Dirk felt like he had taken a ride in a washing machine. With its ballast tanks crushed, the submersible had flipped too many times to count as it sank. A monitor screen had torn loose during the tumble and struck Dirk in the head. He gently touched the top of his forehead and rubbed the length of a nifty gash. Other than the cut and some assorted bruises, he was unhurt—and thankful to be alive.

The submersible’s rear frame had taken the brunt of the collision with the patrol boat, mangling the thrusters, battery compartment, and oxygen tanks. Despite numerous hairline cracks, the cockpit’s acrylic bubble had somehow survived intact, sparing the occupants a quick drowning. A dozen tiny leaks were filling the cabin with icy water, but the craft had survived the plunge still filled with air.

“You okay?” Dirk asked across the dark interior. He reached for a penlight clipped to the console, but it had broken free.

“Yeah,” Summer said in a shaky voice, “I think so.”

Dirk released his harness and fell forward into a foot of cold water. The craft had landed on its face, creating an odd disorientation. Hissing erupted from several points around the submersible. Dirk couldn’t tell if it was water spraying in through tiny fissures or the remnants of one of the oxygen tanks. He climbed over the back of his seat and groped for a side storage panel where another light was kept.

Wading through a cold, black, steadily flooding submersible would have led most people to panic, but Dirk felt an odd calmness. Some of his composure came from having trained for just such an emergency. But there was also a personal component.

He had lost a woman he loved in a terrorist attack in Jerusalem the year before, and that had changed him. Since then, joy had become a harder attitude to embrace, and he had taken to viewing the world in a colder, more cynical manner. More than that, death had become a companion he no longer feared.

“We’ll have to wait for the cabin to flood before we can pop the hatch,” he said matter-of-factly. “The pony bottles should get us to the surface.”

He located the storage compartment and retrieved a small flashlight. He flicked on the beam and aimed it at his sister.

One look at Summer’s face told him something was seriously wrong. Her eyes bulged in a look of pain and fear, and her lips were set in a grimace. She released her harness and tried to stand but could only hunch over at an awkward angle.

Dirk aimed the beam toward her right leg, which was pinned against the seat. A small stain of blood marked her pant leg just above the ankle. “It’s no time to get attached to this place,” Dirk said.