Depth

by Rosen, Lev AC

  Dash turned around a corner; Simone was catching up. He was headed for one of the bigger bridges, probably hoping to lose her in the crowd there, catch a taxi to a safe house, and hide out for a while before sneaking out of town. She wasn’t going to let that happen. The rain was pouring hard, and her clothes felt tight and heavy. The bridges were empty, and she could focus on just him, on chasing him, on catching him. She was gaining ground. She could see more than his outline, now. She could see the panic in his face when he looked back over his shoulder. He drew his gun and shot behind him once or twice, but they were lazy shots, Simone didn’t even have to dodge as they went wide. He looked tired. Simone smiled. She could do this all night.

  He turned another corner and another—he wasn’t heading for a main street. They were going further downtown now. The bridges were weak and slippery, and Simone slowed down, but then Dash pulled ahead, leaving her no choice but to speed up again. When she felt her foot slide at the edge of a bridge, she wondered if that had been his plan.

  Then she was flying out, weightless over the water.

  The world seemed to take a breath. She fell in slow motion, noticing the details around her, like the splash of the rain hitting her stomach as her body went parallel to the surface. She felt the spin of her legs as they spiraled downward. She heard her lungs inhale their last breath like a loud sigh played in reverse.

  And then she was beneath it.

  She felt the bubbles scatter-dance around her as she plunged into the ocean, the surface closing above her instantaneously, like the slamming of a prison door. The water was freezing, and her body sang out with shock in the first moment, but that singing faded into a lullaby as she sank farther into the water, propelled by the force of her fall. She felt the undertow manacle itself to her wrists and ankles, pulling her deeper. She opened her eyes. All around her were black shadows of a city under the waves. This would be her grave, she knew. Maybe one day she’d be pulled up by a recycling boat, and maybe someone would recognize her, or maybe not, but either way she’d be turned to dust and poured back down here. This was where she was going to end up. And it was beautiful. Living above the waves all this time, she’d assumed below was a frightening pool of inky black and all the worst, darkest thoughts of the people of the city. But when she’d been under the waves in Lou’s home, it had been different. It had been like a clear night. She could fall asleep under the stars. People used to do that, didn’t they? Stars were mostly invisible now, covered by smog and pollution, but the stars under the ocean—the green pinpricks of light, swirling like small nebulae—those she could fall asleep under.

  The bubbles dissolved around her, and she thought about trying to claw her way back up to the surface, taking one last breath. But the waves here were strong, and pushing her all around, and she wasn’t entirely sure which way the surface was anymore. Besides, why go back? She pulled her hands down and looked at them in the dark water. They seemed oddly pale and faintly green, as though life had already left her and she was a ghost, forever tossed beneath the waves. Maybe she was.

  So Dash would get away. So people had died. Would it make a difference? She suddenly thought of the painting Mr. Ryan had showed her—The Return of Odysseus. A man trying to get home to his city on the water. She remembered other things about the myth, too—the image of Odysseus strapped to the mast of his ship as sirens sang his men into the water, and of his wife at home, waiting. Simone had no one waiting above the water. She thought of her father, and she could see now how easy it had been for him to give in. And she gave in, too. She would die here, and she would have no regrets. Still, she turned in the direction she thought was towards the air, just for one more look. The surface of the water rippled with raindrops, and above that it glowed.

  FROM ABOVE, CAROLINE KHAN was a dark inkblot on the bridge. The rain had plastered her hair to the sides of her face so it looked like a cowl. She ran forward, slowing down sometimes to wipe the water from her eyes. She paused at an intersection of bridges and looked around, narrowing her eyes against the storm. She ran down one of the bridges, then stopped and ran back again, in the other direction. At the end of this bridge was a turn, wrapping around a drab gray building turned nearly black by the water. Caroline stopped there and examined the wooden railings at the edge of the bridge. They were broken and splintered, burst outward towards the ocean like two reaching arms. The wood inside the broken railings was still dry.

  Caroline got down on her knees and stared at the water. It was dark as onyx and just within her reach. She could dip her hand down into it and bring it back up.

  She saw the hat first—floating on the water like a paper boat. Then a flash of red on the water’s surface—rust-colored and swirling like blood in the water. But it was in strands. Not blood. Hair. Caroline leaned over the edge and thrust her hand into the water, then yanked back like she was trying to catch fish in a net.

  She fell backwards, a clump of red hairs in her hand. She leaned forward, took more of the hair, and this time pulled more slowly, lifting the weight of Simone’s head to the surface. Water poured off her face in thick sluices, and she sputtered into the air.

  “Get the fuck up here!” Caroline shouted, extending her hand for Simone to grab onto. Simone stared at her, blankly. “Grab my hand!” Caroline shouted over the storm. Simone grabbed onto Caroline’s arm, and Caroline heaved her back up onto the bridge. Simone grabbed the edge of the bridge and, with Caroline’s help, pulled herself up, drenched and gasping.

  “He got away,” Simone said when she’d caught her breath.

  “Yeah.”

