Dirk Pitt 22 - Poseidon's Arrow

by Clive Cussler

  “I just can’t get enough leverage,” he said.

  “It’s okay.” Summer spoke calmly, trying to mask her own fear and not place undue pressure on her brother. “Water’s rising. Better get the dive tanks.”

  Dirk saw the water was already up to Summer’s waist. The leaks had increased, and the cabin was filling quicker. He dropped his legs into the water, which stabbed his skin with an icy bite, and climbed past the seats to the rear of the submersible. He reached for a rack next to the hatch that held emergency evacuation gear—two dive tanks fitted with regulators and masks.

  He passed one tank down to Summer and looped the other over his shoulder. Then he rummaged around a compact toolbox, cursing that its wrenches and pliers were designed for small electrical repairs. The largest tool was a ball-peen hammer, which he grabbed, along with a short hacksaw blade. The blade summoned up the image of Aron Ralston, the courageous mountain biker who cut off his own arm after becoming trapped under a boulder near Moab. Amputating Summer’s foot with the hacksaw blade might become a gruesome last measure to save her life.

  “Any ideas?” Summer asked when he climbed over with the tools.

  “I’ll try and wedge the seat frame apart so you can slip out.” He passed her the light and hoped she didn’t notice the saw blade.

  “Okay,” she replied, shivering as the cold water swirled around her chest.

  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 t
he 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.”

  “We might be sleeping in the Alexandria’s decompression chamber tonight.” He scanned the horizon. “Our next problem.”

  They finally spotted the NUMA vessel far to the west. The dark band of the Madagascar shoreline was visible a bit closer, to the north.

  “The Alexandria is up current,” Dirk said. “No way we can swim to her.”

  “They’ve probably swept by already and are backtracking with a sonar survey to locate the submersible. We’ll have drifted to Australia by the time they get back this way.”

  “Then to shore it is,” Dirk said. “Are you up for the swim?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  She eyed the coastline, put her face in the water, and started swimming. They were both excellent swimmers in fit shape. Under normal circumstances, the open-water swim to shore would have been little more than a tiring challenge. But the mental strain of their escape from the submersible, combined with their cold-water exposure, turned it into a life-or-death task. Fatigue struck both swimmers almost immediately. Summer couldn’t believe how quickly her arms and legs felt like they had turned to lead.

  The turbulent seas didn’t help. The waves frequently tossed them about and filled their mouths with salt water. Swimming toward the coastline meant they were working across the current. Each stroke to shore carried them a nearly equal distance to the east, and that much farther from the Alexandria.

  The pair swam side by side, stopping to rest every ten minutes. While treading water, Dirk would fish the flashlight out of his pocket and waggle its beam at the research ship. On their third rest, the light slipped from his numb fingers, dropping into the depths like a candle down a well. By now, the NUMA ship appeared even farther away, just an occasional dancing light on the horizon.

  Dirk turned toward Summer. “C’mon, less than a mile to go.”

  She willed her limbs forward, but they had a mind of their own. A deep pain began burning in her left leg, then gradually vanished, along with all feeling in the limb. She began resting at shorter and shorter intervals, and Dirk could see she was beginning to fade.

  “Pretend we’re in Hawaii,” he said. “I’ll race you to Waikiki.”

  “Okay,” was all she could manage. Even under the rapidly fading daylight, Dirk could see her eyes turning listless.

  He grabbed her jumpsuit and swam with a sidestroke even as his own strength ebbed. The cold seemed to reach down and chill his bones, and his teeth joined Summer’s in chattering nonstop.

  He felt her body sag, and he realized she could make no more headway. Through his exhausted mind, he realized hypothermia was setting in. They both had to escape the water, and soon.

  Though his breath was nearly spent, he kept a running dialogue with Summer, encouraging her, asking endless questions to which he got no reply. When she began to flounder, he turned her on her back and towed her by the collar. There would be no more stopping for him now.

  He pressed on, one painful stroke at a time. He had nothing left in the tank, and his muscles pleaded to cease, but somehow he blocked out the agony and kept clawing through the water. The surf line ahead gradually grew larger until he could hear the waves pounding against the land. The sound inspired him to pull harder, depleting the last of his reserves.

  A wave washed over them, and Dirk came up sputtering. Summer coughed out inhaled water as they were propelled by a succeeding wave that broke on top of them. Dirk kept his grasp on Summer as they tumbled through the water and were slammed against the bottom. At last they had reached shore.

  With the force of succeeding waves at his back, Dirk staggered up the sandy beach, dragging Summer behind him. He pulled her past the tide line, then collapsed to the sand.

  “How are you feeling?” he gasped.

  “C-c-cold,” she whispered.

  It was a positive sign that she could still speak, but he had to get her dry. The night air was still warm, which would make all the difference.

  When he found the strength to stand, Dirk hobbled to his feet and looked around. They had landed on a barren stretch of the southern Madagascan coastline, within the uninhabited parklands of Cape Sainte Marie. The beach and inland area were dark. He had no idea how far the nearest help was, but it didn’t matter. He lacked the energy to search.

