The Hydra Protocol Read Online Free Page B

yacht’s thick anchor cable slanted down into the water. He clipped the transponder unit onto the cable and switched it on. The unit carried Angel’s signal and relayed it through the metal cable. Wires embedded in his gloves could pick up that signal when he touched the cable, allowing him to talk to Angel no matter how far below the water he went.
    “How’s it work?” Angel asked.
    “Pretty good,” he told her. “Your voice is a little distorted, but I can understand you just fine.”
    “Do I still sound all breathless and sultry?” she asked.
    “That comes through, no problem,” he told her.
    There were benefits to working for the world’s most technologically advanced military.
    He tested the mask to make sure it wouldn’t fog up with his breath. Then he ducked his head under the water, bled some air from his buoyancy compensator, and dropped down into the dark ocean like a stone.
OFF CAY SAL BANK: JUNE 10, 22:24
    For a second he flailed around in the dark, looking for the anchor cable. His good hand grasped it, and he pulled himself over to hug it. He waited a moment for his body to adjust to the weightlessness of the water. Then he started his descent.
    There wasn’t much swimming involved. He turned himself upside down and started climbing down the cable, hand over hand. A little moonlight streamed down around him, shafts of it spearing down into the dark and occasionally lighting up the flickering shape of a passing fish. The local wildlife kept its distance, scared of this big weird shape that had invaded their domain. Sharks would be less wary, but probably wouldn’t attack him on principle—or so he hoped.
    After a minute or two, the light went away, and he could see nothing through his mask but black water. There was no sound anywhere except for his own breathing and the rhythmic slap of his hands on the cable.
    Down. Put one hand forward, grab the cable. Release the other hand. Move that hand down, grab the cable. Down. Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. Nothing to smell but the rubber mask. He could barely feel the cable through the thick gloves. Down.
    It was funny—well, not ha-ha funny—how fast the total lack of light affected him.
    He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in darkness this profound. Where he lived now, in New York, it never really got dark. There were streetlights outside his apartment’s windows, and the city itself gave off so much light it painted the sky no matter how cloudy it got.
    This was like being at the bottom of a coal mine. This was like floating, weightless and lost, in the depths of space. This was like being blind.
    Down. One hand after another. Down. He kept repeating the word to himself in his head, reminding himself that he was moving in a particular direction. He had no referents other than the cable. His body didn’t feel like it was upside down. If he let go of the cable now, if he swam away, he wouldn’t even know which direction was up, or how to get back to the surface.
    Better not let go, then. Down. He checked the luminous readouts on his dive computer, made sure his oxygen mix was at the right partial pressure. If it was off, if the various safeguards and fail-safes built into the rebreather all went off-line at the same time, he could flood his lungs with oxygen and give himself oxygen toxicity. Supposedly that felt like being pleasantly drunk, but it was a great way to die underwater. Especially if you were diving alone. The first symptoms would be disorientation and giddiness.
    He definitely felt disoriented. He double-checked the readouts.
    His oxygen levels were fine.
    Down. Release with one hand, clutch with the other. Down.
    When Angel spoke in his ear, he was absurdly grateful. “You’re making good time,” she told him. “It’s going to feel longer than it actually is. Can you still hear me okay?”
    “Loud and clear. Everything okay topside?”
    “Yeah. So. Now that we can talk in private . . .”
    Chapel stopped