by Nick Thacker
“And how might that be, Captain Reynolds?”
“My mother — you weren’t watching her — “
“And why would I! We had no intention — hell, no possible way to save her!” Whittenfield shouted.
“I know that, now. And obviously you have no idea that she’s already dead.” Bryce responded.
Whittenfield stopped. Wayne, listening to the conversation through his in-ear radio, was also stunned.
Whittenfield backed up a few steps. Bryce pushed painfully to his feet — leaning heavily to the right, trying to keep from putting too much weight on his leg. He stood and faced Whittenfield.
“I found out on the flight here. Linda told me. My mother’s gone. I — I guess I knew it was coming, I just wasn’t ready for it.” Bryce almost stumbled over his words — it was the first time he’d admitted, out loud, that his mother was gone, and the words stung harder than he’d hoped. “Either way, you don’t have anything on me now — you’re on your own now, Whittenfield.”
“That’s bullshit. And even if you are telling the truth, I own you. You think anyone’s going to listen to you? Who do you think you are?” Whittenfield sounded desperate, almost pleading.
“Your biggest bargaining chip is gone, Whittenfield.”
Whittenfield knew it was over. “But — the money…“ he stammered.
“I don’t want your money,” Bryce said. “You’ve transferred enough to me already; enough to last for a while. The rest, well, I’ll get it later if I need it.”
“Later? What the hell are you talking about, Bryce?” Whittenfield snapped back.
Bryce hobbled a step forward. He was staring down the barrel of the pistol now, still held in Whittenfield’s outstretched arm. He wasn’t afraid of being shot, but he sensed that Whittenfield wouldn’t — couldn’t — pull the trigger anyway. “I’m taking everything. The company, your research, the lab — you don’t deserve it. I’m taking it and opening it to the world.
“All that talk of being philanthropic; of ‘the good of society;’ it’s a charade. But I’ll change that. Everything we’ve discovered here, and everything you’ve done — good and bad — will be revealed.”
It was Whittenfield’s turn to laugh. “Really? Taking it? How do you think you’re going to take an entire company from me?” he asked. His hand wavered, and in the split second it dropped Bryce lashed out and caught Whittenfield’s arm. The gun tumbled away, landing under the helicopter. Bryce winced at the pain the movement had caused him, but he recovered quickly and looked back up at Whittenfield.
“Glad you asked.” He nodded at Wayne, and a gunshot flashed from the large man’s hand. Whittenfield’s body lifted completely off the ground and he flew backwards onto the tarmac. The gunshot hit him in the chest, but he was protected by a bulletproof vest.
Bryce stepped forward and stood over Whittenfield. “We’re leaving you here. Your crystal is going to break down completely at any moment, and I don’t want to be on this island — or anywhere near it — when that happens.” He reached out with his arm and caught the edge of the hovering helicopter’s landing rail. The three passengers inside the chopper stepped out and grabbed Bryce, pulling him safely inside the cabin.
Whittenfield found the pistol that had been knocked out of his hand and started shooting upwards at the helicopter. Bryce turned from the gunshots and listened to them bounce harmlessly off the helicopter’s belly.
A flash of blue light caught his attention. Cole stood next to him at the edge of the helicopter’s door. His skin was glowing with the blue hue, and in his outstretched arms they could see a growing, pulsating orb — like the one they’d seen in the temple library.
“Cole? How — how are you doing that?” Corinne asked.
Bryce stepped to the side. The pilot was ascending slowly, now fifteen feet off the ground, while bullets still pinged the bottom of the craft.
Cole squinted in anger and turned his hands.
The small orb dropped from the helicopter, straight down — onto Whittenfield.
The older man was stunned, unsure of what was falling from above. He stared at it, forgetting about the fleeing helicopter, as the orb made contact with his face.
The reaction was as instantaneous as it had been with the Israeli, though this time Bryce felt no obligation to put the man out his misery. They watched in solemn silence as the shock of the mysterious crystal properties reacted with Whittenfield’s body, causing a slow internal burn that slowly killed him.
Whittenfield fell back to the ground, writhing in agony, and the helicopter tilted away from the scene below.
As the doors shut, Bryce shouted over the noise to Cole. “Ok, what was that? How did you do that?”
“Just like before — in the presence of the crystal, I’m able to, like, summon it or something.” He replied.
“But there’s no — “ Bryce stopped as he saw Wayne’s ear-to-ear grin.
“Sorry boss — I forgot to mention that. Back in the volcano, I was reaching for Vilocek’s gun. I also found this —“ he reached into his pocket and pulled out the object. “And I guess it’s strong enough to let Cole do his thing,” he finished, handing the small sliver to Bryce.
Bryce looked at the tiny sliver, glowing blue with a shimmering light. So we will be able to finish their research, he thought. He closed his eyes and thought through the last 72 hours. There were holes to fill, for sure, but he had a pretty good idea of what was left to unravel with the crystal. And he had some friends from his college days who would be grateful at the opportunity to work on such an esteemed research project.
