He landed on the twisted metal remains of what looked like an old shelving unit next to Murray’s corpse. He aimed his torch alongside and started to pull debris away to expose the bomb. He stopped every few seconds to settle the plumes of silt that clouded his view. Finally he saw a large fin. The rear end of the bomb. There was no way he could have fished this out with lift bags. He stepped back and found the hoist hook swaying behind him, called up for more slack, then clipped the hook to a lift ring on the bomb.

“OK, it’s hooked,” he said calmly. “Raise the hoist slowly. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

The heavy cable went taut and the bomb shifted slightly, sending debris cascading across the room and creating a whiteout. This could work to Tusker’s advantage.

“Keep hoisting,” he said. “Easy does it.” The bomb continued to rise, with Murray’s body grotesquely suspended from one of the lift rings and a limp yellow lift bag providing a garish bit of gift wrapping for the deck crew above. Just before the bomb started swinging free, Tusker inched close to it and unclipped the limpet mine from his harness. He clamped it onto the bomb’s casing, its powerful magnets gripping like its namesake mollusk does on rocks. He couldn’t very well look at the time fuze since it would appear on Rausing’s video screen above, but he remembered Fonseka telling him that a full turn would be one hour before the boom. He gave it a half turn. That should buy him 30 minutes.

“OK, she’s clear!” he shouted almost enthusiastically. “Pull it up and keep it slow.”

The suspended bomb rose in the silty darkness. Tusker swam up next to it, guiding it towards the opening in the hull, careful not to show the limpet mine with his helmet camera.

Once clear of the wreck, Tusker swam clear and called out. “It’s outside the wreck. You can go ahead and raise it.”

The bomb suddenly shot up past him. Then, to his horror, he saw the bell being raised as well. He should have expected as much. He reached up to his own umbilical and pulled hard, climbing hand over hand until he was ten feet below the bottom of the bell. He took a breath but got nothing. They’d shut off his gas. He flew up his tether, holding his breath now. The helmet started filling with cold seawater, blinding him. Clang! His helmet bashed into the bottom of the ladder. The bell! With one clean motion, Tusker hurled himself up the ladder into the bell, which was rocketing to the surface. He threw himself on the bell’s floor, ripped off the helmet and cursed loudly.

“Good show, Mr. Tusk,” came a bemused voice on the intercom. “I look forward to welcoming you on board the Depth Charge.”

Decompression Sickness