  “Fuck.” Simone shook her head. She was soaked and had lost her hat. Her hair fell over her face in thick bars. She looked past them at Caroline, whose hair stuck to her face in lines like cracks in a porcelain mask. She was wet and her mouth was slack. They were both breathing heavily, and it was cold enough that she could see the little wisps of breath flying from their mouths like ghosts in the rain. “Thanks for pulling me out.” The air smelled like electricity, and her mouth tasted of metal.

  “Yeah. Well. You’re welcome. Didn’t think I could handle this city without you around.” Caroline smiled as she said this. She was still on her knees, her hands clasped in her lap, but she let her body fall sideways into Simone, leaning on her, shoulder to shoulder. They stared out at the shadows of New York. It was barely visible, gray and green. Dash was long gone and Simone felt a knot of anger wrap itself around her chest, but then she breathed in and let it go. She shivered. Her coat was soaked too deeply for the warming gel to kick on.

  Caroline laid a hand over Simone’s. Her hand was warm, and Simone took a sudden deep breath without meaning to, and coughed a few times. She looked at Caroline, who was looking at the ocean.

  “Okay,” Caroline said. Simone almost couldn’t hear her over the rain. But she knew what she meant.

  They leaned back against the solid railings. Rain poured down around them for a while. The sound of the ocean taking in each drop like a sinking stone echoed. It was like a thousand people swallowing, not all at once, but one after another after another.

  “What do you think he meant?” Caroline asked after a moment. “When he said I’d keep quiet?”

  “I think he was bullshitting,” Simone said. “I think he was going to get us outside, then shoot us and push us under. Easier to get two walking bodies above water than carry two dead ones.”

  “I guess,” Caroline said. “I hope.” The rain began to fall even harder. It felt like bullets, but sounded like overwhelming applause.

  “Fuck,” Simone said.

  “What?” Caroline shouted over the rain.

  “I just realized who hired Dash.” She was cold and wet, and her hair was plastered to her face and neck. The wind was whipping through her like knives. She stood slowly, her body stiff and cold and burning all at once, but she stood. She held a hand out to help Caroline up. “Let’s go ho
me.”

  SEVENTEEN

  * * *

  SIMONE LEANED BACK IN her unused receptionist’s chair, her feet up on the desk. She waited for him to knock first and smiled when he did.

  “Come in,” she called.

  He walked in and sat down across from her. He ran his fingers through his hair, then grinned at her. Simone couldn’t tell if he knew what was coming, if he was prepared for it. She’d have to be careful.

  “I’m happy you called,” deCostas started. “I very much enjoyed our time together the other night. I was hoping we could do it again.”

  “I was, too,” Simone said. It was practically a purr, but she pulled back. Too much and he’d get suspicious. “I had such a bad day yesterday.” She swung her feet off the desk and stood, walking around to him.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, smiling. She sat down on the desk, and he put his hand on her thigh. Simone smiled, using all her self-control not to kick him.

  “You remember that other detective I told you about, Dash Ormond?” deCostas shook his head. “Sure you do. I said he was the one to go to if you wanted a more forceful approach, right? You looked at his card.”

  “I remember, right,” deCostas said, not meeting her eye but staring at his own hand as it began to stroke her leg. “I didn’t want to hire him, though. I knew I had to work with you.”

  “Mmm,” Simone said. “Well, he tried to kill me last night.”

  “What? That’s terrible!” deCostas said, standing, waiting a moment, and then looking her in the eye.

  “And he tried to kill my friend Caroline.”

  “He sounds like a very bad man,” he said, his voice teasingly sexual.

  “He’s more a tool than a man,” Simone said. She crossed her legs, letting her foot dig into his leg. “So, I’m trying to figure out who hired him.”

  “Will dwelling on it really help?” deCostas asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to forget all about it? I could give you a massage,” he smiled.

  “Funny thing is—he tried to drown me. In a dry tunnel under the city.” Simone watched him carefully. His eyebrows raised, his eyes opened wider, but his pupils stayed the same, and it took just a fraction of a second too long. “So I owe you an apology. You were right. There was a place where you could walk down under the waves. But it’s gone now. I didn’t even get a picture.”

  “I accept your apology,” he said, “but I’m sorry you didn’t get photos or . . . proof. I could have published with just that—what a discovery!” He sighed—forced, Simone thought. “Perhaps there is a way you could make it up to me?” He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Simone was positive now. It was deCostas. deCostas had money and backing from the EU, knew about the painting, and was the one who wouldn’t get just a tunnel and some money out of finding the rail. He wouldn’t care if the government took it over. He’d get a career, a reputation. There were people all over the city, maybe the world, looking for tunnels, and they’d all drown him in money to find another one once word got out that he’d found the first. And he didn’t seem to care that she’d found it.

  “Maybe there is,” she said. “You see, the police caught Dash. They’re hacking his wristpiece now.”

  “Oh?” deCostas said. Now his pupils shrank.

  “Maybe I can find out who hired him, if I can get my hands on the data they extract. And then you can go talk to them and find out how they knew.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if that’s very important,” he said. His eyes narrowed. “When did they catch him?”

  “Last night,” Simone said, “maybe early this morning.”

  “Mmm,” deCostas said, and leaned back a little, suddenly relaxed. Simone forced herself to smile. She was losing him.