Corinne approached him from the opposite side of the cabin. “Bryce, I couldn’t hear everything you were saying out there, but I don’t understand something. You told Whittenfield you were ‘taking everything?’ What did you mean by that?”
Wayne looked up at the pair as well. “Yeah. Whittenfield Research isn’t a public company.”
“Right — but what he didn’t realize was that when he gave me the advance after we first met, it effectively made me the highest-paid executive officer of his organization, after Whittenfield himself.”
“Who’s now, I guess, out of the picture?”
“Exactly. As such, I now have the responsibility to hire a replacement. I’m not allowed to advance to the role myself, but I can appoint someone else — someone who would be able to carry on the research arm of the company.” He winked at Corinne as he said this.
Corinne thought about this a moment, then her eyes widened in understanding. Cole also nodded his approval.
“Ms. Banks, you’ve been through a few pretty traumatic days. Why don’t you take a week or so to tie up any loose ends at the university, then give me a call. I think I might have a job opening very soon,” Bryce said.
She jumped forward to hug Bryce, but stopped short as she remembered his wound. “Thank you, thank you! Yes, I accept!” she said, elated.
“Besides,” he said. “I think the four of us are the only people left who know about a certain massive treasure sitting below the Treasury at Petra. Even if we only get a finder’s fee, I’d bet it would be enough to fund a few excursions.”
They laughed, and Bryce went over the rest of the plans with the group — Cole would gladly help out with the non-invasive experimentation, things like studying the ability to weaponize the crystal’s energy and help with the mental and physical attributes that he possessed. They’d take a few weeks off first, and then hit the ground running on the project.
He opened his eyes. In the distance, he could see the volcano spilling smoke from its top, slowly awakening from its long-time slumber. Bryce turned to the others in the cabin.
Wayne held the watch his brother Jeff had given him three years ago; tears welling up in his eyes.
Cole had his arm over Corinne, her head on his shoulder. Cole was looking out the other window while he played with a lock of Corinne’s hair.
Finally, Bryce looked down to the sliver of crystal
in his hand. They could make so much money from this object — the possibilities were virtually endless. What Vilocek — and eventually Whittenfield — had seen in it was all true. It was capable of so much; such a powerful piece of science.
But the world wasn’t ready for this.
Bryce knew how easily one could be swayed; blinded. He had seen it firsthand, and he knew that not even he could prevent it from eventually corrupting someone else. They had the research; the methodologies. They had the resources and the minds to create and learn — they didn’t need this crystal.
He opened the bay door and dropped the crystal out.
It sank through the air, disappearing as it blended into the pure blue of the sea below.
He had just saved the world — for a while, at least.
The Depths
1
Prologue
"Hello?" Jen answered the phone in an agitated, yet confused tone. Who was calling at this hour? It was past ten o'clock on a Wednesday night, and Jen normally would have been pouring herself a glass of red wine before bed.
No response.
Again, she spoke into the cellphone. Louder and more direct this time. "Hello?" She heard shuffling on the other end; fumbling. Then a breathy sound.
It sounded like breathing, but no words were spoken. She frowned, taking her phone from her ear and pressing "End." The number flashed once—an unknown caller—and then was replaced by the home screen.
Weird, she thought. It must have been a wrong number or an accidental dial. Her son, twelve-year-old Reese, would have called it a "butt dial" or something like that. She laughed to herself, placing the phone back into her coat pocket.
A gust of brisk February air forced Jen to walk faster. Her car was on the other end of the commuter lot, a five-minute walk from the campus. After tonight's lecture, she'd stayed late answering questions and grading some papers before leaving the darkened halls of the Massachusetts Maritime Academy.
Mark Adams, her husband, hadn't called, meaning everything with Reese was going well. She expected Mark to be dropping their son off at her place tomorrow after work, though she knew he'd be about an hour late, as usual.
The lot was dark. Only a few dim streetlights bathed the black asphalt in a drab yellow glow. She could hear her heels—an unfortunate necessity for tonight's formal lecture—clicking on the hard pavement, but no other sounds interrupted her thoughts.
She was tired.
She'd been awake for almost thirty-six hours researching, planning, teaching, and finally delivering the lecture she'd spent months on. It had been received well, to thundering applause from scientists, professors, and a few higher-level graduate students. She was proud of herself, but it was time to sleep.
The small Honda Accord appeared out of the darkness as she approached. Man, how long have I been here? she thought, noticing the water streaks of a long-gone mist dried on her windshield. The top of the silver sedan was covered in a shining glitter of frozen specks, remnants of the brief snowfall they'd had earlier that day.
She reached into her other coat pocket, looking for her keys. Her cellphone chirped again and began vibrating.
Again? Who is it this time? she thought as she saw another unknown number flash on the screen.
"Hello?" she called into the phone, this time her annoyance coming through in her voice.
"Jen? Hey. It's Mark."
She reached her car door and frowned. A shadow danced behind her, and its reflection on the window caused her to jump. She whipped around, not knowing what to expect.
The lights were playing tricks on her. A cat, bounding across the parking lot chasing some unknown prey, disappeared behind an SUV. She let out a sigh and spoke again into the phone.
