Sam gritted his teeth and kicked as hard as possible. He didn’t need to go far. All he had to do was hold in there for another ten seconds, and he’d be on the surface. He kicked again, but his left foot didn’t move – because someone had grabbed it.
The diver released the lift bag, and the orange balloon floated past Sam like a shooting star. Sam felt the jolt as the diver tried to pull him down again by his leg.
His attacker had assumed the only way to kill him was to drag him down long enough to drown him, or at least get close enough to him to drive the knife somewhere where it had the potential to kill him. The man probably guessed that Sam, in his hypoxic state, would be unable to concentrate on anything but trying to reach the surface.
It was a mistake.
Instead of fighting to reach the surface, Sam turned his energy to pulling – driving himself downward, to meet his attacker.
With his right leg, he kicked hard – and it connected at the space between his pursuer’s dive-mask and face. It wasn’t strong enough to do any real damage, but the man relinquished his leg as he tried to fix his mask.
It only took a second, but it was enough for Sam to kick the man’s head again. This time, there was enough force to send his opponent off to see stars.
Sam didn’t wait to see how much damage he’d inflicted, but instead swam to the surface. His mind struggled to focus, and in his disoriented state, he felt like he was never going to reach it. He felt as though both his legs had been attached to something heavy, which was dragging him under, time and time again. He could see the slight ripples of the water lapping on the surface only a few feet above him – but it may as well have been a mile.
A second later, his head broke the surface.
He took a giant gasp of fresh air…
And the darkness swallowed him whole, as he suddenly blacked out.
Chapter Seventeen
Sam opened his eyes.
He was on the dive barge, with his back up against a medical kit, looking out upon the glistening deep blue water of the Great Blue Hole. He must have passed out, and someone had dragged him out of the water. His mouth felt dry. Someone had placed a medical oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. It was working wonders to clear his head, after what had happened to him.
But what had happened?
He was free-diving. That much he felt sure he could remember. Could he have stayed under too long? That didn’t seem right. He was only entering the competition to enjoy the peace and mental tranquility free-diving provided – not to get himself killed trying to break records.
So, what went wrong?
A flash of distant memories, almost like dreams filtered through his head, like a movie, fragmented and discombobulated. None of it made sense, but he recalled those eyes.
He sat up, rigid.
Tom said, “Hey buddy, you’re awake!”
Sam searched his surroundings. His eyes spotted the orange lift-balloon floating on the surface. He searched the faces around him. Then stopped and looked directly at Tom. “Where is he?”
“Who?”
“Quick!” Sam removed the oxygen mask. “Where is he?”
With his palms facing upward, Tom asked, “Where’s who, Sam?”
“The diver, Tom!” Sam’s piercing blue eyes were focused now. “The man who was trying to kill me…”
Sam tried to stand up, but his balance shook with vertigo.
Tom braced him and forced him to sit down again. “Here.” Tom handed him the oxygen mask again. “Have some more oxygen.”
Sam brushed the mask off. “No time for that, we have to find him!”
“Who?”
“The man that tried to kill me!”
“No one was trying to kill you, Sam.” Tom grinned. “Well, no one except yourself! What were you trying to do, staying down there so long, did you learn to breathe underwater? You broke just about every free-diving record this place holds!”
“No… I was attacked!” Sam said emphatically.
“By who?”
“I don’t know. He had a pair of intense green eyes. A killer’s eyes, cold and hard. He tried to drown me. I got free by stabbing him with his own dive knife.”
Tom’s dark eyebrows narrowed. “You killed him?”
“No. I only got his leg. Maybe his calf or ankle or something…” Sam tried to recall what had happened after that. Then, with enthusiasm, he said, “He followed me to the surface. We can still find him!”
Tom said, “There was no one with you when you surfaced. You were on your own when your head broke the surface. An instant later, you blacked out, and two of the rescue divers pulled you out of the water.”
“Really? He must have been very close, you didn’t see anyone at all?”
“No,” Tom confirmed. “Why do you think he wanted to kill you?”
“Damned if I know…” His lips twisted into a wry grin. “It appears my recent dissertation on climate change certainly got someone’s attention.”
Chapter Eighteen
Tom stood up and scanned the area.
At six foot-five inches, he had plenty of elevation to view the rest of the divers and spectators spread out upon the flotilla, and those on the water. Unable to keep Sam from standing up, Tom helped him balance. His eyes raked the dive platform for any blood or signs of anyone walking with difficulty because of an injured leg.
“I can’t see anyone having trouble walking,” Tom said. “Maybe he never made it to the surface?”
“All right. Maybe he’s still under the water. I don’t know how long he’d been down there, maybe he was still decompressing?” Sam thought about it for a moment. “The question is, where will he try to go once he does surface?”
Tom thought about their location.
The Great Blue Hole was surrounded by the Light House Reef and there was only one way for a boat to get in and out. Outside of the submerged sinkhole the reef was too dangerous for boats to anchor.
He turned to Sam. “He’ll need to surface somewhere around here and board one of these yachts to escape.”
“Agreed, but we’ll need to be ready for him.” Sam was already searching for a better vantage point.
