“Ready,” she said, a look of challenge in her eyes.
“Great.” He grabbed his hood. “Let’s get going.”
They helped each other secure their equipment, then slid into the ice-cold water. Despite their well-insulated wetsuits, Heath felt a discernable chill run straight up from his toes as he slipped into the lake. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the reduced visibility below the swirling waters. He paddled backward to resist the surf that would have smashed him against the rocks if he let it.
Beside him, he saw Tracie gracefully flex and flow, finding a rhythm with the water, moving with it. While the wounds on his back protested, he struggled to imitate her movements, and felt a flicker of jealously at the sinuous strength in her lithe body. His brute musculature was an advantage on land, but under the force of the crashing waves where surface area was a handicap, Tracie clearly had the advantage, her slender form undulating like a frond of sea grass in the waves.
With powerful LED lights strapped to their dive hoods, they entered the sea cave. Heath looked down and was surprised to see the steep sides of the narrow passage descending infinitely below him. The bottom was beyond the reach of his light, and he wasn’t ready to go looking for it. In keeping with cave diving practices, he and Tracie followed a guide line connected to the boat. That way they wouldn’t become separated from one another in the darkness, or lose their way due to the disorienting influence of the pitch-black cave.
They’d discussed their strategy prior to making the dive, and now, as planned, Heath followed Tracie into the cave. She’d been inside before, albeit above water, and therefore had the greatest knowledge of the layout of the space. As the light penetrating the water grew dim, Tracie paused and gestured to the walls around them. Heath looked up and saw the opening to the movable stone door that had long disguised the interior cave, which for centuries had provided pirates and smugglers the perfect hideout right under the noses of the authorities, all but directly below the lighthouse that marked Wisconsin’s northernmost point. The secret sea cave had harbored many criminals over the years behind a stone facade that opened and closed much like a garage door.
The mechanism that opened the door, though intriguing, was unlikely to yield any clues to their case, so Heath secured their guide line to mark their place, and then he and Tracie swam on toward the darkness. As all light dissipated around them, Heath instinctively pulled closer to Tracie. They proceeded forward, unreeling their guide line as they went, until they came to the rough cave walls at the far end of the enclosure. Here Heath paused, inspecting the walls closely, hoping to find some clue as to what kind of vessels had been in and out of this space recently.
Tracie bobbed along silently beside him while he scrutinized the cave walls. The variation on the color of the brownstone lent a natural camouflage to the rock walls, making it that much more difficult for Heath to detect any artificial markings. The space stretched wider than a city block, so finding anything would be like discovering the proverbial needle in a haystack. They needed to go over everything methodically; flitting from one spot to another would likely cause them to miss something.
After several minutes of searching, Tracie tugged on his sleeve and pointed downward. He looked down, noting the infinite depth of the cave. She wanted to take a look.
Heath shook his head and pointed to his wrist, trying to communicate to her that they needed to be careful of how much time they spent underwater. Though the bottom of the cave might yield some sort of clue, he wasn’t ready yet to abandon his examination of the cave walls.
With a resigned look, Tracie returned her attention to examining the walls with him. Heath felt relieved. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t feel completely comfortable with Tracie diving very deep in the cave. Not only did gas consumption increase with depth, but the effects of nitrogen narcosis were known to be amplified by a dive within a cave as opposed to open-water diving. Since he didn’t know what kind of training Tracie had actually had, he didn’t dare let her go down too deep. She could easily panic, especially if she didn’t recognize the symptoms of dizziness, disorientation and exhaustion for what they were.
Heath kept close to Tracie while he searched the cave wall. They slowly made their way toward the left side of the cave, which extended under the platform the smugglers had used as a pier. Buttressed supports arched from the walls of the cave instead of straight up from the bottom. The unusual structure didn’t bode well for the depth of the cave. He’d have expected the supports to lie directly beneath the platform unless the distance to the bottom was simply too great.
Next to him, he noticed Tracie inspecting a greenish-gray streak on the rock wall. He swam closer and looked over her shoulder at the stripe. The smudge was clearly not part of the natural color variation of the wall. No, deep under the pier though they were, something had scraped against the rock hard enough to leave behind residual paint.
Heath pulled his sample collection kit from the pack at his belt. Carefully, he scraped at the hard rock. Removing a sample was tricky; getting it into the bag before it floated away, even trickier. He focused all his attention on the task.
It wasn’t until he’d safely zipped the sample away that he realized Tracie was missing. A quick look around the cave revealed a distant light shimmering in the depths below. Throwing all caution away, he raced downward, his only thought for her safety.
He lost track of the distance as he sped down toward her. As he brought his light into close enough range to illuminate her, he saw that she was frantically pulling up at something on the floor of the cave. For a fleeting moment, Heath wondered if she’d found the drain to the bottom of the lake, and he feared that if she pulled it out, the water would all drain away, taking them with it.
Then he quickly realized the absurdity of his thought, and recognized it for what it was: a symptom of nitrogen narcosis. And if he was feeling it, Tracie was surely already under its influence. He had to get her to the surface—if he could find the surface. With crushing fear, he realized he’d left the guide line somewhere far above them. Already in the darkness he was having trouble distinguishing top from bottom.
