Adrift Read online

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m Mer.”

  He nodded. “Mer.”

  It took a moment before she registered that the irises of his eyes were different sizes. His gaze was straightforward, but she had the feeling that one of them was listing. She examined the data displayed on his laptop. “You using single or multiple frequency?”

  “Multiple.”

  “Single or split beam?”

  “Split beam.”

  Ishmael drew Mer’s attention to a tubular device. “Hydroacoustics is an important part of our research,” he said.

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Research?” Hydroacoustics described the study and application of how sound moved through water. Underwater equipment could determine water depth, the presence of plants, the location of fish, their size, and even their behavior. But fish and fauna were real. “Tell me, how does all this prove ghosts?”

  “You seem well acquainted with research methodology,” Ishmael said.

  “I was part of a study to flesh out the data on the biogeography of Arctic cephalopods.”

  “And how did you find your elusive Arctic octopi?”

  “Octopuses.” Why could no one get that right? “We located likely distribution hubs and then used both passive hydroacoustic technology and echosounders to confirm or invalidate our working hypothesis.”

  “Wow!” Amber’s eyes widened. “You’re smart.”

  Ishmael brushed Amber’s remark aside and continued to address Mer. “In other words, you did exactly what we’re doing.”

  “How do you figure?” Mer asked.

  “We heard there was paranormal activity on the Spiegel Grove.” He tapped the top of Echo’s laptop screen. “We’ll deploy sonar technology to confirm if what we’re looking for is present.”

  Mer crossed her arms. “We also looked for creatures that preyed on the cephalopods.”

  He turned his spooky eyes on her. “Tell me, Meredith, do you believe in God?”

  “I don’t see how faith relates to research.”

  He held out his arm. “I found God in the flames.”

  She touched the seahorse at her neck. “I drowned once.”

  Ishmael rubbed his chin. “Drowned? Intriguing.”

  She started and realized that she’d spoken the words out loud. “Not if you experience it.”

  Lindsey snapped her camera housing shut. “Are we earning class credit for listening to you two, or can we go find ghosts?”

  Ishmael looked over his shoulder at her. “Can you please, just once, let me finish a conversation?”

  Lindsey stood. “Maybe if you were saying something important and not talking just to hear yourself speak, I’d consider it.”

  “Will you excuse us, Mer? Lindsey and I have some business to discuss.”

  Mer retreated to the boat and climbed the ladder to the wheelhouse.

  Leroy was reclining in the captain’s chair, his feet up on the console, with a cup of cold coffee in his hand. “You throwing gasoline on the fire again?”

  “Not me.”

  “Uh-huh.” He used his cup to point toward the parking lot.

  Lindsey and Ishmael stood close to one of the Suburbans. Nose to nose, they punctuated their conversation with hand-waving and stomps. Finally, Lindsey turned her back on Ishmael and climbed into the car. He tried to stop her from closing the door, but she pushed him out of the way and started the engine. He banged on the rolled-up window. Lindsey put the car in reverse and floored it. The fender grazed Ishmael as he jumped out of the way. She threw it in gear and roared out of the lot, the tires spitting gravel.

  “Huh.” Leroy sipped his coffee. “Guess you’re the bait now.”

  Chapter 5

  The sun didn’t set until after eight o’clock. The lights on shore receded and only the stars marked their progress as the LunaSea plowed through five and a half nautical miles of Atlantic Ocean to its destination. Six white mooring balls marked the site of the massive Spiegel Grove shipwreck. Leroy chose the midship ball and Mer hooked the LunaSea’s bowline to it.

  “On line.” She signaled Leroy.

  The deck shuddered under her bare feet, then Leroy killed the engines and the LunaSea settled in the current. Gentle waves lapped against the hull, and for a moment all was silent. The ocean’s roll filled Mer with a quiet joy. The only magic she believed in.