  He glanced seaward but found only a black and empty ocean. The coastline curved outward to the west, obscuring the lights of the Alexandria. He turned back inland and hiked up the beach, looking for shelter. The sand underfoot turned to hard scrabble, which led to some rocky hills and mounds. Nowhere was there anything resembling shelter.

  He headed back toward Summer—and tripped over a protruding mound at the edge of the beach. It extended about a dozen feet and had created a burrow on its leeward side. The indentation would provide some protection from the sea breeze, likely the best shelter Dirk could find. Finding a ragged tassel of sea grass, he ripped up as much as he could and spread it about the burrow for insulation. He returned to Summer, carried her up the beach, and placed her in the makeshift bed.

  The sea grass helped dry her skin, and he hiked down the beach to search for more. There was little, but he gathered what he could and returned to the shelter. He sat on the mound and used the grass to dry Summer’s skin before adding it to the bedding. When he stood, he knocked a lump of sand off the edge of the mound, exposing a faded band of material buried within.

  He thought nothing of it as he took off his own jumpsuit and stood in the ocean breeze, shivering until his skin dried. He then lay down beside Summer as an additional wind barrier for her. She was murmuring more, and her body no longer felt icy. With a warm evening at hand, Dirk grew confident that she was going to be all right.

  The exertion caught up with him, and his eyelids began to droop. A crescent moon appeared from behind a cloud and illumined the beach in a silvery glow. Above his head, Dirk could see the buried object protruding from the mound more clearly. It was washed-out yellow in color, marked with a string of faded black letters. His tired mind formed a name, which rang with a strange tone as he drifted to sleep.

  Barbarigo.

  47

  SUMMER AWOKE TO A SCRAPING SOUND NEAR HER ear. Prying open her eyes, she spotted a hulking object moving a few feet from her head.

  “Dirk!” she cried, nudging her sleeping brother beside her.

  He awoke with a start, sat up, and smiled when he saw the object of Summer’s fear. It was a sunbaked radiated tortoise. “You thinking of having turtle soup for breakfast?”

  The ancient reptile looked down his grainy-beaked snout at Dirk as if indicating he wasn’t amused. Turning his head down range, he dug his claws into the sand and continued his lethargic journey across the beach.

  Summer grinned at her own fears as she watched the big tortoise move away. “How could somebody harm such a stately creature?”

  “Depends on how hungry you are.” Dirk stood and viewed their surroundings in daylight. The beach was flat and sandy, surrounded by rocky limestone hills rising inland. Vegetation was sparse, as the region seldom collected more than a few inches of rainfall a year.

  Summer sat upright. “Do you see the Alexandria?”

  As he looked offshore, Dirk saw only an empty blue sea sprinkled with whitecaps. There was no sign of the NUMA ship, or any other vessels. “I guess we drifted farther east than they suspect. If we hike up the coast far enough, maybe we can wave them down.”

  Unknown to them, Jack Dahlgren and two crewmen had scoured the coastline all night in a Zodiac mounted with a searchlight. The searchers had even zipped past the beach twice. But hunkered down behind the mound, Dirk and Summer had slept
through their passes, the sound of the ocean drowning out the Zodiac’s motor.

  “Dirk?”

  He could tell by her voice that something was wrong. “What is it?”

  “I can’t move my left leg.”

  Dirk turned pale. He instantly guessed why: she’d gotten the bends after all. The condition usually showed itself by pain in the joints or limbs, but sometimes by paralysis. And paralysis in the legs typically meant that a gas bubble had lodged in the spinal cord.

  He rushed over and knelt beside her. “Are you certain?”

  Summer nodded. “I’ve got absolutely no feeling in my left leg. But the right one feels fine.” She looked at him with dread.

  “How’s the pain?”

  “Pretty light, actually, but I’ll need some help to get back to the ship.”

  They both knew that immediate treatment in a hyperbaric chamber was critical for a successful recovery. Summer was fortunate that the Alexandria carried such a chamber, likely the only one within hundreds of miles. But it might as well be on the moon, Dirk thought, if they couldn’t get to the ship.

  He glanced at a rocky rise that towered over the beach. “I’m going to take a quick hike up that hill. I’d like to see where the ship is and figure out our options.”

  “I’ll wait here,” Summer said, forcing a smile.

  Dirk quickly crossed the beach and scampered up the barren hill. The rocky ground sliced into his stockinged feet, and he regretted having kicked off his shoes when he swam out of the submersible. The hill rose sharply, and he soon obtained a commanding view of the neighboring coastline.

  Looking first to sea, he quickly spotted the Alexandria. She was a small dot in the distance, moored, he guessed, over the site of the sunken submersible. Dirk estimated he would have to hike five miles up the coast to reach a position where the crew might spot him. Gazing inland, he observed a barren range of rolling hills, part of the Cape Sainte Marie Special Reserve. The large national park, created as a wildlife sanctuary, had few resources, save for a handful of hiking trails and campsites.