!” Karen pulled Miyuki to her knees. Flames filled the narrow crawlway and spread rapidly along the trail of kerosene. On hands and knees the two fled behind the altar.

At the crawlway, flames swept into their hiding place, accompanied by a blast of searing heat and stinging smoke. Miyuki cupped her arm across her mouth, her eyes tearing.

Karen joined her, suppressing a choking cough, afraid to alert the looters outside. What were they to do? In the brightness of the flames, Karen’s watery eyes were drawn to the sharp glint from the snake sculpture wrapped around the altar. Its twin eyes glowed at her, reflecting the fire. Rubies.

“Karen…?” Miyuki reached out a hand to her.

Karen took it, and the women clung to one another. The wall of flames blocked escape, and the air grew smokier with each breath.

“I’m sorry,” Karen mumbled.

“Could there be another way out?” Miyuki asked. “A secret passage.”

Karen bit her lower lip, straining to think past her panic. “I don’t know. If there was, it would probably be near the altar.” Her eyes were again drawn to the altar’s snake carving. Something had been bothering her about it, nagging for her attention. Her gaze caught again on the snake’s ruby eyes. With her free hand, Karen touched the stone carving. Then she saw it, reflected in the firelight — a defect. One of the ruby eyes shone much brighter than the other. It was almost as if a hollow space lay behind it. Using a finger, she pressed against the faceted eye.

“What are you doing?” Miyuki asked.

The jewel pushed back into the snake’s skull, she heard a sharp click, then felt the snake’s head loosen in her grip. “It’s a lock release!” She could now swing the figure’s head back and forth. But nothing happened. What was its purpose?

The smoke, meanwhile, settled thicker in the chamber. Near the tunnel, the flames receded, the kerosene almost spent. Karen rubbed her sore eyes. Outside, she heard the attackers stir. Since their initial volley had failed to smoke them out, what might they do next?

The answer came quickly. A flaming glass bottle flew into the room and exploded against the front of the altar. A wave of fire burst up.

Karen fell backward, and Miyuki ducked farther behind the altar with a startled squawk.