Pressure

by Brian Keene

  The reporter must have mistaken her grin for friendliness, because her timidity vanished and she strode boldly toward the bar, hand outstretched. The cameraman hurried along in her wake, obviously uncomfortable and nervous.

  “Carrie Anderson! I’m—”

  “Is this on the record?” Carrie interrupted.

  “Um … no?”

  “Then go fuck yourself.” Carrie turned back around to face the bar, and coolly considered her half-empty glass. The reporter gave an audible huff, and paused, speechless. Carrie stifled a grin. She knew reporters, knew how they worked, and she wasn’t about to let one get over on her just because she was a little buzzed.

  The bartender eyed them both, and slowly began to approach.

  Jessamine stammered. “I … I’m sorry?”

  “No, you’re not,” Carrie replied.

  “We got off on the wrong foot. Maybe you don’t remember me? I’m—”

  “Jessamine Wheatley, currently of CBS News. Yes, I remember you. It was nice not having you people looking over my shoulder for three days.”

  “I … I just…”

  “You just want to finish your story. Is that it?”

  Before Jessamine could respond, the bartender interrupted them.

  “Get you folks anything?”

  “Um…” Jessamine frowned, clearly off balance by the turn of conversation. “A pitcher of Corona?”

  “We only have beers brewed here in Mauritius. If you want an import, the closest thing I have is Guinness Foreign Extra Stout, and that’s not on tap.”

  “They have a nice, fruity Phoenix Fresh Lemon,” Carrie suggested.

  The bartender smiled slyly at her and she winked.

  “Yes, four of those, please,” Jessamine said. “No, wait. Hank won’t drink that. One Guinness and three of those … what did you call them?”

  “Phoenix Fresh Lemon,” Carrie and the bartender said in unison.

  As he left to fill their order, Carrie and Jessamine appraised each other. The cameraman let his eyes dart all over the restaurant, looking at everything but Carrie. He shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable.

  Carrie sipped her beer and said, “Don’t bullshit a bull-shitter. That’s what my father always used to say.”

  Jessamine held her posture. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning no offense, but get to the point. I’ve had a hell of a week and I’m not in the mood. What do you want?”

  Jessamine took a deep breath, and exhaled. Her shoulders sagged.

  “You’re right,” she admitted, with a conciliatory tone. “I want to finish my story. Right now, you’re the only story here.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “A spokesman for Alpinus Biofutures told everyone you were at the hospital in Port Louis. That made sense, since that’s where most of the flotilla has been docking. But we checked into it, and found out you were here in Chemin Grenier instead. After that, it was just a matter of waiting for you to be released. I take it your employers don’t know you left early?”

  “Not yet,” Carrie admitted. “But they’ll figure it out soon enough.”

  “And you’re fully recovered?”

  The Indian man began to raise his camera. Carrie noted that the power light was on.

  “Is this an interview?” she asked.

  Jessamine shrugged. “We’d like it to be, if you’re willing.”

  “Then be honest about it and quit dicking around.”

  “I thought I just was honest?”

  “I’m talking about the fact that your camera is recording this when I thought it was off.” Carrie turned to the cameraman. “What’s your name?”

  “K-khem … I’m Khem, ma’am.”

  “Okay, Khem. Do your job. Obviously, your partner here isn’t going to leave me alone until I give her a sound bite. Let’s get it over with.”

  “Wonderful! Thank you so much, Carrie.” Jessamine smiled. “Would you care to join us at our table?”

  “No, thanks. Right here is fine.”

  “Actually,” Khem said, “the lighting in here isn’t all that great.”

  “I’m sure professionals such as yourselves will be able to make do,” Carrie said.

  “Maybe if you could stand over there?”

  Smiling, Carrie shook her head. “I have drinks on the way.”

  As if on cue, the bartender returned with their drinks. The balding man slipped out of his chair and walked over to retrieve them. He nodded at Carrie.

  “Hi, I’m Hank. I’m their producer. And I’d just like to say that we’re all glad you’re okay. That’s what’s important. And I’m sorry about what happened to your colleague.”

  “Thank you, Hank.”

  “Yes, Hank.” Jessamine scowled. “Thank you. Why don’t you take Julio his drink? We’ll be over in a bit.”

  “Don’t get mad at me, Jessamine,” he muttered under his breath.

  Jessamine waited until he had departed, and then she tried smiling again. Carrie could see that beyond the surface bravado, the reporter was flustered.

  Good, she thought. Let’s see if I can tweak her some more.

  “Could you tell us what happened to you down there?” Jessamine asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you have any idea what might have caused the critical breakdown your equipment suffered?”

  “No,” Carrie lied.

  “And you don’t remember what happened to cause the accident?”

  “I think what I said was that I wasn’t going to tell you what happened down there, not that I don’t remember. I don’t want to talk about it. A man died, after all.”

  “Yes. Noted researcher Peter Scofield, who is presumed dead.”

  “He’s not presumed dead.” Carrie took another sip of beer. “He is dead.”

  “So, you’re then confirming that—”

  “I’m not confirming or denying anything.”