Tom said, “When did you have time to write a dissertation on anything?”
Sam grinned and started walking toward the edge of the flotilla. “I didn’t. Billie did. I just submitted it as my own.”
Tom followed, matching Sam’s shorter steps.
“Why?”
Sam glanced at the first of eight, expensive pleasure cruisers. Their bows were all tied up together to make one large platform. His eyes searched the edge of the yacht for anyone waiting to tell him to get off their boat, and then stepped onboard. “It was Billie’s idea.”
“Go on.” Tom stepped across the two-foot gap between the dive barge and the first of the pleasure cruisers.
“It all stemmed from our inability to determine who knew about the Göbekli Tepe Death Stone.” Sam sighed, as though he’d had better ideas before, and then continued. “As we discovered in the Aleutian Portal, the ancient astronomer’s stone depicts an asteroid that orbits Earth. Based on the calculations of a group of astronomers, it’s set to return to Earth every thirteen thousand years – or roughly sometime during the next two calendar years.”
“Sure. That’s why we went to the pyramid within the Tepui Mountains, so Billie could retrieve the stone tablet, and why she’s still on board the Maria Helena trying to decipher the Code to Extinction – while you’re out here having a good time, and trying to get yourself killed.”
Sam shrugged. “Hey, I was trying to clear my head!”
“Go on.”
“When we found the Death Stone, its previous guardian left a hand-written message informing us under no uncertainties not to allow the Secretary of Defense to discover the stone was still intact, and informing us that she was being watched.”
“Yes. I also recall the Secretary of Defense grilling both of us about the stone’s wherea
bouts. So, what does any of this have to do with your dissertation on climate change?”
“Everything,” Sam said. “Billie suggested I present a dissertation on the correlation between the shift of the magnetic poles and rapid climate change. There was a convenient global scientific forum, so I got the presentation together and did as she asked.” Sam lengthened his stride, and Tom matched it again.
“Why the hell would you do that?” Tom glanced at the water where another diver surfaced, and then back to Sam.
Sam met his eyes, and shook his head. “Not him.”
Tom stepped across the next gap between yachts. “I thought the idea wasn’t to reveal what we know, and keep the public calm?”
“I didn’t talk about the asteroid. The idea was to draw the attention of whoever it is who already knew about it. The easiest way to find them is to dangle me as bait and see who takes it.”
“By discussing what might happen if the comet returns as the prophecy predicts, and brings with it some sort of asteroid capable of flipping the magnetic poles?”
“No. By discussing what is happening.”
Tom stopped walking, and fixed his steely gaze on Sam’s undaunted face. “You can’t be serious!”
“I am. The world’s changing rapidly. Not like the disaster movies would have us believe the end of days look like, but really no less dangerously…”
“What’s happened?”
Sam continued to walk to the end of the row of yachts. “I’ll tell you while we walk. I want to be sure he hasn’t made it out of the water yet.”
Tom nodded. “Okay.”
“In the past three months the magnetic pole has shifted nearly two hundred miles farther south. It doesn’t sound like much, but in terms of what is considered normal in the Earth’s continuously shifting magnetic cycle, that’s a giant leap.”
“What were the responses?”
“There’s been a slowing of the world’s thermohaline circulation.”
“How much of a slowing?” Tom asked.
“Not a lot, but enough to cause some pretty major secondary problems. Many skeptics of Climate Change have argued that it’s merely the result of a statistical anomaly, and that over the course of the past decade, the average temperatures have resided clearly within the mean standard deviation.”
Tom stopped at the last yacht within the flotilla. A single-engine de Havilland Canada DHC-3 Otter Seaplane rested in the still water, tethered by a single rope to the last pleasure cruiser. It was painted light blue right down to its pontoons, with a single line of red paint running down its fuselage. The aircraft was close enough that they could see it was empty.
He turned to Sam. “You see anyone?”
“No. Let’s head back to the main dive barge and see if anyone has any recordings of the area before the dive. Maybe someone unwittingly captured an image of my attacker.”
“All right, sounds good.” Tom stared at the perfectly still water of the Great Blue Hole. “You said the thermohaline system has slowed?”
“Yes. As you know the large-scale ocean circulation is driven by global density gradients, created by surface heat and freshwater fluxes. Wind-driven surface currents, such as the Gulf Stream, travel poleward from the equatorial Atlantic Ocean, cooling en route and eventually sinking at high latitudes, forming North Atlantic Deep Water. This dense water then flows into the ocean basins. While the bulk of it upwells in the Southern Ocean, the oldest waters – with a transit time of around 1000 years – upwell in the North Pacific. Extensive mixing therefore takes place between the ocean basins, reducing differences between them and making the Earth's oceans a global system. On their journey, the water masses transport both energy in the form of heat and matter – solids, dissolved substances and gases – around the globe. As such, the state of the circulation has a large impact on the climate of the Earth.”
Tom stepped across to another yacht. This one had a small Robinson 22 tied down on its forward deck, surrounded with teak. “You said we’ve already begun to see the effects of its slowing?”
“Yeah.” Sam stopped again. “I had Elise run a search of any irregular weather or seismic activities in the past twelve months.”