  “Don’t you want to know all about it?” Simone said, almost whispering in his ear. She wrapped her legs around his and drew him close, locking him in place. His eyes met hers, and he smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. He wasn’t trying to be charming now.

  “I think I know enough. Would you like to move this to a more comfortable location, perhaps?” He wrapped his arm around her, ground his hips into her. He was teasing her. He’d figured out it was a setup. Dash must have contacted him sometime recently—after “early this morning.” Simone held back a scream of frustration.

  “Later,” she said. “I’m really caught up in this case. I want to check in with my contact at Teddy. See if they’ve hacked the wristpiece yet.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t count on that,” deCostas said.

  “No?”

  “No. These criminals. They always have a way of slipping away. Even when they’re caught.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Simone let her legs relax, letting him step away. “It’s a real pity,” she said with some violence. The charade was mostly over now. She was just keeping it up to make him think she didn’t think she’d lost.

  “Maybe,” deCostas said, stepping away. “But if you’re going to be busy with your police friends, I think I’ll take my leave. I have some things to wrap up before I head back to the EU.”

  “Head back?” Simone asked.

  “I’ve been asked to head up an exploration for a tunnel under Barcelona. A small one, not like the pipeline here, but I’ll have a whole team.”

  “Impressive, considering you never found anything here,” Simone said, her voice edging cold now. “I mean, I found something, but it wasn’t because of your little metal balls or your tools. It wasn’t even the guy you hired. It was me.”

  deCostas narrowed his eyes at her and stepped forward. He looked angry—that passion was back, the kind she’d seen spark up violently in his eyes before—the desire to prove something.

  “I mean,” Simone continued, “you really just stumbled across it. And no one will ever know it existed, unless I tell them. And I’m not going to do that. So how exactly did you get a team? Wouldn’t they want to know more? I could call them.”

  deCostas’ eyes were all fury now, and he raised his hands as if to strangle her, but Simone was ready and had her gun to his head before he could squeeze.

  “You didn’t find a damn thing,” Simone said in a near whisper. “I did. Remember that. And you won’t find a damn thing without me.”

  deCostas let go of her neck and swallowed. Then his eyes went cool again, and he smiled.

  “Next time, I’ll know better,” he said.

  “So you did hire Dash,” Simone said. “You admit it.”

  deCostas smirked again. “You’re recording this?”

  Simone rolled her eyes. “Why would I bother?” she asked.

  “So you have evidence when you haul me into the police station. Maybe your friend Caroline already made a phone call, got a warrant drafted? Well, maybe you should get this on your recording, then: You know where my funding came from?”

  “It comes from the EU, some foundations, your university,” Simone said, trying to sound confident. What did his funding have to do with anything?

  “Partially. But a very large part of it also comes from right here in New York. From a very prominent family.” Simone clenched her jaw. The door to the hall behind her opened, and Caroline stood in the door, Peter just behind her. They had earpieces on, listening to the bug under her desk. Caroline’s eyes were hard, but her mouth was soft. Her lips were separated enough to let in thin whistles of breath. deCostas glanced up at Caroline, then back at Simone, and the corners of his mouth popped up like switchblades. “The Khans,” he said. “In fact, I probably never would have hired Dash to find Linnea if I hadn’t gotten a call from Mr. Khan saying he had just bought a painting he wanted me to look at. I thought that was funny, since Marina told me the painting was still for sale. When I told Khan that, we decided to put Dash on it. He found out who Marina was working for, and then he tried to find the painting and the location on it. You’ll find he was paid by Mr. Kha
n. I believe you told me, Simone, that Dash has a reputation—he’s who one goes to for dirty work?” Simone stared at him, silent. Outside the water was calm, lapping at the building, the sound of a slow breeze. “All for the Khans,” he said slowly, each word pointed. “Is that the evidence you want? Because if it is, I think, perhaps, the reporters who cover the story may suggest that the Khans were fully aware of Dash’s reputation and his actions. Which would be true.”

  Simone turned to look at Caroline, whose eyes were fixed on deCostas. Behind her, Peter had taken out his handcuffs but wasn’t moving.

  Caroline stepped forward and slapped deCostas across the face. It left a deep red mark, but it sounded weak, like one drop of water hitting the floor in an empty room.

  “It’s been lovely,” deCostas said, stepping back. “Look me up if you’re ever in the EU.” He headed for the door and opened it but turned to look at Simone one more time. She saw his real face again, lacking charm and painted over with ambition. She smiled at him, and then he left. She realized she was still holding the gun up, and that her neck was warm as if he’d actually grabbed it. She inhaled deeply, salt and sweat and a touch of cologne, and she put the gun down on the desk.

  “We got a confession,” Peter said. “I could go arrest him.”

  Simone plucked the bug from under her desk and crushed it in her hand. Caroline was still staring at the door.

  “Not an option,” Simone said. “Caroline’s career would be over, that kind of scandal. I’m going to go after him, wait till it’s dark. Kill him.” She started to get down from the desk, but Peter put his hand on her arm and pulled her back.

  “I can’t let you do that, soldier.”