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The RPV team head banged Morgan on the back and said, "Ready, Colonel." |
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Morgan felt the blow and heard him faintly through the dive helmet and hood of the Waymer suit. He nodded. "Right, Chief," he said. "Let's do it." |
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The clock on the bulkhead showed 0759, local time. For a moment he had a sick pang of uncertainty. Jesus, was there going to be enough time? Only thirty-one minutes. The time had been figured narrowly, in order to limit his stay in the contaminated water. Doris Waymer's creation was experimental, after all, but Dr. Waymer was positive it would protect him. He just had enough time, if everything went right. |
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Murphy's Law applied to underwater work just as it did to everything else men did. |
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He looked beyond the divers at Anna. She was looking back at him. He could see her face, dead white behind the Lexan of her antirad suit's mask. She should never have been allowed to come back to this place of death, he thought. But, by God, he was glad she was here. He raised a gloved hand to her in a mute gesture of love, then moved toward the open door of the compartment. |
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Six feet below the edge lay the turbid water of Hudson Bay. The polynya stretched out toward the eastern horizon, a narrow reach of green water etched with wind-driven whitecaps. The Trudeau was out of sight. |
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It was exactly eight o'clock. Morgan, filled with a dread he dared not show, heaved himself awkwardly forward to the pontoon, caught his balance, then made a somersaulting entry into the murky, green water. |
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As Morgan hit the water, the helicopter, hovering over his head, simultaneously lowered a sonobuoy. Even through his arctic dry suit, the shock of the bay's temperature was greater than he had expected. His helmet light illuminated the area Close around him. The thermometer strapped to his left wrist |
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