The Deep Zone

was that messages from her gut could be trusted. More, actually: should never be ignored. Her aborted time at BARDA had been a painful object lesson. Even more of one had been her father’s early death. It was not that she and he had not had wonderful times together. They had, too many to count, and that was really the sharp end of this death. The future should have held decades more times like that. Except there was no “should” in time’s passage or acts of nature. The only things “should” applied to were people, to her, to decisions she could make, actions she could take. It did not require a second lesson like the loss of her father to drive that one home. And last of all, wrapping around everything else, was this: things are different in caves. As the old curandero had hinted and as she knew, caves were amplifiers, like great mountains. Mere dislike could quickly curdle into rage. And affection—well, that could turn to something else, too.

But Hallie had learned to recognize the look in a man’s eyes before he kissed her for the first time. Some looked hungry, some fearful, others worshipful, and suddenly Bowman didn’t look like any of those. Instead, he seemed serious, focused, clinical almost. Then she understood. He was checking for any signs of vertigo or pupillary dilation. Finally he smiled, let his hands drop, and took a step back.

“You look fine. How’d it go?”

She cocked her head, squinted at him. Had he been toying with her? Like winking back at BARDA? She couldn’t tell. “No problems. The HUD mask took a little getting used to, but otherwise, okay. How about you?”

He seemed surprised by the question, as though caught off guard by the fact that someone might be caring about his welfare.

“Same. I had some time on these rebreathers. It’s not your typical cave dive, though. The situational awareness is something you can’t simulate.”

“You mean the fact that we might as well be on the far side of the moon.”

“Right.”

“I think the only one we have to be concerned about is Rafael.”

At the word “we” Hallie saw him glance at her, but he did not appear to take it as any kind of challenge. “I agree.”

“He’s just older and doesn’t have as much time underground as we do.”

“Whose idea was it to bring him?”

“Mostly David Lathrop’s. There was concern at his agency about relations with Mexico. Arguello covers that, and the native population as well.”

“You have to admire his grit.”

That conversation ended, and then it was her turn to look into his eyes, and it wasn’t for vertigo or disorientation.

“How was I supposed to take that wink back at BARDA, Mr. Bowman?”

“Doctor Bowman to you, ma’am.” He was smiling. Great teeth, Hallie thought. When she was growing up, her mother had told her, countless times, Pay attention to a man’s teeth because they’ll tell you a lot about him. You want good breeding teeth when the time comes. Her mother, the horsewoman.

He appeared to consider her question very seriously. “Well, maybe it was gratitude. I thought we were finished. But then you pulled that group together—a very impressive thing to see.”

“Maybe?” She watched his eyes and once again thought of ice in great mountains: Alaska, the Alps and Andes, ancient ice of glaciers and crevasses, night-blue ice only the passage of centuries could create, too deep and cold for any life. But now, so much closer, she saw something that had escaped her before—tiny specks of gold glinting in the blue ice. Or was it a trick of light, reflecting off some odd cave crystal? She moved her head slightly, changing the angle, but those gold flecks stayed.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

Why indeed? “I thought there might be something in your eye.”

“My eyes feel fine.”

“And they look fine.” What had they been talking about? Oh yes. “So it was about gratitude for some team building.”

“I was very grateful. We all were.”

“Anything else, Dr. Bowman?”

A half smile, the cool blue eyes thawing. “You’re a beautiful woman, Hallie.”

You’re a beautiful woman. She had encountered that approach before, the “open and honest,” feigned-neutral-innocence posture. But there had always been something neither open nor honest lurking just below the surface, a dark craving. Bowman’s words did not strike her that way. It was her turn to toy.

“But, Dr. Bowman, I might have a husband.”

“Nope. You don’t.” His smile was too satisfied for her liking.

“How would you know?”

“Did you forget what Lathrop said about us?”

Unmarried, live alone, no significant others, and have no children. “I had forgotten that. It works both ways, doesn’t it?”

He understood. “Sure does.”

Without thinking, she said, “That surprises me. About you, I mean.”

Without hesitating, he said, “Don’t misunderstand this. But it doesn’t surprise me. About you.”

It felt like something in what he had just said should offend her, but she wasn’t sure what. “Why not?”

“You’re not the most approachable woman I’ve ever met, Hallie. I would imagine not many men have the confidence to storm those walls.”

Storm those walls. She wasn’t offended. It was hard to be offended by the truth.

She shrugged. “Not many men do. Oh, they try, but—too tall, too assertive, too many degrees, too…” She looked for the right word.

“Detached?”

She nodded. But Hallie did not feel detached just then, and she knew her eyes showed it.

“Some might put all those in the plus column.”

She waited, wanting to see what would happen, what he sensed. Many men’s brains, she had found, dropped into their crotches at moments like this. But for her it was as though a sphere of the thinnest crystal floated between them. A crude movement would shatter it, and such a thing, once lost, could not be retrieved.

Bowman made no move to kiss or grope. He just stood there, his head cocked slightly to one side, a hint of smile flickering on his face. He looked at her from beneath his eyebrows. She realized he was waiting to see what she was going to do.

She pulled off her helmet and, standing on tiptoe, which she rarely had to do for this purpose, kissed him lightly on the cheek. He tasted of salt and mineral-tinged cave water. After she kissed him there, she stepped back, smiling like an imp, waiting to see what would happen. He picked up her hand and kissed her fingertips.

She watched him do that, then stood there looking into his eyes. He looked straight back, and for just an instant she saw a flash of pain; then it was gone, his eyes softening again.

She spoke first. “I guess that wasn’t very professional.”

“I think it was—” Distracted by something, he looked away from her. “Light coming.”

“Goddamn,” she said.

“Amen.”

They watched Arguello rise dripping from the sump. He handed his pack up to Hallie, and Bowman hoisted him onto the cave floor with not much more difficulty than he had exhibited in lifting her. Shivering, pale, Arguello took off his rebreather.

“Piece of p-pie.” His voice shook.

“Piece of cake.” She patted him on the shoulder.

Arguello grimaced. “Yes. Cake. Of course. I knew that.”

“No problems, then?” Bowman was watching Arguello as he had watched Hallie.

“Not really. I have dived, of course, but not much in visibility so low, and once I almost lost the guideline. But