  “You just said he was dead,” Jessamine protested. “I have a responsibility to—”

  “Your responsibility begins and ends with your bosses, and their responsibility is to their shareholders and advertisers. I don’t care which network you’re with. They’re all the same. The only thing that matters to them are their earnings. They pretend to appeal to one particular group or another, but in the end, it’s all bullshit. The only thing they care about are dollar signs—big corporate interests that stand in the way of good science being done.”

  “Your research is funded by Alpinus Biofutures,” Jessamine shot back. “They hardly qualify as a small company.”

  “But Alpinus wants results,” Carrie argued. “Your bosses just want ratings.”

  “What, then, are your thoughts now that the United Nations has officially removed Alpinus Biofutures from the site and turned over further exploration in the area to the NOAA instead?”

  “What?”

  Carrie regretted the question the second she voiced it. She knew how to play politics. This wasn’t her first time jousting with the press. She was something of a public relations expert when it came to her scientific interests. She knew how to handle investors, government officials, and members of the press. But so far, she had anticipated where Jessamine wanted to lead her, and had instead successfully steered the conversation in the direction she wanted to go—namely, away from Peter and what had really happened during their dive. Although now, it occurred to Carrie that it had been she who had brought Peter up. Why was she being so hot-headed all of a sudden, rather than her politically savvy self? Was she just tired? Off her game? This new, unexpected revelation regarding the United Nations and Alpinus surprised her, giving Jessamine the advantage.

  “That’s correct,” Jessamine replied. “The U.N. removed Alpinus yesterday. In their report, they cited the constant equipment malfunctions, the lack of progress, and the fact that, so far, the scientific results are inconclusive, amongst other things.”

  “You can’t rush science,” Carrie said.

  “No
,” Jessamine agreed, “you can’t. Do you think the United Nations is making a mistake with this move?”

  Carrie paused, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t believe that the NOAA will have any better luck than we did.”

  “Would you care to comment on why?”

  “No. And I have no further comment regarding any of this. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve just spent three days in the hospital. My skin still itches and I’ve got a rash, and what I really want to do right now is get drunk.”

  “A rash?”

  “From the bends. It’s a side effect. And it’s terrible. Feels like tiny insects are crawling all over me. Itches like crazy.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” Carrie shrugged. “I got off lucky.”

  Jessamine started to respond, but Khem lowered the camera and turned it off.

  “Come on,” he said to her. Then he turned to Carrie. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Anderson.”

  “Thank you,” Carrie answered.

  Nodding, Khem walked away to join his companions at their table. The man in the Hawaiian shirt, Julio, called out to him, but Carrie couldn’t hear what was said. Jessamine began to walk away, staring at the floor.

  “I’m sorry if I came off as snippy,” Carrie apologized. “You just surprised me, is all. I really wasn’t prepared for this—for giving any sort of interview. Usually I’m a bit more camera-savvy.”

  “No,” Jessamine replied. “You have every reason to be snippy. You’re right. You’re absolutely right. We caught you unawares. I don’t like staking out your hospital and following you into a bar when you obviously just want to be left alone. If it were any other profession, they’d call that stalking. But right now, this is what the public wants to hear about, and it’s my job to ask. Even if I don’t, somebody else will.”

  “I get it. Hey, can I buy you and your crew another round?”

  Jessamine smiled. “I’d like that. But what I’d like more is to really interview you sometime.”

  “Isn’t that what you just did?”

  “Not about this. I mean a real interview. I just … I find you fascinating. So do a lot of other people. I’d love to hear about what it’s been like for you in your field. And as a free diver, too. You still hold more CMAS- and AIDA-recognized world records than anyone else, man or woman.”

  Carrie shook her head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for a drink instead.”

  Jessamine shrugged. Carrie signaled the bartender and ordered another round. They were quiet for a moment, while they waited for the drink order to arrive, and then Jessamine cleared her throat.

  “Look, I’m really sorry about what happened to your colleague. And I’m glad you’re okay. Like a lot of other people, I genuinely admire you. If you change your mind, or if you want to stay in touch, here’s my card.”

  She handed Carrie a business card. Carrie accepted it, and stuck it in her pocket without a glance.

  “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I guess I’ll see you guys around?”

  Jessamine shook her head. “Not us. The network wants to move on to other stories, at least until an evacuation order is given, and that doesn’t appear to be happening anytime in the immediate future. The international community is dragging its feet.”

  “It would definitely be a massive undertaking,” Carrie agreed. “But that explains everyone’s behavior. When I first got out of the hospital, I thought it was weird that people weren’t acting more concerned.”

  “Oh, they’re concerned. There’s just not a lot they can do until something is officially decided.”

  Carrie nodded. “It has to be frustrating and scary.”

  The bartender sat Carrie and Jessamine’s drinks in front of them, and then carried a tray over to the news crew’s table.

  “So where are you off to next, then?” Carrie asked.

  “Australia. They’re dealing with an influx of jihadists. We’re going to cover that.”

  “Australia’s beautiful.”

  “It is,” Jessamine agreed. “I’m from there, originally.”

  “You don’t have an accent.”

  “Dual citizenship,” Jessamine explained. “My parents moved to the States when I was young, but we also maintained a residence in Australia. I grew up in America, but I’m Australian at heart.”

