The Sam Reilly Collection Volume 3

by Christopher Cartwright

  And it was stunningly beautiful.

  Sam’s eyes greedily raked the wonder before him. The Great Blue Hole was one of many such sinkholes around the world, but maybe the most famous and almost certainly the most beautiful and unusual. In contrast to the green of the surrounding sea, the sinkhole boasted intensely blue water, a result of its depth. Once situated high above the sea, it had begun its life as a cave, complete with karst sandstone stalactites and stalagmites.

  The reef was the only remaining vestige of the surrounding land in which the sinkhole had formed, in four events taking place hundreds of thousands of years ago. When the top of the cave had collapsed, the resulting sinkhole descended through what was once about one hundred and thirty feet of surface strata before opening into the cave system, for a total of over four hundred and five feet. Then the sea levels had risen with the melting of the ice caps at both poles, submerging the land and the sinkhole alike. What was once an interesting geological phenomenon was now a spectacular one, beautiful both from above and below, and carrying a mystique that caught the imagination of divers and non-divers alike.

  This sinkhole was particularly dangerous for free-diving, though extremely popular. Not recommended for the inexperienced, recreational diving here carried with it the potential to become lost within the stalactites and stalagmites protruding from the back-sloped walls that had formed before the area was submerged. In addition, the speleothems were off-vertical by a consistent five degrees, indicating a land shift and tilting of the underlying plateau in addition to the flooding by a rise in sea level. A diver could become disoriented among them.

  Because of those back-sloped walls, diving in the center required absolute buoyancy control to prevent sudden plummeting, as there was nothing to grab and stop one’s rapid and likely fatal descent. The depth of the hole meant it was, for all practical purposes to a human being, bottomless.

  It would require all of Sam’s skill to compete in this annual spectacle.

  There was a total of eight freediving disciplines in which people competed around the world. Today, Sam was participating in what was known as a Variable Weight free dive. The concept was to use a heavy sled to sink rapidly, feet-first, before dropping the weight, and using an inflatable balloon to return to the surface. In this case, Sam was wearing a purpose made free-diving vest, which utilized a high-pressured canister of air to rapidly inflate. It had been lent to him by one of the organizers of the event.

  Sam’s name was called, and he was told to prepare for the next dive.

  Tom shook his hand. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Stay safe out there.”

  Sam grinned. “Of course. I’m not going for any record. I just need some time to clear my head and relax.”

  Tom smiled with genuine pleasure for him. “Good for you. You deserve it. Take all the time you’d like. Preferably under three minutes though…”

  “I’ll try my best not to stay down too long.”

  Sam stepped off the diving barge and dipped into the water feet first. The temperature in the Blue Hole at a hundred and thirty feet is a constant seventy-six degrees Fahrenheit all year round, and on the surface, it was closer to eighty. It felt like diving into a bath, only a little cooler than the outside temperature – and yet instantly refreshing.

  He surfaced and made a signal to Tom that everything was all okay, before casually swimming across the surface to the weighted dive sled. It was being held by a rope and diving crane that reached out several feet from the diving barge. Two safety divers on the surface gripped either end of it to keep it steady. Sam had always felt the name, diving sled, was wrong, giving a false impression. Unlike a sled, it appeared more like an iron pogo stick crossed with a heavy spade. There was a sixty-pound nose in the shape of a wide shovel, followed by two horizontal pegs on which to stand his feet. At his chest height, was a t-shaped handlebar. All of it was made of iron and came to a total weight of one hundred pounds.

  Sam placed his feet on the pegs, and grasped the heavy metal bar. Another diver helped slide a small rubber clasp over his feet to stop him from slipping off and coming away from the sled during his rapid descent.

  The judge then said, “Dive when ready.”

  Sam closed his eyes. He slowly went through the time-honored process of preparing for a free-dive, by reducing his metabolic rate through meditation. He took slow, deep, full breaths, blowing off any excess carbon dioxide in his system, sending his body into a slightly alkaline state and consciously slowing every individual system down. His heart rate dropped from eighty beats per minute down to a staggering forty beats per minute.

