Deep Fathom

Charlie looked i

Jack stared at Charlie’s hurt expression, then burst out laughing. He held his sides against the pain. “Of course not.” He glanced up at them; his eyes began to tear up. “You have no idea what it means to see you all here….”

Lisa reached over and gave him a quick hug. “Just rest. You’ve had a rough day.”

Jack suddenly remembered. “But what about Spangler? And the others?”

Charlie looked to Lisa, then back at Jack. “Spangler’s long gone. But I’ve been in contact with Professor Nakano. She was hoping you knew what had happened to Dr. Grace. They’ve been unable to find her.”

Jack felt a sick lump in his gut. “What does she mean? I left Karen with her.”

Charlie shook her head. “The police are still questioning Professor Nakano on one of their boats. She asked if she could join us here. I said it would be okay.”

Jack nodded, but his mind spun. Where was Karen? What had happened?

Ru

“What is it?”

“A radio call.” He was out of breath. “From David Spangler. He wants to speak to you.”

Jack swung his legs off the bed, moving Elvis aside. He motioned Lisa to the IV. “Unhook me.”

Lisa paused.

“Do it. I’m fine now. I’ve survived worse.”

Lisa peeled back the surgical tape and slid out the catheter, covering the site with a small Band-Aid. She glanced at Charlie with concern.

Jack stood, wobbling on his feet. Charlie reached out to steady him, but Jack waved him away. “C’mon. Let’s see what this bastard wants now.”

As a group, they climbed up to the pilothouse. Jack grabbed the mike to the VHF radio. “Kirkland here.”

Spangler’s voice crackled from the radio. “Jack, glad to hear you’re up and about. Rumor is you got pretty shook up.”

“And fuck you, too. What do you want?”

“It seems you have something I want, and I have something you want.”

“What are you talking about?”

A new voice came on the line. “Jack?”

He clutched the phone tighter. “Karen! Are you okay?”

Spangler answered. “She’s enjoying our company. Now let’s talk business. I have no need for this woman. All I want is that bit of crystal.”

Jack switched off the transmitter and looked at Lisa. “My pack?”

“It’s down in your cabin.”

Jack returned to the radio. “What are you proposing?”

“An even exchange. The crystal for the woman. Then we all part friends and forget this ever happened.”

Right, Jack thought. He trusted David about as far as he could throw him. But he had little choice. “When?”

“Just so no one tries to pull any stunts, let’s say dawn tomorrow. At sea. In the light of day.”

“Fine, but I pick the location.” A tentative plan began to gel.

“Agreed…but if I see a single police vehicle, the woman gets cut up into bite-sized pieces and fed to the sharks.”

“Understood. Then we’ll meet at dawn off the eastern coast of Nahkapw Island.” Jack spelled the name out. “Do you know where that is?”

“I can find it. I’ll see you there.” The radio went dead.

Jack rehooked the mike.

“You know it’s a trap,” Charlie said.

Jack slumped into the pilot’s seat. “Oh, yeah, no doubt about it.”

17

Change of Course

Half an hour before sunrise, Jack swam through dark water. He checked the glowing dial on his dive watch. So far he was on schedule. He had left the stern deck of the Deep Fathom ten minutes ago. Outfitted in a Body Glove neoprene wet suit, fins, tanks, and buoyancy compensator, he had long ago worked out of his aches and pains. He swam steadily, kicking his fins slowly but deeply, sweeping rapidly along the seabed. He swerved cleanly around another stone column that loomed out of the darkness. Equipped with Robert’s night-dive gear — a small ultraviolet flashlight strapped to each wrist and a night vision mask — he had no difficulty seeing.

He glanced at his compass, maintaining his pace toward where Spangler’s police cutter floated. An hour before dawn, both men’s ships had arrived on the eastern coast of Nahkapw Island. Each party maintained a cautious half nautical mile between them, awaiting dawn.

But Jack was already in the water before his ship had even come to a stop. His plan required speed, stealth, and the cover of predawn. Earlier he had been faxed the layout of the Pohnpeian police cutter and the code to the cipher lock of this particular ship’s brig. If Karen was held anywhere, it was there. Or so he hoped.

Another stone column appeared, then another. Jack slowed. Ahead, walls and crumbled buildings appeared, all thickly coated with coral and waving fronds of kelp. Jack lifted his wrist lights. More structures and facades stretched into the distance.

Here was the sunken stone village of Kahnihnw Namkhet.

Karen had described the place yesterday on the way to Nan Madol. It was the reason he had chosen this spot. The police cutters were outfitted with sonar, and Jack needed as much cover as possible to swim up on Spangler’s ship undetected.

He dove along the bottom, sticking close to the columns, walls, and buildings. He wanted to cast as little sonar signature as possible. As he approached within an eighth of a mile of his target, he began winding in a circuitous path, attempting to keep stone walls between him and the ship.

Overhead, he saw the cutter’s searchlights basking over the waters. Through his night vision mask, the place was lit up like a Christmas tree.

He continued even more cautiously, pausing and waiting in alcoves and behind piles of tumbled stone.

Finally, he found himself directly under the keel of the ship. It floated thirty-five feet above. He checked his watch. He was now a few minutes behind schedule. The sun would soon be up.

Emptying his buoyancy compensator, Jack settled to the sea bottom, forty feet under the cutter’s keel. He hid in the shadow of a thick-walled fortification. Wriggling, he wormed out of his tanks, kicked off his fins, and dropped his weights. He kept a bite on the air regulator as he did, taking a few good breaths for the swim up. Bent over, he unstrapped the second, smaller reserve tank from his hip. The thermos-size pony tank was for Karen. He placed it beside his own gear. All was in order.

Straightening, he patted his belt and double-checked that the two waterproof plastic bags were still in place. Satisfied, he switched off his UV lights. Darkness closed around him.

Ready, Jack spit out the regulator and shot toward the surface, kicking to aim for the stern. As he raced upward, he slowly exhaled, compensating for the change in pressure. He was rising too fast for safety, but could not risk being exposed for too long.

Within a few seconds his palm touched the smooth underside of the hull. He worked toward the rear, careful of the idling prop. In the shadow of the stern, he surfaced and pushed back his mask. He had painted his face and hands with engine grease to limit any reflection.

He spotted one of Spangler’s men leaning on the rail. A cigarette hung from his lips. Jack listened. He heard no others, but couldn’t take any chances. Sliding to the starboard side, he pulled out a mirror attached to a telescoping pole from his belt and extended it toward the rail. In the mirror’s reflection, he surveyed the stern deck. There was only the single guard. Good, he thought. With the cutter’s bow pointing toward the Fathom, they had posted little security at the rear. He twisted the pole, searched the ship’s forward section and spotted movement. Two men. Maybe more.