  Carrie stuck out her hand again. “Well, good luck to you.”

  “Thanks.” Jessamine shook her hand. “You, too. I hope you find what you’re looking for. What will you do, now that your expedition has been sidelined?”

  “Oh,” Carrie said, her tone vague, “I’ll just have to wait and see.”

  * * *

  Carrie waited until the news crew had left the bar, which gave her time for three more rounds. Then she paid the bartender, tipping him generously and thanking him for his time. He told her to come back again, and she assured him that she’d try. When she stepped back outside into the sunlight and the heat, her vision momentarily blurred and she felt dizzy.

  I should have eaten something, she thought. Jesus Christ, all I’ve had was hospital food for the last three days.

  When the dizziness had passed, she glanced around to make sure no more reporters were following her. Then she pulled out her cell phone and called Abhi.

  Serving as the research team’s jack of all trades—pilot, instrument manager, repair man, boatswain’s mate, laborer, and sometimes authority figure to the younger crew members—Abhi was one of Carrie’s favorite people onboard the Novak. In the short time they’d known each other, the two had become fast friends. While he certainly wasn’t a father figure, Carrie supposed her fondness for the older man was akin to that of a favorite uncle. She couldn’t explain it, but the two of them had immediately clicked upon their first meeting, and had since become thick as thieves.

  He also, unbeknownst to their superiors at Alpinus Biofutures, ran an impressive makeshift still in the ship’s boiler room, and freely shared the fruits of that still with discerning crew members who promised not to hold him responsible for any ill effects they might suffer from drinking what he termed his “special bulkhead cleaner.”

  Abhi answered on the second ring, sounding breathless and out of sorts.

  “Hey, Jailbreak, I figured you’d be calling at some point. Need a ride back to Port Louis?”

  “No, that’s okay. I can grab a cab.”

  “Are you sure? I can get a car, no problem. A cab is going to be expensive.”

  “I might as well spend it while I’ve got it.”

  “Oh, so I take it you’ve heard?”

  “That we’re shut down? Yes, I just found out. From a reporter, which was lovely. It’s such bullshit.”

  “Aye,” Abhi agreed, “it is. But what can we do? We aren’t the ones making the decisions, Carrie. It’s above our pay grade.”

  “Except we’re no longer getting paid.”

  “Well, there is that, but as I said, what can we do? Not much, other than look for another job.”

  “I’ll tell you exactly what we’re going to do,” Carrie replied. “We’re going to do our own survey. And I don’t want the press finding out about it, either. I’m betting most of them will be clearing out soon.”

  Abhi protested, but Carrie pushed ahead, insisting on his help. She then asked him to get a pen and paper, and gave him a list of equipment that they’d need—all analog gear, nothing electronic. When she was finished, there was a long pause. At first, she thought the call had dropped, but then Abhi spoke again.

  “Carrie, why are we doing this?”

  “Because,” she said, “I saw something down there.”

  “What do you mean? What did you see?”

  “I’m not sure. At least, not yet. But I think I saw something, and I can’t explain what it was without seeing it again. No one’s going to take what I say seriously until I have some actual evidence. We have to go back.”

  She thought Abhi would
make another effort to talk her out of it, but instead, he simply asked one question.

  “When do we leave?”

  THREE

  With only moderate traffic on the M2, the drive from Chemin Grenier to Port Louis took a little over an hour, which gave time for the effects of the alcohol to work its way out of Carrie’s system. They rode in silence, for the most part. Carrie, lost in her own thoughts, watched the southwest coast roll by, and the cab driver seemed content to listen to the radio, which was tuned to a Creole talk show. From what she could tell, the conversation between the host and his guest was dominated by the trench, and the possible evacuation. Diego Garcia and Madagascar were mentioned as two locations where temporary shelters were being constructed. The host was apparently incensed by this, as Diego Garcia was part of the Chagos Archipelago. Although Carrie didn’t understand all of the internal and regional politics involved, she knew that the archipelago was at the forefront of a long-running territorial dispute between Mauritius and the United Kingdom, who had leased Diego Garcia to the United States for a military base. Mauritius had unsuccessfully lobbied the United Nations several times for sovereignty over the Chagos region.

  “We should take it by force,” the cabbie muttered. “What use is having a military if we do not use it?”

  As the landscape flashed by, Carrie thought about how different the little island nation was from most other nations associated with the African continent. While poverty still existed in Mauritius, the current government played an active role in trying to help their people overcome it. A visitor might assume all of the money was located along the beaches, resorts, and tourist areas, but when driving through the rural areas, as they were now, one encountered textile mills, farms, sugar plantations, and fisheries. She knew the latter was struggling recently, as a result of the spreading collapse. Fishermen had been banned from the waters around the southern coast, as the sea floor’s spreading grew worse. This meant that the fisheries had to rely on the waters on the other side of the island, or amongst the lagoons. As a result, both their economy and their environment had taken a hit. But even before that, the fishing industry had struggled, confined to mostly trawling for shrimp and tuna, as bigger commercial fleets from Russia, Japan, Taiwan, and South Korea emptied the seas farther out.