Black Sun: A Thriller (19 page)

And with that she peeled off to the left like a dolphin turning away from the pod. Hawker followed and the two of them tracked back underneath the boat, heading for the hidden rise in the sand half a mile away.

As she flew through the water, Danielle heard Hawker’s voice over the radio, doing a bad job of impersonating Jacques Cousteau. “And zey dove into zee murky depths, in search of zee giant octopus. Although it was not so murky as zey expected and zey weren’t really diving zat deep.”

She smiled to herself. Seawater absorbs and scatters light fairly rapidly but as they passed through forty feet it was bright and clear and pristine blue. With the light-colored, sandy bottom, it would only be slightly darker at eighty feet.

From the corner of her eye she saw Hawker pull up and turn.

She backed off the throttle and the two of them hung there, floating in zero g.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He pointed into the distance.

“Sharks.”

D
anielle watched as a large shape materialized in the distance,

“Hammerhead,” she whispered.

“As long as it’s not the one that jumps out of the water with people in its mouth,” Hawker said.

In the time she’d known Hawker, she’d found he liked to make light of situations, using humor to prop up people’s spirits or to defuse a situation. She didn’t detect that he was actually worried, but a twenty-foot, thousand-pound shark was not something to take lightly.

“Hammerheads usually ignore people,” she said, looking around in the other directions. “But the problem is …”

Even as she spoke two more of the oddly shaped fish came gliding in from out of the darkness, and then a third, fourth, and fifth.

“The problem is they tend to swim in packs,” she said.

The sharks were cruising near the surface, moving methodically, almost lazily out toward the limit of her vision. She nudged the throttle and began to ease forward.

“What are you doing?” Hawker asked.

“I just want to see where they’re going,” she said.

“How about we just let them go there,” he suggested.

That would have been fine by her. But the problem was she didn’t think they were going anywhere. She had a sneaking suspicion that they might be moving out beyond visual range and turning back toward the two human swimmers.

She continued the slow pursuit until she could see them more clearly. The sharks
had
changed course, but not back toward her and Hawker; they’d banked left, turning due south. She wanted to follow farther, but even though the sharks were swimming at a leisurely pace, there was no way to keep up with them short of gunning the throttles on the DPVs, and that didn’t seem wise, since she knew that sharks are acutely aware of vibrations.

“Danielle,” Hawker said, “you might want to turn around.”

She released the throttle and turned in Hawker’s direction. More sharks were headed their way. Not one or two or five, this time, but twenty or thirty or fifty, strung out in a long line two and three wide, like rush hour drivers on some underwater highway.

Like her, Hawker was sinking noiselessly toward the bottom. It seemed like a prudent idea. They touched down in the sand. From there Danielle had a better view. Looking upward, with the sharks backlit by the sunlight, she followed their progress. She could see what they were doing now, swimming in a half-mile-wide circle. Slowly meandering along, turning and swimming
and turning and swimming, the way fish in circular aquariums do.

“Not that I wouldn’t rather be watching this from a submarine,” Hawker said, “but this is pretty cool.”

“I’ve heard they can gather in groups of hundreds,” she said, “but I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“How many do you think there are?”

It was impossible to count, but as she watched them circle, she guessed there were more than a hundred of them, maybe close to two hundred. The larger ones swam out on their own, in the outside lane so to speak. The smaller ones, seven- and eight-footers, stuck closer together in tight groupings on the inside of the circular track.

As she tried to take in the whole scene, she gazed across the seafloor toward what would have been the center of the shark circle. There a ridge of coral and what looked like an outcropping of stone rose from the silt.

And suddenly it made sense to her. Sharks, hammerheads in particular, had sensitive organs in their snouts that detected electromagnetic pulses. The small organs were called the ampullae of Lorenzini, and were basically bundles of nerve fibers that reacted to changes in electromagnetic waves.

If they were right about the possibility of another stone being present in this area, then perhaps the sharks sensed that energy and it was drawing them in, similar to what had happened with Yuri on the boat moments before.

