Anthony Horowitz - Skeleton Key

“I’m a qualified diver,” Alex said.

“The hell with that!” Turner cut in.

Troy agreed. “You talked your way onto the boat,” she said. “Fine. Personally, I wish you’d stayed in the hotel. But maybe you were right about that, it might have raised suspicions.”

“You’re not coming with us,” Turner said. He looked at Alex coldly. “We don’t want any more people killed. You stay here with Garcia and leave the rest to us.”

The two agents made their all-important buddy checks, each one looking over the other’s equipment. No pipes twisted. Air in the tanks. Weights and releases. Finally, they went over to the side of the boat and sat with their backs facing the sea. They both put on their fins. Turner gave Troy the all-clear sign: second finger and thumb forming an O, with the other fingers raised. They lowered their masks and rolled over backwards, disappearing immediately into the depths of the sea.

That was the last time Alex saw them alive.

He sat with Garcia on the gently rocking boat. The sun was almost touching the horizon and a few clouds, deep red, had intruded into the sky. The air was warm and pleasant. Garcia sucked on his cigarette and the tip glowed.

“You American?” he asked suddenly, speaking in English.

“No. I’m English.”

“Why you here?” Garcia smiled as if amused to find himself alone at sea with an English boy.

“I don’t know.” Alex shrugged. “How about you?”

“Money.” The one word answer was enough.

Garcia came over and sat down next to Alex, examining him with two dark eyes that were suddenly very serious. “They don’t like you,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” Alex agreed.

“You know why?”

Alex said nothing.

“They are grown-ups. They think they are good at what they do. And then they find a child who is better. And not only that. He is an English child. Not an Americano!” Garcia chuckled and Alex wondered how much he had been told. “It makes them feel uncomfortable. It’s the same all over the world.”

“I didn’t ask to be here,” Alex said.

“But still you came. They would have been happier without you.”

The boat creaked. A light breeze had sprung up, rippling the flags. The sun was sinking faster now and the whole sky was turning to blood. Alex looked at his watch. Ten to seven. The twenty minutes had passed quickly. He scanned the surface of the ocean but there was no sign of Turner or Troy.

Another five minutes passed. Alex was beginning to feel uneasy. He didn’t know the two agents well, but guessed they were people who did everything by the book. They had their procedures, and if they said twenty minutes, they meant twenty minutes. They had been underwater now for twenty-five. Of course, they had enough oxygen for an hour. But even so, Alex wondered why they were taking so long.

A quarter of an hour later, they still hadn’t come back. Alex couldn’t disguise his fears. He was pacing the deck, looking left and right, searching for the tell-tale bubbles that would show them coming up, hoping to see their arms and heads breaking the surface of the water. Garcia hadn’t moved. Alex wondered if the old man was even awake. A full forty minutes had passed since Turner and Troy had submerged.

“Something’s wrong,” Alex said. Garcia didn’t answer. “What are we going to do?” Still Garcia refused to speak and Alex became angry. “Didn’t they have a back-up plan? What did they tell you to do?”

“They tell me to wait for them.” Garcia opened his eyes. “I wait an hour. I wait two hours. I wait all night…”

“But in another ten or fifteen minutes they’re going to run out of air.”

“Maybe they enter the Devil’s Chimney. Maybe they climb up!”

“No. That wasn’t their plan. And anyway, they’ve left all their equipment behind.” Suddenly Alex had made up his mind. “Have you got any more scuba gear? Another BCD?”

Garcia stared at Alex, surprised. Then he slowly nodded.

Five minutes later, Alex stood on the deck dressed only in shorts and a T-shirt, with an oxygen cylinder strapped to his back and two respirators-one to breathe through, the other spare-dangling at his side. He would have liked to put on a wetsuit, but he hadn’t been able to find one his size. He would just have to hope that the water wasn’t too cold. The BCD he was wearing was old and it was too big for him, but he had quickly tested it and at least it worked. He looked at his instrument console; pressure gauge, depth gauge and compass. He had 3000psi in his air tank. More than he would need. Finally, he had a knife strapped to his leg. He probably wouldn’t use it and would never normally have worn it. But he needed the reassurance. He went over to the side of the boat and sat down.

Garcia shook his head disapprovingly. Alex knew he was right. He was breaking the single most critical rule in the world of scuba-diving. Nobody ever dives alone. He had been taught scuba by his uncle when he was eleven years old and if Ian Rider had been here now he would have been speechless with anger and disbelief. If you get into trouble-a snagged air hose or a valve failure-and you don’t have a buddy, you’re dead. It’s as simple as that. But this was an emergency. Turner and Troy had been gone for forty-five minutes. Alex had to help.

“You take this,” Garcia said suddenly. He was holding an out of date dive computer. It would show Alex how deep he was and how long he had been down.

“Thanks,” Alex said. He took it.

Alex pulled his mask down, pushed the mouthpiece between his lips and breathed in. He could feel the oxygen and nitrogen mix rushing into the back of his throat. It had a slightly stale taste but he could tell it wasn’t contaminated. He crossed his hands, holding his mask and respirator in place, then rolled over backwards. He felt his arm knock against something on the side as the world spun upside down. The water rushed up to greet him and then his vision was pulled apart like a curtain opening as he found himself plunging into the water.

He had left enough air in the BCD to keep him afloat and he made one last check, getting his bearings on the coastline so that he would know where to swim to and, more importantly, how to get back. At least the sea was still warm, although Alex knew that, with the sun rapidly setting, it wouldn’t be for long. Cold is a dangerous enemy for the scuba-diver, sapping the strength and concentration. The deeper he went, the colder it would get. He couldn’t afford to hang around. He released the air from the BCD. At once the weights began to drag him down. The sea rose up and devoured him.

He swam down, squeezing his nose and blowing hard-equalizing-to stop the pain in his ears. For the first time he was able to look around him. There was still enough sunlight to illuminate the sea and Alex caught his breath, marvelling at the astonishing beauty of the underwater world. The water was dark blue and perfectly clear. There were a few coral heads dotted around him, the shapes and colours as alien as anything it’s possible to find on the earth. He felt completely at peace, the sound of his own breathing echoing in his ears and each breath releasing a cascade of silver bubbles. With his arms loosely folded across his chest, Alex let his fins propel him towards the shore. He was fifteen metres down, about five metres above the sea bed. A family of brightly coloured groupers swam past him; fat lips, bulging eyes and strange, misshapen bodies. Hideous and beautiful at the same time. It had been a year since Alex had last gone diving and he wished he had time to enjoy this. He kicked forward. The groupers darted away, alarmed.

It didn’t take him long to reach the edge of the cliff. The sea wall was of course much more than a wall; a seething mass of rock, coral, vegetation and fish life. A living thing. Huge gorgonian fans-leaves made of a thousand tiny bones-waved slowly from side to side. Clumps of coral exploded brilliantly all around him. A school of about a thousand tiny silver fish flickered past. There was a slither of movement as a moray eel disappeared behind a rock. He glanced at the dive computer. At least it seemed to be working. It told him he had been down for seven minutes.