Heath grabbed Tracie’s arm and tried to pull her away from whatever it was she was tugging at. She pushed at him, and the frenzied look in her eyes confirmed his suspicions. He had to get her to the surface in a hurry, before the intoxicating effects of her condition caused her to do something deadly. He’d been warned in his own training about disoriented divers pulling out their own air lines, or becoming so panicked they refused to leave the bottom until their air supply ran out.
Wrapping his arms around her torso, he tried to pull her away from the heavy object that held her down. She wouldn’t let go of her burden. He attempted to pry her fingers away, but when she began to fight him in earnest, he realized she wasn’t leaving without it.
No, the only way to get her to leave the floor of the sea cave would be to pull them both to the surface.
Fortunately, the weight of Tracie’s find made it clear which direction was down. Heath had only to resist the gravitational pull on their load to determine which way was up. The cumbersome object, about the size of a manhole cover, but thicker and tapered to a coned point, made their journey a slow one. Tracie struggled to wriggle away from him, kicking him several times.
The extra effort not only placed on additional burden on his air supply, but the extra carbon dioxide he exhaled threw off his oxygen exchange. Heath began to feel light-headed, and strained upward to see, but no matter where he looked, there was only darkness.
He pulled against the weight and fought against the disorienting effects brought on by the lack of oxygen he was experiencing. Much as he wanted to pull them upward, he had trouble remembering which way that was. Then Heath felt a heavy blow against the wound on his arm as Tracie fought against him, and the staggering pain that ripped through him shot clarity into his mind.
He tightened his hold on Tracie and the conical chunk of metal
she’d found, and propelled them upward, kicking hard with his legs. He couldn’t recall where they were headed, and all but forgot what they were fighting until his head broke through the surface of the water. Tearing back his face mask, he gulped the pure, frigid air of the sea cave. Then he pulled back Tracie’s mask, the beams of their lights gyrating against the ceiling until he got one twisted around so he could see Tracie’s face.
Tracie’s pupils contracted against the light and he watched as the frantic expression faded from her face. Together they swam below the dock to the lip of the pier, and lifted the massive steel cone through a foot or so of empty air. It grated metal against metal as they sat it on the painted steel grate of the dock.
Then Heath hoisted himself upward, and reached down to pull Tracie’s slight frame up from the water. She struggled onto the platform beside him and slumped down, panting heavily. Heath’s mind spun as he recalled the terror he’d felt in the dark depths, and he realized he’d nearly lost it under there. He felt a foreign sense gratitude welling up as he considered how close they had come to dying in the sea cave.
As Tracie’s clarity of mind returned through a fog of confusion, she trembled from the cold and the terror of what she’d just experienced.
“Are you okay?” she asked finally, when she’d caught her breath enough to clear her thoughts.
“I think so. My arm is killing me, though. I think you might have opened up my injury.”
“Your arm?” she gasped, realizing with horror that she’d fought against him underwater, though the details were blurry. She remembered how afraid she’d been that he’d bleed to death when he’d been shot. If the wound bled too profusely out here, she’d have to administer first aid and get him to help in a hurry.
“You bumped it with that—” he pointed to the massive hunk of metal she’d pulled up from the bottom “—thing.”
“Evidence,” she informed him, then winced at the thought of how her discovery might have re-injured the wound on his arm. “Let’s get back to the boat so I can take a look at your arm.”
Carrying their flippers and the unknown object they’d pulled from the bottom, Heath and Tracie clumsily walked along the length of the platform to the exit of the cave. When the ledge outside the cave ended, they had no choice but to go back in the water to swim to where they’d anchored the boat. After lugging the evidence on board, Heath got the engine and heat going, and then peeled off the top of his wetsuit so Tracie could look at his arm.
As she’d have guessed, the angry wound was weeping red. She pulled out first aid equipment and settled in to try to make up for the damage she’d caused. While she worked, the heater began to spew out warm air, and she soon felt her chattering teeth still enough to permit conversation.
“I’m sorry about what happened back there,” she apologized as she pressed gauze to the antiseptic she’d daubed on his arm. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m not usually like that. I wouldn’t ever intentionally strike you.”
“That’s all right. It wasn’t you.”
She looked at him quizzically.
“Nitrogen narcosis,” he offered.
Tracie thought she’d heard the term somewhere, but couldn’t place it. “What’s that?”
Closing his eyes, Heath sighed, his expression patient. “The levels of nitrogen in our air supplies weren’t intended for that deep of a dive. As the depth increases, so does their concentration. They become like a narcotic. Underwater intoxication.” He turned to face her and opened his eyes. “You lose your mental control, become someone else.” His face held a distant look. “It’s often fatal.”
The gravity of their near-miss settled on her with a crushing weight. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“It’s worse when you’re diving in a cave than in open water. If I’d had any idea the cave would be that deep, I would have warned you.”