  He opened his eyes and nodded at the two divers who were keeping the sled from dropping. They let go – the sled lurched downward, and Sam began his race to the bottom of the Great Blue Hole.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The dive sled picked up speed.

  Soon Sam reached a descent rate of two to three feet per second. As cooler water rushed past his face, his mammalian dive reflex kicked in, and the ancient adaptation for conserving oxygen consumption underwater started to manifest.

  Blood volume and flow was redistributed toward vital organs, as his peripheral blood vessels constricted. His heart rate slowed further to twenty-eight beats per minute. He swallowed constantly, to equalize the pressure in his middle ear.

  Four feet to his left, the vertical dive line raced by.

  He closed his eyes.

  And found the sort of solitary calm and mental tranquility he’d been unable to achieve in any other place on Earth.

  For less than two minutes, his mind was completely empty.

  He no longer cared about the unforgiving celestial object rapidly approaching humanity, soon to complete its invisible thirteen-thousand-year-old celestial orbit, that would have it return to Earth.

  Nor did he care about the potential conflict between the remaining Master Builders – who he was no longer certain had the best interests of mankind at heart.

  Instead, he simply felt at peace.

  Sam opened his eyes and glanced at the depth gauge. It read two hundred and five feet. Much less than he’d been able to achieve in his twenties, but more than he had any intention of trying to reach today.

  He flicked the release valve and compressed air filled his lift bag.

  But instead of sending him upward, he continued to rush toward the bottom. Sam’s head snapped around to look at his lift bag. Gas bubbles spurted out through two giant gashes in his inflatable vest. Under normal circumstances, the entire canvas vest would have been folded in on itself until Sam had pulled the release string, and the air super inflated the balloon.

  It was impossible to notice the gash without taking the vest apart before the dive to examine, and now impossible to fix. Which meant, he was going to have to somehow make his own way to the surface the old-fashioned route – by pulling on the dive line and kicking his legs.

  He let go of the dive sled, but his foot snagged, and he continued to be pulled deeper. He bent down until he could see the problem. The rubber foot clasp had been replaced with a plastic cable tie. It fitted loosely around his right ankle and the vertical rung of the dive sled, so that he hadn’t felt it until now.

  There was no reason to have such ties on the dive sled, let alone around his ankle. Therefore, it wasn’t an accident – and more importantly – it meant someone wanted him dead.

  Sam placed his hand and mouth near the small air canister, and took in a deep breath. It would disqualify him from the tournament, but he was more interested in living than breaking records today. There was just enough for a single breath, before the tank ran out.

  He kicked his right leg, trying to free his foot. There was plenty of movement, but he remained trapped by the sled – being dragged to the bottom.

  The depth gauge now read 275 feet.

  He used both his hands and tried to break the plastic. It was impossible. Military Police had been using similar ties to restra
in prisoners for years. Without anything sharp to cut it, Sam was wasting his energy by fighting with it.

  But what other option did he have?

  The alternative was to simply give up and die. He fought with it for another few seconds, and then stopped.

  The depth read 350 feet.

  He would reach the bottom soon. Then what? Even if he could free himself, without the lift bag, there would be little chance of reaching the surface alive. Seawater became clearer the deeper he got, and despite the darkness, he could now see the bottom.

  A seabed of sand and limestone raced to meet him.

  Stalagmites, twelve feet tall and higher riddled the seafloor, like the pillars of an ancient city, lost for millennia. Below which, large erosions in the limestone formed jagged scars and deep crevasses and cave systems that stretched a further hundred feet below.

  Next to him, the end of the vertical dive-line stopped ten feet short of the seafloor. Dangling off the very end of it, and placed there for emergencies, was a single tank of air and attached regulator. It was a divine gift if he could reach it.