  The USS Spiegel Grove was her favorite dive site. Named after President Rutherford B. Hayes’s Ohio estate, the dock landing ship was commissioned in the fifties, and found her final resting place off Key Largo as an artificial reef in 2002. When they sank her, she landed upside down, her bow protruding in a most undignified manner for such a grand dame. A month and a couple of hundred thousand dollars of engineering later, she rolled onto her starboard side, where she remained until Hurricane Dennis knocked her straight.

  That tidbit of information was enough to convince Mer that she never wanted to personally experience the power of a hurricane. A noise on the rear deck caught her attention. Hard plastic Pelican cases full of equipment were being dragged out and gear assembled. She scooted along the gunnels, then swung onto the deck, landing next to Rabbit. He jumped and dropped the coin he was manipulating through his fingers.

  “Oy! You scared me,” he said.

  Mer grinned. “And you call yourself a ghost hunter.”

  He plucked out his earbuds and let them hang around his neck. “I ain’t ’fraid of no ghosts.”

  “Have you seen one?”

  “Not yet.”

  The other paranormal divers were rummaging through their gear. Echo sat hunched over his sonar devices and computer equipment, his fingers tapping away on the keyboard. Amber held her Nikon against her face, snapping candids of the crew. The rest of her camera rigs, bulky housings, and strobes littered the deck. Ishmael stood at the stern, overseeing the chaos.

  Mer spoke to Rabbit. “I’m curious. How’d you end up with this crew?”

  “You ever been to New York in the summer?” He tugged his sweat-soaked T-shirt away from his body. “Brutal. I thought it’d be cooler working on a boat. Apparently, I was wrong.”

  “You might want to take off your hat, then.” Despite the darkness, the temperature had dropped only a couple of lines and the thermometer still read ninety-two degrees. She could taste the moisture in the air, hot and salty from the ocean. “I still don’t get it,” she said. “You’re an environmental-studies major.”

  “You mean why the paranormal?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s the last realm. Environmental studies is holistic. It takes economics, law, policy, and history and mixes it up with natural and social studies. Who’s to say that we’re not missing a component?”

  “But it’s a variable that can’t be calculated or even replicated.”

  “That’s why it could be a potential game changer. The great unknown. You know?”

  Echo looked up from his laptop. “You know what would be helpful? Moving that underwater scooter before it falls on my equipment.”

  Rabbit pocketed his coin. “Plus, I earn credit toward my degree and get to work with only the finest individuals.” He lifted the diver propulsion vehicle and moved it forward, careful not to nudge the attached camera. “Can’t believe we bothered to lug this on board. No sense having just one.”

  “Do you normally have more?” Mer asked.

  “Lindsey drove off before we could unload it.”

  Leroy came down from the wheelhouse and dropped an enlarged map of the Spiegel Grove on the dry table and gathered everyone around him. “We’re tied off to the number six mooring ball. Follow the line down and you’ll find yourself midship on the port superstructure. You’ll hit that at about sixty-five feet. Most of your dive will be down around ninety feet. Mer’s going to mark the path with these here glow sticks.” He snapped a six-inch ChemLight and shook it until it fluoresced an eerie green. “Who’s going down with you?”

  “Rabbit,” Mer replied. He didn’t need to do anythi
ng to help her, but a deep dive at night required a buddy. Rabbit fit the bill nicely.

  “Meanwhile,” Leroy continued, “the rest of you all can gear up and get ready to find Casper. After the two divers return and sit out their surface interval, the pool will officially be open. Mer will escort you down.”

  “Amber and I will accompany Mer as she places the lights,” Ishmael said.

  Rabbit, one leg in his wetsuit, paused, a wrinkle running across his forehead.

  Mer attached a ChemLight to her tank valve. “It would be better if you waited until I assess the conditions. Light the path. Stick to the plan we agreed to on the dock.”

  “I’ve reconsidered. The Expedition channel wants a complete documentary of our procedures from start to finish. This is part of it. Plus, I want to make certain that our positive intentions are known, and not just the vibes of a skeptic.”

  “Too bad we can’t burn a smudge stick underwater,” Mer said. She secured glow sticks to the tanks of the other divers’ rigs.

