Tusker swam inside the boat’s cabin and began carefully pulling debris out of the forward hold, looking for anything at all that might provide answers. It was all ropes, cushions, life jackets, and a jumble of tools and equipment. Suresh’s body was still trapped against the window. There was no way to do a body recovery with Roland and that small skiff. They would have to have Captain Gooneratne send out a police boat and then float Suresh’s body, and any others they found, to the surface with lift bags. It was grim business.

Where were the other bodies? Probably thrown overboard by the explosion, Tusker thought. Or maybe they jumped off when the Taprobane started to sink. They’d either be on the seafloor somewhere or would wash up on a beach down south in a few days.

The ROV was lying a few yards off of the wrecked boat, looking ready for action. Could it be salvaged and returned to MOCHA? Tusker made note of that for later. They’d come back tomorrow with Sebastian and do a more thorough survey, raise the ROV and maybe Suresh’s body.

He checked his pressure gauge. He’d breathed close to half his air supply, well over the recommended “rule of thirds” which kept one-third for the ascent, and one-third for a safety reserve. The Aquastar indicated they’d been down for 22 minutes. On his right wrist, Tusker checked his Sherwood dive computer. It was a few years old, and he never wore it for the shallow excavation work, but here in deep water it was valuable for calculating his decompression stops on the way up. It was flashing 41 minutes of deco time. They had to start their ascent now.

Tusker shouted through his mouthpiece to Ian and tapped him on the leg. Ian swiveled around. Tusker tapped his wrist and then made the “thumbs up” sign—time to ascend. Ian nodded and they both gave a few kicks to start their ascent. They rose slowly, careful to vent their buoyancy harnesses to prevent a runaway ascent, following the yellow line of the buoy. At 90 feet, Tusker paused, the Sherwood beeping at him, indicating the first deep stop. The nitrogen narcosis fog lifted.

Tusker looked down. The Taprobane was still clearly visible, almost a hundred feet below. Above him, he could see the outline of the skiff drifting a ways off of the buoy.

The Sherwood beeped again. Up to 80 feet for one minute and 70 for another. Then he crept up the line: 60 feet for two minutes, 50 feet for three minutes, 40 for four. After a few more short stops, Tusker and Ian paused at 15 feet for 20 minutes. The water was warm here and bright. The surface was tantalizingly close, but to cut short decompression now would risk paralysis or even death.