“They showed a spike, three months ago?” Tom asked.
“One heck of a spike three months ago. Individually, any of the events could have been put down to the oddities and irregularities of the environment and the capriciousness of the weather, but together, they are too much to ignore.”
“It’s happening now?”
“Not completely. The asteroid is still out there, but it’s approaching, and already Earth is feeling the effects of its gravitational pull.”
“How long until its effects come into full force?”
“We have no idea. But it won’t be gradual when it does. No, it will be exactly what the horror movies make out the end of days to be.”
Tom leveled his eyes at a single spectator, still wet from a dip in the water, walking toward him. The man wore board shorts, and Tom’s eyes ran toward the man’s lower legs. They were wet, but there was no blood.
Sam glanced at him and said, “Not him, either.”
Tom sighed. “What I don’t understand about any of this is why all the cloak and dagger stuff?”
Sam met his eye, “You mean, why don’t we all simply come together globally and try to save the world?”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t know, but I’m hoping this will help me find out.” Sam stopped suddenly and studied the water, where several bubbles making ripples on the surface indicated a diver was somewhere below. “One thing’s for certain – the Secretary of Defense has kept some mammoth secrets from us, and I want to find out why. What’s she involved in? The only thing I can think of is that someone doesn’t want the truth to be told.”
“Who has anything to gain from the annihilation of the human race, not to mention the rest of the mammals and most of the sea life, too?”
“Not just mammals. There are a hundred and eight classes of animals on Earth, give or take roughly five whose class biologists can’t seem to agree on. Based on our oceanographic predictions, if the magnetic poles shift direction suddenly, you can count on at least a hundred of those being destroyed, or reduced to minimal numbers. Brachiopods, cockroaches and water bears will probably get by, because they always do, but who knows? Only extremophiles that live off the hydrothermal vents far under the ocean's surface are going to continue to live happily after this asteroid returns – unless we can stop it.”
“So, why’s the Secretary of Defense trying to keep its solution, written in the Death Stone, secret?” Tom persisted.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” Sam held his breath for a moment. “And it appears someone’s just as keen to stop me.”
Tom met his eye. “You weren’t coming here to clear your mind, were you?”
Sam grinned. “No. I needed a public event to draw my enemy out here.”
Chapter Nineteen
At the main diving barge Sam spoke with one of the organizers, who informed him the entire event was being filmed from the top of Calypso, one of the larger pleasure cruisers with a small viewing deck above the main bridge.
Calypso was a one of a kind yacht for the ultra-rich. It had sleek lines and a carbon fiber hull, with a pristine interior of teak, giving it a unique blend of old and new, that was entirely dysfunctional. It was almost perfectly flat, with a small raised bridge, on top of which was an open viewing platform and a digital camera.
Sam knocked on the side of the glass door that led to the main entertainment area inside. “Anyone here?”
A man came out and asked, “Can I help you?”
He was in his early forties, with thick sea-swept hair and thick dark facial hair that fit somewhere between a beard and what is considered unshaven. He wore casual shorts and a loose fitting, long-sleeved white shirt. To Sam, he looked like the epitome of a rich, handsome, successful businessman who’d traded the hardsh
ip of modern entrepreneurialism for a life of luxury.
Sam smiled. “Hi, my name’s Sam Reilly. This is Tom Bower. I was told you might have got a recording of the dive platform when it was being set up?”
The man’s eyes brightened. “Hey, Sam Reilly, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Todd Ridley. That was a crazy stunt you pulled off back there. I figured for sure you’d drowned.”
“Thanks. I didn’t plan to stay down quite that long.”
“Come inside. I’ve got the camera still rolling upstairs.” He opened a bar fridge and pulled out a couple of beers. “You guys want a drink?”
“Sure.”
Ridley opened both drinks and handed them to him and Tom.
Sam took a mouthful. It was cold and delicious. “Thanks.”
Ridley opened one for himself and took a little more than a mouthful. “Follow me upstairs. It’s still recording automatically, but you can view what’s already been shot, simultaneously.” Turning to Sam, he asked, “So what are you looking for?”
“A friend of mine. He’s meant to be one of the rescue divers here today, but I’m not sure he showed up. We were supposed to all come together this morning, but he wasn’t there, and I don’t see his boat around here.”
“But you think he’s here?” Ridley asked.
“Yeah. It’s not like him to miss the event.”
Ridley’s eyebrows narrowed. “Did you ask the organizers?”
“Yeah, but would you believe it, they don’t have a list of the volunteer rescue divers.”
“Go figure.”
Ridley led them up a spiral staircase and onto the teak-covered top deck. The Calypso appeared almost flat from above, with the lines of teak decking on the top deck perfectly aligned with those on the lower decks. To the aft, a two-seater Robinson 22 helicopter rested. On the top deck, a large tripod with a ten-foot periscope held a digital video camera. Next to it, a laptop on a small wooden table displayed the real-time image of the event from high above as it was being recorded. The camera’s wide lens showed a two-hundred and seventy-degree arc, capturing most of the flotilla, diving barge, and about a third of the Great Blue Hole’s surface.
The Sam Reilly Collection Volume 3 Page 59