  “While I suspect sarcasm, at least you understand the concept,” Ishmael said. “There’s no telling how intuitive spirits are.”

  “Which camera should I take, Ishie?” Amber asked. “Video or still?”

  “Video’s mine,” Rabbit reminded her. “It’s complicated.”

  Amber put her hand on her hip and pulled a face.

  “Let’s save the video for when Rabbit’s down with us,” Ishmael mediated. “Why don’t you take Lindsey’s? I’ll signal what I want you to take photos of.”

  Mer interjected, “For the record? I’m your safety diver. I didn’t sign up to be photographed.”

  Amber put down her camera. “Why not? You’re not just smart, you’re beautiful.”

  Leroy coughed.

  “Beautiful,” Echo muttered. He scrutinized data on his computer, then tapped the tip of a small hydrophone. “Can you take Ariel down with you? I’m getting strange readings. I need some known noise to compare.”

  “Ariel?” Mer asked.

  “Ariel. My little mermaid. Can’t talk, just listens.”

  Amber put her hand on Echo’s arm. “That’s so sweet.”

  Even in the harsh glare of the boat lights, Mer saw Echo flush before he hid behind his laptop again.

  A flicker of annoyance passed across Ishmael’s face. “I thought you had the recorder all ready to go.”

  The woman tattooed on Echo’s shoulder jumped as he shrugged.

  “Fine,” Ishmael said, still not looking happy. “I’ll take it down.”

  Mer tucked her pendant flat and zipped herself into her wetsuit. The neoprene stopped mid-thigh and had short sleeves, but the water hovered at eighty-five degrees, and that was all she needed even at the depth of the wreck. “Let’s get this over with,” she said.

  Bungee cords held the prepared tanks tight in their slots. Mer opened the valve to her tank and checked her gauges. “I just want to reiterate that all experiments will be conducted on the exterior of the ship. Entering the wreck beyond the open passageways is forbidden at night.”

  “And I appreciate that,” Ishmael said. He crammed a personal marine rescue radio into his already stuffed pocket and slipped his arms into the harness that held his rebreather.

  Unlike Mer’s scuba setup, his unit recycled air in a closed system and didn’t create bubbles with each exhalation. Rebreathers mixed gases, required extra training, and cost a fortune. She’d learned how to dive with one during college. Given their extended bottom time, they were great to use when collecting data.

  But Ishmael’s rig was all for the cameras. Both Mer and Amber were diving with standard tanks, which meant that when they ran low on air Ishmael would have to go up with them. They’d have about thirty minutes to get down the mooring line, mark the superstructure, and affix glow sticks along a portion of the upper deck before ascending.

  Amber sat on the bench, struggling to thread her arms into her pink vest.

  “Let me help you with your BC.” Mer loosened the buoyancy compensator straps and guided Amber’s arm through the right side, then the left.

  “Thanks. I’m so excited. This is going to be my tenth dive.”

  “Tenth? One-zero?”

  Amber nodded, smiling. “I just got my advanced certification. This’ll be my very first deep dive without an instructor.”

  “Wonderful.” Mer tightened the straps. “Advanced” was a misnomer in diving. A person could graduate from a basic course and go straight into an advanced class without any dives in between. Amber barely had the skills to keep herself out of trouble, and Ishmael wanted her to take photographs. “Have you ever used a camera underwater before?”

  “I practiced in the pool. The equipment’s the same. Well, except for the housing. And the lights. Refraction’s a bit trickier. Shouldn’t be a problem, though. I mean, if Lindsey can do it, how hard can it be?”

  Rabbit plucked the camera out of the rinse bucket. “Lindsey’s got a photography degree from Brooks Institute.”

  “Courtesy of her trust fund. With enough money, anyone can walk away with a degree from there.” Amber snatched the camera.

  Mer took it out of her hands and gave it back to Rabbit. “We’ll hand it to you once you’re in the water. If we get separated, I’ll rap my flashlight against my tank. Sound travels four times faster in water, though, so you won’t be able to tell direction like you can on land. Just look for my light.” She checked Amber’s gauges. “How about we turn on your air?”

