Lev Rosen - Depth

Simone ran her hand over the pamphlet and pretended to look at it a moment before turning to deCostas. She took him by the arm and led him away from the secretary and spoke in a low voice.

“Pastor Sorenson is the head of the Mission,” she told him. “Be very polite and very vague about what you’re doing.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain later.” Simone furrowed her brow, wondering what it could mean that Sorenson himself was coming to see them. Did this job have implications she wasn’t aware of? “Trust your instincts, but don’t assume,” her dad always said. Her instincts told her there was something going on here she couldn’t see. The pastor wasn’t just coming to see the stairwell.

The elevator at the end of the room opened, and Ned Sorenson stepped out. Simone had seen him in the papers and on the web but never in person. He was about sixty years old, but only just graying, and only slightly balding. His tight black curls made him look younger, but his face was more worn, as though to make up for it. The wrinkles were deep in his mahogany skin. His eyes had the look of someone used to being in control, and who was often amused. Simone wasn’t sure what to think of him. He wore a plain black shirt and pants with a white pastor’s collar, and walked with his hands behind his back. He smiled when he saw them. It was a kind smile, but Simone wasn’t sure it was a genuine one.

“Hello,” he said. “You must be Ms. Pierce and Mr. deCostas. I’ve been waitin’ excitedly for you since I heard you were comin’.” He spoke in the mainland accent, where words never really ended but just rose and fell into one another.

“Pleased to meet you, Pastor Sorenson,” Simone said, extending her hand in what she hoped was a confident way. He shook it. His hands were rough and dry.

“Thank you for letting us do this,” deCostas said, also shaking his hand.

“I’m always eager to help scientists,” Sorenson said. Simone kept her face still and managed not to laugh. Sorenson was a representative of the mainland, and the mainland policy on science was generally not eager to help. “But I fear you’ll be disappointed. I’ve been in our stairwell many a time. It’s just water.” He opened his arms, gesturing towards a wall. Simone walked towards the wall and noticed the seam in the wood paneling—a secret door.

“Why hide the stairs?” she asked, stopping next to the door.

“Looks nicer,” Sorenson said with a shrug. He pressed his thumb onto a small square of wood, which lit up and scanned the imprint. The wall clicked open. Hidden and locked. Simone was even more curious now. But the stairwell was just as Sorenson said. Water lapped at gray-painted stairs. The walls were a dim yellow, the paint chipped away in many places, and a few pipes, painted bright red, thrust through the landing. The ceiling was rough, and moss grew in the corners. Just like any other stairwell.

“Sorry,” Sorenson said.

deCostas reached into his jacket and took out a marble.

“What’s that?” Sorenson asked. He still had a smile on his face, but his eyes were narrowed, the lines at the sides of them like needles.

“A depth-measurement device,” deCostas said.

“I don’t think we agreed to lettin’ you use that.” Sorenson said. He was still smiling, so much so that it looked painful, but his voice had become chillier.

“It’s just part of Mr. deCostas’ research,” Simone said.

“And I’m sure it’s harmless, but we don’t give out information on our building willy-nilly. It could be used for terrorism.”

“Mr. deCostas is here on an academic study. His funding comes from a major European university,” Simone said, angling her body so that Sorenson was focused on her and not deCostas. Sorenson’s smile finally faded, but only for a moment. He shook his head as though he were dealing with a child and sighed. When he spoke, his voice was warmer again.

“And as soon as I have a signed form sayin’ he won’t share any information about the building with anyone but us, I’ll be happy to let him conduct his experiment.”

“Do you have a form?”

Simone’s back was to deCostas, but she hoped he was taking her cue and dropping his marble while she shielded him from Sorenson’s view.

“No I don’t, as you didn’t fully apprise me of what he’d be doin’. I’ll have our lawyers draft one. It should be ready in a few days. Then I’ll be happy to let Mr. deCostas measure the depth.” Sorenson motioned with his arms again, pointing them back to the lobby. deCostas sighed, and Simone watched him tuck the marble back into his pocket. She glared, wondering why he hadn’t dropped it when she’d given him the chance. “I’ll send you the documents as soon as they’re ready,” Sorenson said in the lobby. “Thank you for your patience.”

“Of course,” deCostas said. Simone nodded. Sorenson turned and got back into the elevator. Simone left the building, deCostas following. Outside, she walked a few bridges away before speaking.

“You should have just dropped it,” Simone said.

“What?”

“Your depth measurer. You were right there. You could have dropped it. Said it was an accident.”

“He wouldn’t have liked that. You said to be polite.”

“Yeah, but you could have gotten away with it. He would have insisted you turn it off, or not check the status until you signed his forms, and you could have agreed and gone home and done whatever you wanted.”

“That wouldn’t have been polite. I think that what I did—which was dropping the marble when you distracted him—thank you for that—and then taking another out and making it look like I was putting it away—I thought that was the polite thing to do.”

Simone was silent for a moment. “Is that what you did?” she asked.

“It was.”

“Well,” Simone said, somewhat impressed. “Nicely done.”

“Thank you. Would you like to get something to eat?”

Simone looked him up and down. He grinned at her, one eyebrow cocked.

“Sure,” she said. There was a little café on the other side of the bridge next to one of the needle buildings where they ordered fish sandwiches and she had coffee and he had tea. They ate outside at a small table, the water a low rumble that stopped just short of making them both vibrate.

“You know this is pearl diving, right?” Simone asked. “I mean, I don’t want to discourage you from paying me, but we’re not going to find anything.”

deCostas was silent for a moment, as if considering what she said. He looked like he was holding his breath. Simone wondered if she’d gone too far and lost the client.

“I know most people think it is a useless quest,” he said finally, his voice even, “but I’ve done the research, and enough people agree with me to fund this expedition.” He gestured firmly, almost violently, slapping his palm down on the table. Simone’s hand involuntarily crept closer to her gun. “If I can find space below the water in New York, then others may ask me to find space below the other sunken cities. We could use what we find to build underwater and try to get life to like it was before the flood.”

“And make your career in the process?” Simone asked, staring at him as she sipped her coffee.

“Well, yes.” He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “It would make me famous. But I do really believe there must be somewhere the water stops.” He was speaking loudly and jabbed his finger, pointing at her, then realized what he was doing and dropped his hand, but Simone had seen how his eyes had gotten brighter without focusing on anything. She’d seen a touch of rage and maybe something darker.

“I think you’re crazy,” she said. He laughed, and he seemed to shake off whatever it was that had possessed him a moment before. He was charming again, the storm over, the waves calm. He smiled, and Simone relaxed a bit, moving her hand from her pistol, where it had been resting.