  The dive sled crashed into the seabed with a hard jolt, sending a thick cloud of limestone several feet high. The narrow, pointy end of the sled dug into the sandy edge. It balanced for a second and then tipped over, like a tree being felled.

  It slid deeper, into an opening in the seafloor like a jagged scar – dragging Sam with it another twenty feet – until the sled became wedged horizontally and stopped.

  Leaving Sam thirty feet out of reach of the emergency air tank.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sam was running out of options.

  His lungs burned with the desire to breathe. In the darkness, he struggled to determine whether his vision was blurry from an oxygen starved brain, or from the depth where light failed to penetrate. A coldness quickly enveloped him, as though Death himself was wrapping a blanket over him in preparation of the last journey he’d ever take.

  But Sam had no intention of dying today.

  In the darkness he ran his hands through the coral protruding from the side of the limestone cave. His fingertips felt the sharp edge of a spiral piece of fossilized marine life. His fingers latched around it and gripped as hard as they could. Sam pulled back in one sharp jolt, and the rock broke free.

  He felt for the plastic cable tie and ran the coarse piece of stone against it. Whatever he’d found simply slipped off the smooth plastic.

  Frustrated, Sam moved his leg closer to the hard stalagmite and searched the surrounding reef for something sharper. He felt his hands cutting against some sort of shell. It felt big in his hand – maybe twice the size of it – and heavy too.

  He placed the plastic against the edge of the cave wall and blindly struck it with the shell.

  The first missed completely.

  The second one slid off the smooth plastic, and scratched his right leg.

  But the third one connected!

  It sliced through the thin plastic and Sam felt his ankle finally become free. He pushed off the horizontal edge of the diving sled and swam toward the air tank.

  A warm glow originated directly above him. Someone was swimming toward him. He couldn’t quite see its source, but the light reflected off the metallic cylinder of the emergency dive tank.

  It spurred him on and Sam kicked harder with his legs. His oxygen starved and disoriented mind, suddenly focused.

  A strong beam of light swept across the Great Blue Hole. It paused on the air tank for a moment, and then continued – finally stopping directly on Sam.

  The light shined straight in his eyes.

  It made it hard to see the emergency tank. Behind the blinding glare of the light, he could only just make out the shape of another diver. Most likely, one of the rescue SCUBA divers.

  Sam felt his vision going again. He kicked harder, but even the movement of his legs seemed to be incredibly difficult.

  He was so close. Another two feet! Just keep going…

  His legs refused to respond.

  Sam’s world went dark, as his mind shut down. He threw his hands forward. The left one connected with the dive regulator. He pulled it into his mouth and took a deep breath.

  The cool air tasted sweeter than anything he’d ever experienced. He took slow, deep breaths in, until his vision started to return. It was intermittent at first, like an old TV that wasn’t quite able to receive the transmission.

  He opened his eyes and spotted the rescue diver coming in to meet him.

  The SCUBA diver stared at him through his full faced dive-mask with piercing green eyes. They were intense and focused. The man had probably raced from the surface trying to save his life, at great risk to himself.

  The man held up his thumb and forefinger together to form the shape of a “Q,” an international symbol in diving for, “Okay.”

  Sam tried to answer, but his arms weren’t quite responding yet.

  “You okay?” the stranger mouthed.

  Sam simply nodded.

  Everything was going to be okay.

  The rescue diver patted him on the back and smiled. His face said, You’re one lucky son of a gun. Sam knew he was right, too. Few people could have survived the events of the past few minutes.

  Sam took another breath in and stopped.

  A sense of panic raged as adrenaline surged through his veins, and his chest burned – because the rescue diver just turned off the flow from his dive-tank.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sam studied his attacker’s face.

  There was something uniquely disturbing about his smile. It wasn’t filled with hatred or anger. Instead, the diver’s face was set with the cold, hard appearance of something entirely different and much more sinister.

  Was it grotesque pleasure?