  Amber giggled. “Oops.”

  Mer rolled the valve open and inspected the rest of the woman’s gear. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right next to you.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried. What can go wrong?”

  The dive would be deep, dark, and focused on finding the dead.

  The possibilities were endless.

  —

  Mer shook off her unease and entered the ocean first. The water offered respite from the heat. For a moment, she had the sea to herself and she tipped onto her back. The sky twinkled with stars, and the waves gently rocked her.

  She ran her fingers over the bump of her necklace and her trepidation fled. Her grandmother had given her the pendant when she was five years old. At the time, Mer had been terrified of the water. Nonna had promised her that the seahorse would keep her safe. And so it had. Through childhood. Through grad school. Through four of the seven seas.

  Amber and Ishmael joined her with a splash. Leroy passed the camera to Amber, and Echo lowered the recording device to Ishmael. They swam to the buoy, the light from the boat casting shadows on the surface of the water. Mer let Amber set the pace. Together, the three divers descended along the thick mooring line, equalizing their ears to combat the growing pressure. Mer swung her flashlight in an arc as they went. The beam glinted off silver barracudas and reflected the particulates in the water.

  Darkness added an element of danger not found during daytime dives. Buddies had to stay closer together. Flashlights lit their way and acted as signaling devices. Night hid the natural landmarks divers used for navigation and increased the risk of disorientation. Mer had taken all this into consideration when she briefed Ishmael and Amber. She wasn’t worried about Ishmael; he’d logged over three hundred dives. Amber’s ten dives made her a wildcard.

  The lights from the LunaSea faded as their depth increased. Periodically, Mer tied a light stick to the line. At fifty feet, she paused and made eye contact with Amber. The younger woman had a death grip on her camera housing. To distract her, Mer waved her hand rapidly. The movement disturbed the dinoflagellates in the water, causing the plankton to glow. It wasn’t much different from shaking a light stick, but delight widened Amber’s eyes. She waved her own free hand and created more bioluminescent sparks that flew around her fingers like fireflies.

  They descended deeper, and the superstructure of the wreck loomed from the darkness, its girders skeletal in the narrow beams of their three lights. When they reached the deck, Mer clustered a group o
f three sticks as a marker and set out along the port deck rail.

  Divers encountered different creatures after dark. Many fishes seen during the day sought shelter from predators at night, hiding in the crannies of the reef, or, like tonight, in the corners of the wreck. Mer always hoped to see an octopus. Something in the way they moved—their grace, their speed—had captured her imagination from the first time she’d seen one. Add in their intelligence and playfulness and, well, she was hooked.

  Officially, she was a teuthologist, but she had yet to meet anyone outside the university who understood what that meant, and usually by the time she could explain they’d lost interest. Instead, she told people she was a marine scientist with an interest in octopuses.

  Amber darted behind Mer, pointing over her shoulder. A goliath grouper swam past them, its body longer than Mer’s, and outweighing her by three hundred pounds. Several of the gentle giants made their home on the Spiegel. Now they were hunting, their thick-lipped mouth agape, indifferent to the divers.

  Mer attracted Amber’s attention and illuminated herself. She brought her hand slowly to her regulator in an in-and-out motion until she saw Amber’s breaths return to normal. Shining her light on her hand, she formed the okay sign with her fingers. It was a question. Amber nodded and returned the signal.

  Ishmael hovered, horizontal in the slight current, occasionally kicking to maintain his position. Mer couldn’t read his expression in the dark. Was he worried about his fiancée? Seventy feet underwater was not the best place to stage a panic attack.

  Amber swung her flashlight in a wide arc, stopping on Ishmael’s face. He raised his hand to shield his eyes. Annoyance, not concern, twisted his features. He grabbed Amber’s wrist and lowered the flashlight to the deck. Served him right. Lack of light discipline was a newbie mistake. An experienced diver, he should have known how challenging this dive would be for Amber.