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But some of the equipment was unfamiliar. The yellow plastic helmet, for instance.
“This is a Kirby Morgan Superlite,” Big Al said, holding up a yellow plastic dive helmet. “It’s the standard helmet used by our divers. It’s a lot easier and safer to have your whole head pressurized, dry and protected from impact. Here’s the flow valve for ventilation and defogging, and here’s the auxiliary valve that controls breathing air straight through the regulator. As you start to work, your body will require more oxygen, so you can tune it to optimize the flow until you feel comfortable.”
Big Al would be acting as dive tender—tholÁ€†heir topside assistant on the rig. His job was to control the winches that raised and lowered them to the correct depth, all the while making sure they had sufficient air and lines of communication. Gideon took the yellow plastic helmet from Big Al and tried it on. He’d only dived with face masks before, never with a full helmet. There was something slightly claustrophobic about it.
“This is your umbilical.” Kate held up a bright red line that was just under an inch in diameter, with a handful of co
“Is it straight atmospheric?” Gideon was asking if the air they were breathing would have the same mix of nitrogen and oxygen found in normal air.
“For the depth we’re going, yeah. If we were going deeper we’re set up so we can go nitrox, heliox, whatever’s necessary.”
Nitrox and heliox, Gideon knew, were air mixtures intended for use at great depth or during extended dives in order to alleviate the various problems, including the bends, oxygen toxicity, and nitrogen narcosis, that came as the result of gases being compressed—or decompressed—in the human body.
“We’re under some major time pressure,” Kate continued as Gideon adjusted his gear. “That doesn’t mean we throw safety out the window. Doing something stupid and getting in trouble down there will kill us all. So be careful. We’re not going super deep, but we’ll be down for a good while. If you have any questions, don’t guess. Ask me.”
“Sure.”
“We’ll be diving to about twenty-five meters. The rule of thumb is that you’ll be experiencing nitrogen narcosis equivalent to one martini for every ten meters you go below twenty meters. Normally it’s not a big factor at the depths we’ll be working, but everybody reacts differently. Pay attention to how you feel. If you start feeling like something’s wrong, let me know immediately. Understand?”
Gideon knew about the dangers of diving at these depths. He had dived deeper on several occasions. But not with this equipment, and not doing hard physical work. One of the hallmarks of recreational diving is that the diver intentionally conserves energy by moving slowly and deliberately. Hard work puts stresses on his body—burning more oxygen, creating more excess CO2, and drawing more nitrogen into the tissues of the body—all of which had the potential to create problems he had never experienced before.
“Typically we have one person on the surface supporting each diver,” Kate said. “Today we’ve only got one trained guy to superintend all the lines. And his job is going to be twice as tough because of the turbulence on the surface. If the umbilicals tangle or crimp, we’ll be carrying 40s— 40 mcf bailout bottles of emergency air. It’ll make it harder to work—but there’s just too much likelihood of these umblicals getting trashed by the waves.”
Big Al broke in: “Normally weRcalÁ€†17;d lower you in a diving basket—kind of like a little elevator. But not with these damn waves. So I’ll be lowering you with a winch. You okay with all this?”
Gideon nodded. “Let’s just get the show on the road,” he said.
Kate reached over, attached Gideon’s umbilical to his harness. Then she clipped in all the co
“Blow some air.”
Gideon found the regulator, blew some air into his mask, gave her the thumbs-up.
“Test the comm link.”
“Test. Test.”
Big Al said, “Can you hear me, Gideon?”
“Ready when you are.”
As Big Al co
Kate exchanged a brief glance. “I’ll go first,” she said.
Gideon shook his head. “Better for you to go second. If something goes wrong right out of the box, it’s better that you be up here where you can do damage control.”
Kate looked down at the treacherous seas.
“God, this is insane,” she said.
“It’s going to be fine,” Gideon said, although he knew he sounded unconvincing. He looked around the dive control station. Chun stood on the far side of the station with two other jihadis. Gideon nodded his head toward them. “Can they hear us, Big Al?”
“There’s a monitor over there,” Big Al said. “But they aren’t jacked into it. So, no, with the wind and all, they can’t hear you.”
“Good,” Gideon said. “Because, here’s the thing, Big Al. As soon as Kate’s finished welding that plate, there’s a good chance they’re going to cut the cables and leave us down there to die.”
“Not as long as I’m standing here,” Big Al said.
“Just do what you can,” Gideon said. “That’s all I ask.”
“Son,” Big Al said, “Kate’s like family to me. The only way she’s dying down there is over my dead body.”
Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Gideon thought.
Kate grabbed Gideon’s arm and pointed surreptitiously toward the far side of the dive station. Timken had just arrived. He was putting on a pair of headphones, plugging their cord into a jack on the rack of dive communications equipment. He winked at Gideon. “Hey there, gang!” Timken’s grating voice boomed into his ear, “I talked to my associate Sergeant Chun here. Turns out he had all kinds of dive training in the army. He’s go
Chun said, “You want me to go in Mr. Davis’s place?”
Timken shook his head. “Absolutely not. Keep your distance from them. I don’t want your lines getting tangled up with theirs or some tool accidentally-on-purpose cutting your air hose. You just watch them like hawks.”
Chun nodded.
Gideon's War and Hard Target
Gideon felt a sick wave of frustration. Timken was smart....
Gideon said nothing because there was nothing to say. He just clambered over the railing and swung over the edge. There was just enough slack in the umbilical to allow him to plant his feet on the railing and lean back as if he was about to rappel into the water. Big Al hit the control handle on the winch, and Gideon jerked backward and began sliding toward the waves.
When the first wave hit him, he flipped end over end, smashing so hard into the water that he almost blacked out. Then the water closed over his head and he began sinking.
Suddenly Gideon broke free of the water again. Above him the floodlights from the rig spun crazily in the blackness. He found himself in the trough between two waves. Then the wave caught him and flipped him end over end.
He tried to breathe. But something had gone wrong.
“Air!” he shouted. “Big Al, I’ve got no air!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
THE SITUATION ROOM WAS a hive of activity. But in one of those odd lulls that happens in every crowded room, it suddenly went very quiet.