  His attacker gripped Sam in an immovable and giant bear hug, preventing him from opening the emergency dive cylinder again.

  Through the full-faced dive mask, the stranger mouthed the words, “It’s okay. Just take a deep breath, and it will all be over.”

  The man was simply enjoying watching him die.

  It was enough to rouse Sam into action.

  He tensed the muscles in his arms, trying to break free of the restraint his attacker had placed on him. He needed to get his arms above his head to reach the top of the dive tank. It was impossible to break the vice through direct force. Even if his energy hadn’t been depleted by oxygen starvation, he wouldn’t have been able to free himself.

  Instead, he needed a different plan.

  Forcing every muscle in his body to relax, his vision darted downward, in the opposite direction he wanted to go. If he couldn’t go up to the tank, perhaps there was somewhere he could go down. His eyes paused on his attacker’s dive knife, strapped to his lower leg.

  Sam moved his right hand slowly toward the weapon. The knife was still out of reach. He had one shot left, and he wasn’t about to let it slip past him.

  With his left arm, he threw his entire weight into pushing upward. Like a wounded animal in its death throes, Sam fought to reach the top of the dive tank. His attacker applied more pressure from above him – and with Sam’s right hand, he shot downward toward the knife.

  His hand made contact with the weapon’s hilt, but there was minimal movement available to wield it as he withdrew the knife from its sheath.

  Sam’s attacker, realizing his mistake, tried to tighten his grip again. The man stared at him with those green and intensely malevolent eyes. A sardonic grin formed on his lips. Both men locked in a deadly battle that would determine which one got to live.

  It was enough to prevent Sam from moving his right arm at all. But not enough to stop his wrist from driving the knife sideways – where he planted it deep into the diver’s calf.

  His attacker’s pupils widened in pain.

  A millisecond later, the binding pressure over Sam’s arms disappeared as his attacker punched his right wrist.

  A crushing pain seared through the bo
nes of his right forearm.

  Sam tried to drive the knife farther into his attacker’s calf, but instead, the man used both his hands to pull Sam’s hand away. In the process, the knife came free. Sam gripped the knife’s hilt as firmly as he could, and the attacker made a desperate play to take it.

  Both men were strong, but in his oxygen-depleted state, Sam knew he wouldn’t win a game of might in hand-to-hand combat.

  Instead, he opened his hand and let the knife fall.

  His attacker immediately dove to grab it, and in that instant, Sam pulled at the diver’s face-mask. The quick movement broke the seal, and seawater flooded into his attacker’s eyes. It would only take a competent SCUBA diver a moment to clear his mask, but in that moment, Sam kicked hard, breaking free from his attacker and raced toward the surface.

  Sam pulled on the dive-line that ran all the way to the surface. He climbed it hand over hand, until he’d built up enough momentum to maintain a constant ascent. Without dive fins, he would have been exerting more energy than he had to try and kick his way to the surface.

  Glancing below, he spotted his attacker.

  The man had already cleared his dive-mask and was now kicking his fins vigorously in pursuit. In his right hand, the diver gripped the same knife Sam had used to stab him thirty seconds earlier.

  It urged Sam on, pulling on the rope as fast as possible as he raced upward. He had a ten to fifteen second head start on his pursuer, who had fins. It was going to be a close race – but he had to win it if he was going to survive.

  As the air in his lungs – from the few breaths he’d managed to take before his attacker switched the emergency tank off – expanded, he started to ascend faster than he could pull himself along the rope. Like a small rocket, he shot toward the surface. He opened his mouth, and breathed out in one long and continuous exhale.

  He glanced at his depth gauge – just seventy feet to go!

  Above him, he could already make out the dark shadows of the flotilla of yachts and dive barges. His view darted downward, where his frustrated pursuer was unbuckling his weight belt and inflating his lift bag. The small, orange balloon filled with air in an instant, and sent the diver shooting to the surface and toward him.