Slowly, he swam up behind the first diver. He didn’t relish the thought of killing but there was no time to consider the ethics. These men were here to steal a weapon of mass destruction and he had to stop them. He reached for the dive knife strapped to the inside of his right calf, a Wenoka Blackie Collins he kept razor sharp. It was a bigger knife than was the fashion with divers these days, a so called “pig sticker," but he was glad for it as he eyed the twisted cabling and hoses of the umbilical, thick as a man’s wrist.

Tusker frog kicked to within ten feet of the other diver, then with two quick flutter kicks, he closed the remaining distance quickly. Just before he reached the diver, the man sensed Tusker, perhaps heard his breathing, and turned. He ducked and Tusker slashed, his movements slowed by the water, and missed with the knife. Now he was off balance, his quiver of deco bottles making quick movements awkward. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, like a fight performed in treacle. Now they were both standing on the bottom, facing each other, Tusker in his fins with a quiver of heavy bottles hanging off of him, and the other man with his oversized helmet and plume of umbilicals trailing off into the darkness.

Tusker had to kill him quickly, before he could alert others on his radio. He lunged at the man’s legs and tackled him around the ankles like a football linebacker. The diver tumbled in slow motion, the beam of his headlamps casting upward. Now! Tusker regained his own balance and slashed at the umbilical. He felt his knife purchase, but only nicked a cable, which frayed and unspooled. Nothing that would kill the man, but it must have been electrical: the torch on the helmet went dark. He hoped it had cut the diver’s camera and radio feed too.

The eerie ambient light from the diving bell above lit the scene on the sea floor like a minimalist Greek tragedy, an armored warrior grappling with a minotaur on a naked stage. The other diver was on his knees now. Tusker felt a rush of water and saw the man’s arm rise and fall. He felt a thud on the side of his head and reeled back, dazed. The diver had switched on a backup battery-powered torch on his helmet and Tusker could see the light cutting through a cloud of silt. The diver raised his arm again. He was holding a pry bar. This time, Tusker dodged the blow, which struck the sand harmlessly.