Only, for the sharks, there were no restrictions to hold them back and their desire to be here resulted in
this endless circling pattern. The same way moths flicker in circles around candlelight, thinking it’s the moon. They can never quite reach it, but they can’t leave it, either.

As she stared at the sharks, slowly turning above them, she found the scene almost hypnotic. Slightly dizzy, she looked away, toward the coral-covered outcropping across from them.

A few deep breaths cleared her head and she spoke.

“I think we should go over to that coral rise. It’s in the right place. If one of the stones is down here, then I’m guessing that’s where we’ll find it.”

Moving slowly and keeping an eye on the sharks above, they swam up to the outcropping of rock. Peeking out from beneath a coral blanket were great stones cut and laid in precise diagonal blocks, interlocking and supporting one another.

Danielle swam around the side, finding an exposed corner and the line of an edge.

“It looks pretty much intact,” she said.

Hawker was examining the fit of the stones. “If the exterior is secure, the interior might be as well.”

“Just like McCarter said: hard to find, but impossible to lose,” she said.

“And well defended,” he noted, nodding to the sharks. “Just like the temple in Brazil.”

Danielle examined the edges of the structure. She could see designs in the stonework. They weren’t hieroglyphic but they were similar to other Mayan designs McCarter had shown her. Warrior figures and the outline of the Witz Monster, a Mayan representation connected
to the rain god. In this case the mouth had a pair of serpents suspended within it.

The discovery sent a wave of adrenaline through her body. In fact she felt positively rapturous. “Let’s see if there is a way to get inside.”

They glided across the top of the structure, with one eye on the sharks, then they dropped down on the other side.

Danielle arrived at the bottom, beside a hollow-looking area in the web of coral. She aimed her flashlight inside.

“A tunnel.”

It was narrow and cramped with jagged outcroppings of coral growing along the walls, but she felt it was worth a try.

Hawker grabbed her arm. “You’ll fit but your tanks won’t.”

In her excitement she’d almost forgotten. The double tanks on her back were bulky and their cross section was actually wider than her hips. She slipped them off.

“Don’t,” Hawker said.

“I’m just taking a look.”

She disconnected her regulator, dropped her tanks, and kicked her way forward. After easing into the tunnel for fifteen feet or so it began to narrow around her. She moved back outside and connected to the regulator for a moment.

Hawker was staring at her as if she were crazy.

“Relax,” she said, confidently. “I’m skinny and you’re worrying for nothing.”

She took a series of deep breaths, trying to hyperoxygenate her body as free divers do. With a little luck she’d
have three or four minutes of air. It was a risk, but she felt certain that what they were looking for was right around the corner. McCarter’s translation and calculations, Yuri’s reaction, the sharks—it all made sense. The second stone was inside. It had to be there. And she had the power to go get it.

She disconnected the regulator for a second time and swam back into the tunnel. Kicking her legs smoothly, she followed the tunnel down to the spot where it narrowed. Bits of coral stuck out on one side but she squirmed past.

“Be careful,” Hawker warned.

She couldn’t reply, because it would use up her air, but she wondered when he’d become such a nag.

And then the coral snagged her in the ribs. She tried to pull away from it but there was no room in the tunnel and she began to be concerned. Time to back out.

Using her hands she pushed, but the wedges of coral that had let her slip forward now jammed into her back. She couldn’t turn around and she couldn’t back up. She twisted and pushed harder. She felt her heart pounding, heard the coral snapping off as she writhed against it.

“Hold on,” Hawker said.

She glanced back, hearing a sudden rush of bubbles as he disconnected his tanks and came in after her. She felt a hand on her leg, pulling her, but the coral was gouging her now; she could feel it cutting her skin.

“Wait!” she grunted.

Her head was spinning. She wanted him to pull her free but the coral would surely cut her and blood in the water would be the end of them both.

