Free Absolute Pressure by Sigmund Brouwer Page A

land beneath the water was like a shelf.
    But three miles out, the land just dropped away. It was like stepping off the edge of a table. Divers called it going off the wall. The ocean went from 150 feet deep to 10,000 feet. Nearly two miles straight down into deep, deep blackness.
    â€œGood idea,” one of the men said. “No bodies, no more trouble.”
    Uncle Gord handed the pistol to the closest man. “Cover me,” Uncle Gord said. “I’m going to handcuff them together. If one of them even blinks, shoot.”
    Uncle Gord dug the handcuff key out of his pocket. He unsnapped the cuffs. Then he cuffed Judd’s left hand to my right hand.
    â€œKeep covering them,” Uncle Gord said. “One of you get behind the wheel. Take the boat in so we can drop off the Cuban.”
    As the boat began moving again, Uncle Gord wired a length of anchor chain to the middle of the handcuffs. The other end ofthe chain was attached to the anchor.
    I kept hoping that Judd would do something to save us. I mean, he was an FBI undercover agent. Didn’t he have some kind of training?
    But there was a pistol pointed at us. Judd didn’t try anything.
    â€œHow could you do this?” I said.
    Uncle Gord shrugged. “Twice a week since the beginning of May. Do the math. I’m nearly a million dollars richer. I’m not going to jail, not when I’m that rich. And I can’t trust you to keep your mouth shut.”
    â€œBut I’m your nephew.”
    He shrugged and taped my mouth so we couldn’t yell for help when we got to Key West.
    The boat reached the docks. They kept us out of sight. They dropped the Cuban off and headed back out in the darkness.
    Toward the deep, deep water. Where they were going to drop us off the wall.

chapter thirty-one
    I guess the worst way to die is to see it coming. If you’re in a car accident or something like that, you don’t have time to worry.
    Instead I was on a boat going thirty miles an hour, knowing that in less than ten miles I would be thrown overboard. There was hardly any time left, but there was also way too much time to think.
    I thought of everything nice I would miss. Orange sunsets. The feel of sand on bare feet, of sun on skin.
    Milkshakes with Sherri.
    Then I thought of how my dad had left me.
    I thought of how my uncle had betrayed me too.
    I thought of how Sherri had said she wanted me to be her guy.
    I cried. Not sobbing crying, like a baby. But tears of sadness that the wind pushed across my face.
    I was scared.
    When the
GypSea
stopped, it took all four of them to get us into the water. Uncle Gord and the three big ugly guys.
    One of them lifted me. One of them lifted Judd. And two of them lifted the anchor that was hooked to the middle of the handcuffs that held Judd and me together.
    I couldn’t yell at them. My mouth was still taped shut.
    Even though I had one hand free and one hand attached to the handcuff that was wired to the anchor, I didn’t try anything.
    I had given up. What chance did I have? It was two miles straight down in the black water. If the anchor was so heavy it took two guys to lift, it was going to pull me and Judd down like a piano falling through air.
    Judd didn’t fight either. We were just a couple of sacks of potatoes.
    â€œWe’ll toss them on the count of three,” Uncle Gord said.
    â€œOne...”
    They swung once.
    â€œTwo...”
    A bigger swing.
    â€œThree!”
    They let go on the third upswing. We cleared the edge of the boat and dropped through the air.
    I drew one final breath through my nostrils.
    Then...
    Splash. Just one sound. Judd and the anchor and I hit the water at the same time.
    The water was cold. We dropped in total black silence.

chapter thirty-two
    We fell and fell and fell. We sank so fast that the water peeled my shirt and pants upward.
    And still we fell into the deep black.
    My lungs began to hurt. Any second I wouldn’t be able to