The Mystery of the Kidnapped Whale - Marc Brandel [33]
Far below him he could see the gleam of Fluke’s searchlight. Lucky Fluke, he thought. His body was better adapted to the depths. Some whales, Constance had told him, could dive down a mile and stay underwater for as long as an hour.
Pete raised his hand to straighten his breathing tube. He ran his fingers along the curved length of it to the air tank on his back.
Funny, he thought. He couldn’t find any kink in the hose, and yet …
He fumbled desperately along the tube again. There must be a kink in it somewhere. There had to be, because he couldn’t get any air into his lungs. He couldn’t breathe.
He snatched at the buckle of his weighted belt. Hold your breath, he told himself. Take that belt off.
Hold your breath and surface. Don’t panic, you idiot. Get that buckle undone.
But there no longer seemed to be any feeling in his fingers. And there was something wrong with his eyes. The water around him seemed to be slowly changing color. It was turning a pale rose and then a deeper and deeper red. So deep it was almost black.
He was gasping for air now, trying to kick with his flippers, trying to force himself up through the darkness, trying …
A brilliant light suddenly flashed in his eyes. He felt a great solid thump against his chest. Something, something as powerful as a bulldozer, was lifting him, forcing him to the surface.
He didn’t try to resist. With his last, failing strength he clung to it, to whatever it was, this powerful mass that was lifting him up.
His head broke the surface. A hand reached out from beside him and snatched the mask from his face. He opened his mouth and took a great lungful of fresh air.
The red darkness was slowly clearing from his eyes. He looked down and saw a blurred surface beneath him. He brought it slowly into focus.
He made out a canvas harness. A flashlight. A camera.
He was lying stretched out on Fluke’s back.
Constance was floating beside him. It was she who had snatched the mask from Pete’s face.
“Don’t try to talk,” she said. “Just take long, deep breaths. You’ll be okay in a minute.”
Pete did as he was told. He lay quietly with his cheek pressed against Fluke’s back. Gradually breathing became easier. He was no longer panting. That terrible red darkness had cleared from his eyes. He felt strong enough to talk at last.
But before he asked any questions, before he tried to find out what had happened, there was one thing he wanted to say first.
“You saved my life, Fluke. ‘
“Well, you saved his life once too, didn’t you?” Constance laid her hand on Fluke’s head. “He wouldn’t forget –”
She broke off as the boat pulled alongside. Jupe, who was steering, brought it to a stop. Oscar Slater was leaning over the rail.
“I saw it,” he shouted. And now his bald head seemed to be gleaming with excitement. “It was just a glimpse on the monitor. But I know I saw it. Your father’s boat, Constance.”
He turned to Jupe. “Hold her steady right here. The wreck must be directly below us. It flashed across the screen as Fluke turned to surface, and then I saw Pete. So it has to be –”
“Never mind that now,” Constance interrupted him curtly. “The first thing is to get Pete back on board and find out what happened, what went wrong.”
“But I tell you –” Slater was thumping the rail with impatience.
“Later,” Constance told him. “You get back to the wheel, Mr. Slater. Jupe, come and give us a hand.”
Slater hesitated. But he knew Constance was in command. At least for the present. Without her help he could never get that stuff off the sunken boat. He nodded sullenly and relieved Jupe at the wheel.
Between them Jupe and Constance helped Pete on board. Still feeling a little weak, Pete sat on the deck while Constance brought him a mug of hot coffee and Jupe unfastened the straps and lifted the air tank off his back.
“Okay. What happened?