She twisted over, looking upward now. Her chest felt
as if it were being crushed from the outside and exploding from inside all at the same time.

Hawker had her leg again, his hands gripping her calf.

She exhaled a small amount to let some of the pressure off and the bubbles raced upward … and then popped.

Hawker pulled and she slid backward a few feet.

“Let go,” she said, barely getting the words out.

“No!”

“Please, let go.” The words squeaked from her throat. She had no more air, she was close to blacking out, but she had realized something: Safety lay ahead and not behind.

She kicked him and kicked again, felt her foot slamming into his chest. She pulled free of his grasp, and then pushed upward to where she’d seen the bubbles burst. But before she could reach the spot, her eyes rolled and all she found was blackness.

Hawker fell backward through the water, one of Danielle’s fins in his hand. He tossed it aside and tried to move forward, but his weight belt snagged on something. He broke it free but he could go no farther; his own lungs were screaming. He stretched his arms forward into the darkness, grabbing blindly for her.

Finding nothing, he pushed back out of the cave, grabbed Danielle’s tanks, and snapped the regulator into place on his mask. He took deep, fast breaths and then swam back into the cave, pushing the tanks ahead of him. They jammed on something and he pulled them
back and slammed them forward angrily, using them like a battering ram, breaking off large chunks of coral on both sides.

“Danielle!” he shouted into the radio. “Can you hear me?”

He took a deep breath, pulled the knife from its sheath on his leg, and cut the air hose. An explosion of bubbles burst forth and Hawker pushed the tanks forward, past the downslope and through to the far side. They settled to the bottom of the tunnel, bubbles flowing up toward the roof of the tunnel, where Danielle had disappeared.

He had no doubts as to Danielle’s consciousness, but without her tanks, her vest gave her positive buoyancy. She would float upward, rolling over to be faceup like a person in a life vest and banging against the ceiling of the cave, however high above her it was.

Hawker couldn’t hope to get to her quickly, and unconscious she couldn’t attach her regulator, but if she was lucky, the air pouring from the ruptured hose would fill the highest point of the cave. It would create an air pocket that she could breathe in, granting her life until he could smash his way through the tunnel and reach her.

He found himself getting light-headed, backed out, and grabbed his own tanks again. Then he swam back and attacked the coral with his knife.

Large chunks broke away beneath his assault and soon he could fit through to the bottom of the tunnel where it bent upward again.

He swam down and found Danielle’s tanks still venting gas from the ruptured hose.

He passed through them and swam upward, feeling around for Danielle in the darkness. He broke into the air pocket he’d created and frantically reached in all directions. His hands found the ceiling and the walls on every side.

It was impossible. Danielle wasn’t there.

T
he dockside agent for Gulf Boat Rental had his feet up, radio on, and the brim of his baseball hat tilted just enough to keep the sun out of his eyes. He heard the sound of people walking toward him on the wooden dock and looked up.

To his surprise he saw several Chinese men in slacks and dark shirts. They didn’t look dressed for a fishing trip.

“Hola,”
he said.

The largest of the three men pushed his way into the small booth. The rest of the group stood out in a defensive formation.

“You rented a boat earlier,” the Chinese man said to him. “To some Americans.”

“We rent out to many Americans,” the agent replied.

“You’d remember these ones,” he was told. “Two men, one white and one black. Plus a beautiful woman and a young boy who doesn’t look like he belongs to them.”

“Right.” The agent nodded.

The questioner seemed surprised but pleased. He produced a wad of bills, handing a couple of twenties to the agent.

“Do you know if they had any weapons with them?”

“Maybe a speargun or two,” the agent said.

“Where did they go?”

“Fishing for wahoo,” he told them, repeating what the woman had said to him. “But they did have diving equipment with them.”

This time a hundred came his way. He began to see how it worked.

“Do you have any way to track them?”

The agent shook his head. “I have only the deposit, in case they don’t bring the boat back. But they only have enough fuel for about fifty miles. Where could they go? We would just call the other docks.”