"Mark? Hi — sorry... it came up as an unknown number. What's up? Everything okay?"
"Well, no, Jen. You need to come over here. Hurry. It's Reese."
Her heart immediately began to rise in her throat. Of all the calls she hoped she'd never get... She grabbed at her keys, hands shaking, this time clicking the unlock button before they were even out of her pocket.
The car clicked as it unlocked, and the headlights flashed twice in sequence. She reached for the door, preoccupied with the phone call, her mind racing in terror. "Mark, what happened?" She tried not to panic, telling herself that his asthma must just be flaring up again, or that he had a bad scrape.
But her motherly instincts knew better.
“I—I came home, after I went to grab ice cream. He just wanted ice cream." Mark's voice was shaky, almost in a panic. "I mean, I was only gone for ten minutes. I should have made him come with me," he stammered.
Jen listened intently as she pulled the handle. The creak of the door was accompanied by the dome light flicking on as the door opened.
The interior of the car was immediately illuminated, and her eyes had to adjust to the sudden change in light. As they did, they noticed something that caused her to stumble backwards, tripping in her heels.
On the other end of the phone, Mark continued talking. "Jen, I'm so sorry. Reese's gone. I came home, and he wasn't here."
But the words didn't register in her mind, at least not yet. Jen was staring, horrified, at the man in the driver's seat of her car.
A man she worked with: Dr. Elias Storm.
He was motionless; not breathing. Jen began to hyperventilate, a tightening scream working its way up her throat. She dropped the phone and let it bounce away.
Then she noticed the blood. Deep crimson covered his body and the rest of the seat as well as most of the dashboard and windows. It also covered his face, dripping from his eyes.
His eyes.
Protruding from Dr. Storm's eyes, partially embedded in the man's skull, were two long metal rods. The kind of support rods they often used in the lab to prop up fossilized test subjects. They glistened in the dim lamplight, and the horrific scene finally took its toll on Jennifer.
She collapsed onto the pavement, blacking out on the hard ground.
2
“Jen. Jen? Are you okay?”
The voice was melodic, floating somewhere in front of her eyelids.
“Jen, wake up. They need to ask you some more questions,” the voice said.
She nudged her eyes open. Blinking, she saw Mark standing in front of her with a cup of coffee.
He handed her the cup. “Hey, there you are. Sorry to wake you. I know you need to rest, but Officer Rodriguez needs to verify a few things with us. Is that okay?” They were separated, but she and Mark were still legally married.
She nodded in response to the question, sipping from the coffee. Its acidic burn as it slid down her throat didn’t phase her. How did I fall asleep? she wondered. After the events of that night, it was amazing she had calmed down at all.
She was curled up on the couch in Mark’s apartment. A blanket had appeared over her feet, and now Mark and the two police officers—Rodriguez and Sanderson, she remembered—were seated across from her on kitchen chairs.
“Thanks, Ms. Adams. I understand it’s been a rough night for you both. I just need to make sure we haven’t forgotten anything.”
Again, she nodded. Breathing deeply, she forced herself to recollect the events that had transpired four hours ago.
The parking lot. First, the strange unknown caller.
Then Mark’s frantic call.
Walking to her car.
Dropping the phone as she saw her colleague.
And Reese was gone.
It didn’t make any sense; any of it. Who would take our son? And why? Did it have anything to do with Dr. Storm’s death? These were questions for the police, to be sure, but they had not left her mind since she woke up during the car ride to Mark’s apartment.
“Ms. Adams,” the Officer Rodriguez said. “About that unknown caller — you said you answered the phone, correct? And that no one was on the other end?”
She thought for a moment before responding. “Right, I guess. I mean, I thou
ght I could hear breathing.”
“And when Mark called, that number, too, came up as ‘unknown?’”
“Yes.”
He jotted down some notes, the other cop just staring straight ahead.
She knew they were doing their job, trying to help, but it was still uncanny how calm and collected they seemed. Though there were no mirrors in sight, she could sense how frazzled she must look. Her dark brown hair, normally trained and collected conservatively into a bun or single ponytail, was sticking out in every direction, even drooping down into her eyes.
The officers asked a few more questions, ones she knew she’d answered at least twice before. They checked their notes, comparing them, and then stood to leave. Mark stood up as well and walked the cops to the front door.
“Mr. Adams, Ms. Adams—” Officer Rodriguez looked at each of them individually, “we’re going to maintain surveillance on your block, just to be safe. As you know, there’s already at least three patrol units out searching for your son.
“I know it’s extremely difficult for you right now, but with the possible connection to the murder, we can’t allow either of you to search on your own.”
The pair nodded in unison at the officer’s masked order. Where would they look, anyway?
“Also, we feel it would be safer for you both if you were in one place. Is—is that going to be a problem?”
Jen glanced at her husband. “It should be fine. Thank you, officers. For everything.”
“Very good. You have our number. If you need us, don’t hesitate to call.”
The door clicked closed behind them, and Mark returned to the small living room. Without saying a word, he fell into the old couch next to Jen.
Both of them silently stared down for a moment, and Jen could sense her tears beginning to well up again.