“You had no way of knowing. I was shocked, and I’d been inside the cave before but not underwater. It just seemed to go down forever.” Tracie finished taping the fresh bandage on his arm and closed her eyes, remembering. She’d certainly been out of it. Her thoughts had been so confused. While initially her dive had been driven by curiosity about what lay below, she’d quickly seen the flash of her light against the hunk of metal, and she’d sped down to retrieve it. Her memory muddled after that point, and she wasn’t even sure what she’d been thinking when Heath reached her. She shivered.
“You should change out of that wetsuit. You’ll be warmer,” Heath offered.
“Good idea.” Tracie hurried into the changing closet, then stepped out and took the wheel while Heath changed. The weather was unseasonably clear, and they were able to make good time through the maze of islands that separated them from the Coast Guard station in Bayfield.
With her attention focused outside, the warmth Heath’s hand on her back surprised her, and she jumped. She hadn’t even heard him step out.
“Sorry.” Heath pulled his hand back. “Did I startle you?”
“You’re okay,” she reassured him, shaking off her unnecessary fear. “I’m still feeling a little jittery from that dive.”
“That was rather unnerving, wasn’t it?” Heath agreed.
“Dives always are,” she murmured without thinking as Heath stepped past her and took over at the wheel.
“How’s that?” As Heath turned and looked at her, his eyes widened, showing a desire for understanding.
Tracie immediately felt self-conscious about her unintentional revelation. “Oh, just that we never seem to dive for happy reasons. Most of the dives I’ve been on are to look for a body—either somebody washed overboard, or someone riding their snowmobile out onto thin ice.” Her thoughts returned to the way her father had died, and she choked back an involuntary sob.
Heath kept their boat cruising toward home, but looked at her sympathetically. “Those are never easy.”
“No.” Tracie felt foolish. None of the guys at the Coast Guard got this emotional, certainly not around each other. She hated being different from her peers simply because she was a woman. But at the same time, her frustration only seemed to make the tears rise more readily to her eyes.
Heath slowed the boat’s speed considerably.
“What are you doing?” Tracie asked. “We’re almost back to Bayfield.”
“I know. And you look like you need a moment.” His voice broke off, and he reached for her.
Tracie took a step back, feeling mortified that he’d make any sort of special allowance on her part. “I’m okay,” she insisted, quickly wiping away a tear that had sneaked past her rapidly blinking eyelids.
Withdrawing his hand, Heath nodded but didn’t move the throttle. “Okay.” The boat idled in the water, the lap of waves marking time as evenly as a pendulum.
Tracie almost wished Heath wasn’t being so nice about her tears. Trevor would have made some nasty remark that would have irked her enough to bury her sadness with anger. But Heath’s silent kindness warmed a part of her heart that had been cold for so long she’d lost all feeling there. Now it ached with thawing sadness.
His fingertips brushed her hand.
She looked up into his compassionate eyes and realized she couldn’t hide her emotions from him. “I hate diving,” she confessed in a strained whisper.
Heath took hold of her hand. “I wish I’d known that. I wouldn’t have asked you to go.”
“It’s not your fault.” She took a shaky breath. He might as well know. If he knew, at least he’d realize she had some reason for being extra sensitive. “It’s my dad’s.” Her swollen throat cut short her words.
The lapping waves rocked them gently, their nudging motion prompting her to slowly open her heart and trust Heath with the terrors of her past.
“Did your father teach you to dive?” Heath asked after an extended silence.
Tracie shook her head and struggled to speak. “No. He was going to. He never got the chance. He died making a dive in Lake Superior.”
Heath closed his eyes and pressed her hand to his lips while the boat bobbed in the open water. “I’m sorry,” he said simply, his lips brushing her hand.
Feeling as though a weight greater than that of the steel cone they’d hefted from the seabed had been lifted from her, Tracie sniffed and said, “So am I.”
She fell silent again, and Heath put the boat into gear, pointing them back toward the mainland. He gradually increased their speed until they reached the cruising speed of eighteen knots. “How did it happen?” he asked after another silence.
“He was in the Coast Guard, stationed in Bayfield.” Tracie found her voice worked much better now that she’d regained most of her composure. Speaking helped to work out the rest. “They had a call, a submarine of all things, in distress. There were four men on board. My father pulled all four of them to safety, but then, somehow, my father drowned. I’d hoped by joining the Coast Guard I could learn more about what happened, but no one seems to know anything.”
“How long ago did it happen?”
“Fourteen years ago this summer.”
“That’s a long time,” Heath acknowledged. “What about the four men he rescued?”
“One’s dead now. I’ve traced two of them to Canada, but the trail ends there, and the other may as well have never existed for all I’ve managed to find out about him. So I guess I’ll never know what happened, or why there was a submarine on this lake in the first place.”
Heath went silent.
Tracie wondered if she’d made him uncomfortable with her emotional confession and the memories of her father.
But then he spoke up. “Submarines aren’t very common up here, are they?”
“Pretty much unheard of. Why?”
Heath stared back out at the lake, steering them past Basswood Island on the final stretch of the journey toward home.
Troubled Waters Page 6
