Sea of Greed

Floating junk and debris gathered around them. Kurt protected his head as they banged the wall and he grasped at another body as it swept past. But it rolled and slipped from Kurt’s hand, vanishing into the downwash from the incoming water.

Hoping to avoid the same fate, Kurt kicked hard and sped past the inflow point. On the next circuit, he grabbed onto a collection of pipes that spanned the dome’s curved ceiling.

The current pulled hard, but he held fast, clutching Millard to him with his free arm. The current finally began to slow.

The water had climbed above the split in the wall once again and, for the moment, the remains of the structure held.

Kurt looked up, an eight-foot gap was all that remained between him and the very top and center of the sphere. A bubble of air and toxic gases were trapped in that gap and Kurt became thankful once again for his rebreather.

Drawing oxygen from the regulator was far preferable to searing his lungs on whatever was trapped around him.

There was a slight murmur from Millard and his eyes opened just a sliver. Kurt pressed the backup regulator into Millard’s mouth. He immediately spat it out. “Where… Where are we?”

Kurt briefly pulled the regulator from his own mouth. “Back where we started,” he said, “only higher up. The whole sphere is flooded. But we can still get out of here.”

He took a breath from the regulator and forced Millard to do the same. Millard looked around groggily. “Where’s your friend?”

“Hopefully, swimming free. We need to do the same.”

Kurt looked at his watch. They’d been down there too long to get out without a decompression stop, but their position at the top of the sphere would work. They were only sixty feet below the surface.

He got Millard’s attention, pointed to the crack in the wall of the sphere.

Millard nodded.

Kurt held up three fingers, then two, then one. Letting go of the pipe but holding on to Millard, he swam toward it, dragging Millard with him. The swirling current had not completely disappeared, as the water continued to churn under its own momentum. Intent not to miss the gap, Kurt bumped his way along the wall until he found it.

The torn section of the sphere was too narrow to fit into at the top, but a few feet down it was a gaping wound. Kurt dragged Millard downward, through the opening and out into the sea.

Without the helmet, Kurt had no hope of seeing anything. He engaged the power assist and swam away from the ship as rapidly as he could. Releasing a stream of bubbles now and then, Kurt kept himself oriented. After a few minutes swimming at that depth, he allowed himself and Millard to rise, ascending slowly and finally breaking the surface.

Kurt spotted the lights of Bermuda, turned on his side and began pulling Millard with him. The power assist was operating, but not nearly as effective, without flippers. Kurt was glad for all the help he could get.

A few minutes into their swim, he felt the rumble of several explosions through the water, which went off in series as one tank after another ruptured down below. Seconds later, a single, much larger detonation told him the rest of the tanks had gone up simultaneously.

A series of white water eruptions broke the surface and the resulting waves pushed Kurt and Millard farther toward shore.

It would be another twenty minutes before Kurt spied the Pavati.

Arriving at the anchored boat, he pushed Millard up onto the dive platform and climbed the ladder. The boat was dark and still. A quick look confirmed that Joe was not aboard. Either he was out there in the open ocean or he’d never escaped from the submerged ship.

43

BERMUDA’S NORTH SHORE

KURT’S PRIORITY was stabilizing Millard, who had fallen unconscious and was suffering from mild hypothermia and the head wound.

Kurt eased Millard onto the floor of the boat, dressed the head wound and strapped him down with a cargo net. He placed a life preserver under Millard’s head as a pillow and covered him with a pair of thick towels.

“That’s the best I can do for you right now,” he said to the unconscious man.

Kurt went to the radio and dialed in the high-frequency band. “Joe, this is Kurt. Do you read?”

There was no response.

“Come in, amigo. Tell me where you’re at and I’ll come pick you up.”

Nothing but silence. If Joe hadn’t retrieved his helmet, communications would be impossible.

He switched tactics. “Priya, this is Kurt,” he said, transmitting again. “I need you to ping Joe’s transponder and give me a fix on him. He’s in the water but not responding.”

Waiting in painful silence, Kurt checked the transmitter to make sure it was operating correctly and then pressed transmit again. “Priya, come in, this is Kurt.”

The sound of the sea breeze and the waves lapping against the side of the boat was all he heard.

“Forget this,” Kurt said, hanging up the microphone.