LSUAlum2001

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The recovery bag. He looked down instantly. The strap holding Vale’s document case had snagged beneath a twisted section of mast rigging now sliding slowly toward the trench. The entire tangled wreck structure shifted ominously beneath him.

Rourke saw it immediately. His eyes widened behind the dive mask. Leave it. Mercer hesitated for one fatal second. The rigging suddenly jerked hard. The wreck section broke free entirely and began plunging toward the abyss, dragging Mercer with it. Rourke reacted instantly. He drew his knife and slashed downward across the tangled strap.

The recovery bag tore loose just as the wreckage vanished into the trench darkness beneath them. Mercer and Rourke were violently sucked downward in the wake of it. For one terrifying moment Mercer felt himself falling underwater, dragged toward the abyss by the displaced current.

Both men kicked with everything they had. Eighty feet. Seventy-five. Seventy. The sediment cloud thinned slightly. Sunlight strengthened overhead.

Mercer’s lungs burned despite the regulator airflow as adrenaline and exertion devoured oxygen. He glanced sideways. Rourke’s pressure gauge flashed red. Low air. shite.

Rourke signaled it immediately. Mercer nodded once and unclipped his secondary regulator hose. Rourke grabbed it without hesitation.

Now tethered together, both men continued ascending through the haze while the reef collapsed behind them in muffled thunder. Shapes emerged overhead. The reef shelf. Open water.

And above that, the distant shadow of the BLACK REEF floating against the sunlit surface. Mercer had never seen anything more beautiful. But they weren’t safe yet.

A dark shape appeared between them and the surface. Descending rapidly. Mercer’s stomach tightened instantly. Another diver?

No. It was Baptiste.

The old salvage captain came down through the blue water carrying a compact underwater propulsion sled in one hand and a short-barreled spear launcher in the other. Even underwater, the man looked utterly calm. Baptiste reached them fast and checked both divers quickly with experienced eyes. Then he looked downward toward the collapsing trench. The captain’s expression hardened immediately.

He signaled sharply: MOVE. Now.

Mercer clipped the recovery bag securely to his chest harness while Baptiste handed the propulsion sled to Rourke. The compact motor roared softly underwater as Rourke activated it. Instant acceleration yanked all three men forward through the water toward the Black Reef.

Behind them, the trench continued collapsing in slow-motion catastrophe. Entire sections of reef vanished into darkness amid expanding clouds of white sediment. And something else moved inside the haze. Mercer saw it first. Another diver.

The last Hijos operative. Alive.

The man emerged from the drifting debris cloud swimming hard after them despite the chaos, blood trailing from one arm where Rourke had shattered it earlier. Relentless.

The operative raised an underwater pistol and fired. A round streaked past Baptiste’s shoulder trailing cavitation bubbles. Baptiste rotated calmly in the water and fired the spear launcher one-handed. The steel shaft punched clean through the operative’s chest.

The diver convulsed once. Then the collapsing trench current seized him and dragged him backward into the swirling white abyss. Gone instantly.
Mercer stared after him for a brief second. Then Baptiste shoved him sharply toward the surface.

All three men rocketed upward together through increasingly clear blue water. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten. Sunlight exploded overhead in blinding silver. Then they burst through the surface beside the Black Reef in a violent eruption of foam and spray.

Crewmen hauled them aboard immediately. Hands grabbed harness straps and tank rigs, dragging all three divers onto the steel dive platform while seawater poured across the deck.

Mercer collapsed hard onto his back, ripping the regulator free as he sucked huge breaths of hot Caribbean air. Above him, the sky looked impossibly blue.

Rourke lay beside him coughing seawater and laughing simultaneously.

“That,” he gasped, “officially sucked.”

Mercer laughed despite himself.

Nearby, Baptiste stripped off his mask calmly while crewmen crowded the stern rail staring toward the reef edge. Mercer pushed himself upright painfully and looked back across the water. The sea near the trench had changed completely.

White sediment boiled upward across the surface in enormous swirling patches while sections of coral continued collapsing below. The beautiful turquoise water had become a spreading stain of pale ruin.

One of Baptiste’s crew crossed himself quietly. The captain lit a cigarette with perfectly steady hands despite the soaked clothing and glanced toward Mercer. “You found something.”

Not a question.

Mercer looked down at the recovery bag still clipped securely against his chest. The black document case remained intact.

Rourke noticed it too and barked out a disbelieving laugh. “You crazy son of a bitch,” he said between breaths. “You actually kept it.”

Mercer unclipped the bag slowly. Every crewman on deck watched now. Even Baptiste’s expression sharpened slightly. The case looked old. Very old. Black leather reinforced with brass corner fittings beneath waterproof archival wrapping. Scuffed. Salt-stained. But remarkably intact after decades underwater. Mercer turned it carefully in his hands.

Then noticed something that made his pulse quicken immediately. Stamped faintly into the leather near the brass clasp sat a small embossed marking almost worn away by age.

Not a government seal. Not a military insignia.

A crown, and beneath it, a silver trident.

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So how many permanent jobs will the data center create?

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I don’t recall him asking about Entergy,

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sure, til the project it complete.

how many permanent jobs is it creating?

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And it'll bring about 10 permanent jobs to the area. The rest of the shite will be done remotely.

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Actually surprised at the scoring offensive ranks during CS’s tenure as OC. Very inconsistent though. 1991-1994 was actually a decent run.

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She is old and ill and we've improved our relationship though she still is very needy and call to ask for shite.

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And now he's writing the next Lord of the Rings movie, with his son.

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I would need to pack on 55lbs to have a bmi of 30.

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Iran is stalling because it doesn’t want a deal. It wants a nuclear weapon to threaten Israel, America, and the world.

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