Getting underwater was high on my list of things to do once we anchored anywhere. There wasn't a lot happening on top of the water in mid Pacific, but once I started down, it was a startling different, but beautiful world of technicolor and in live action.

Everything was an adventure once I broke the surface on a dive. With the rays of sun backing me up as I went down, I could see microscopic forms of life moving about me. I was in a sea of living things. I couldn't wait to get to where I could set my camera up and try to capture some segment I might not know I got on film until it came out of the drier and went onto the editor for a look see.

In the film lab, with Horizon rocking and rolling, Logan, glued to the editor in a frame by frame examination of the film that came out of my camera earlier that afternoon, was in control.

Logan had my complete attention. He moved the film forward, backward, forward, backward again.

"Let me see," Bill ordered.

Logan had a magnifying eyepiece almost against the film.

"Damn. What is this thing? It's a shadow," Dylan asked.

"Let me see?" Bill ordered again.

"You'll see it when I'm done. I'm doing my job. Back off, Professor," Logan ordered in return.

"What is it?" Captain Hertzog asked, pushing in beside Bill, forcing me back beside Dolf.

"What is it?" Dolf asked.

"I didn't know I got anything on film. Your guess is as good as mine. It was a big shadow," I explained.

I grabbed the counter, Dolf grabbed me, and we all took two steps to starboard. Before we stopped moving, we moved to port.

Logan, the only one with his feet wrapped around the legs of the editor's table, was the only one who stayed in place.

"It's got shoulders. Professor, what in the sea has shoulders?"

"Let me see," Bill tried again.

The ship hit some smooth water and I let go of the counter. It was a small film lab and by the time Bill got Logan to hand over the eyepiece, I decided I needed to get out of there. I'd be the last to see anything in this group.

As I got to the end of the passageway, I saw a yellow slicker hanging on a hook next to the doorway that opened onto the main deck. I put it on and stepped outside. A gust of wind had me moving right, and I wanted to go straight to the stern.

Water hit me in a sheet and the wind switched from blowing in one direction and then it was coming from the opposite direction. I got my balance and bent into the wind as I made my way to the railing at the end of the Horizon's deck.

Horizon rose up before settling down. I looked to the southwest and I could see stars and wispy clouds that had light behind them. Just above that it was black but more stars appeared as the storm was passing.

I held the railing so a random gust didn't blow me off the Horizon's deck. Horizon rose and fell and it was suddenly calm. Another gust of wind came from port, and rain hit me and stopped at the same instant. The slicker fell slack on my body. I felt the deck level out. The sea began to roll in a smoother motion.

More of the sky was appearing out of the blackness. In the west a third of the sky was visible as the remnants of the disturbance blew past me heading eastward.

I let go of the railing and I leaned out to look into the water.

"What are you?" I asked. "What are you?"

When I realized that there was no answer forthcoming, I leaned my forearms on the railing, looking out across the water. There was enough light to see water for as far as I could see. It was a fairly bright evening. It was bleak, black, and beautiful. The moonlight reflected on the surface of the water. I'd never seen so many stars.

I couldn't remember the last time I stood on deck after it was dark. Had I seen this many stars before? The air was fresh and clean. The yellow slicker made my body hot. It was wet but I wasn't wet. My hair was dampened by water that didn't stick around very long.

After being in the stuffy film lab with too many people, the fresh air was remarkable. Before the last few days, I'd never have walked out on a thrilling adventure unfolding before out very eyes. I couldn't shake the feeling, there's nothing on that film but a shadow, and I didn't film it. I knocked the camera over and everything else was an accident. I didn't care what was on the film.

There were dangerous things in the sea. We all knew that. The summer before, Logan was in a bad spot. He'd attracted the attention of some marauding sharks. I didn't see the entire event. My father blocked my view.

Dad said, 'I wasn't letting you watch your friend getting eaten.'

Logan didn't get eaten. He was saved by Tangle, a porpoise he saved the week before. The porpoise followed the Horizon. When Logan was in trouble, Tangle saved him before swimming away.

It didn't upset me because I really didn't see anything. What I didn't see didn't exist. I knew that wasn't true but I didn't have enough information to let that kind of incident scare me.

Mostly I was fascinated by my father's world. Fear didn't enter the picture, because I was with him, and he protected me.

I didn't ever remember being frightened of anything in the water until the day Bill took the Scorpion into the trench. I didn't like the trench even a little. Had that been the end of it, I would recover, but then a shadow covered Bill, me, the reef, and that scared me. Something enormous was in the water with us. I didn't see it but I saw the motion it made. I saw the shadow it created.

For the first time something I didn't see left a bigger impression on me than all things I'd seen before.

I decided diving with Bill was safe. I wouldn't get in the Scorpion again, but diving is what I did. My film making depended on diving. We hadn't been eaten by whatever it was. That was a good sign. Maybe it was curious and it doesn't eat people. Maybe it just ate.

I thought about going to Guam after another week. I thought about going home. I'd seen enough of the Pacific Ocean to last me a lifetime. I missed the cove. I missed the Gulf of Mexico.

I didn't know Bill was beside me until he spoke.

"You OK?" Bill asked.

Dylan didn't understand the question.

"You know you can talk to me, Dylan. If you have something on your mind. I mean if you're homesick, or anything like that. I want you to know you can talk to me."

"What did you think you were doing?" I asked, unable to hold my anger with the professor.

"What?" he said, surprised by my attack.

"You went into that trench. My father warned me to stay away from that trench. You went in the trench and that thing followed us when we came back," I said, certain of my facts.

"You think it followed us?" Bill wanted to know.

"What do you think? It wasn't hanging around the reef before."

"That's why you're so quiet. I thought you were homesick."

"I don't feel safe with you. You have poor judgment. My father would never have taken me into that trench."

"You're probably right, but he'd have gone. We're scientists. We investigate mysterious things. It's how we learn, Dylan."

"What will you learn if that thing eats you, Professor?"

"It would solve a lot of problems. I could fall overboard and drowned. I could get hit by a car on campus. There are dangers in living. You're never completely safe. Your father wouldn't ignore an important source of information, even if danger is involved. He might not take you with him, but I wasn't thinking. You're right. Not about the thing following us, but about taking you with me into the trench."

I don't know it made a difference now. I didn't know if it was too late, or if I needed to get over it and get on with what I came to do.

"If you decide to give me another chance, I'll try to do better, Dylan," the professor said in an appealing manner.

*****

Harry had a day job. When he wasn't doing his job, he had been reaching out to military contractors. He was looking for one he could trust and who didn't ask too many questions. Military contractors often worked closely with the people Harry worked with. Most military contractors were smart enough to establish good relationships with most government agencies. It's how they stayed viable.

Harry couldn't just reach out and grab someone to go get Ivan. There had to be a plan. It had to be quiet and efficient with Ivan being delivered into Clayton's hands when the mission ended,

It needed doing with the understanding that Senator Harry McCallister wasn't paying the freight or approving the plot. He preferred not going to federal prison if it could be avoided.

What Harry wanted was to have Ivan removed from the Company's hands. This would preferably be done without creating an international incident that could generate a congressional investigation into one of their own.

When all was said and done, the Company would forget they ever had a relationship with Ivan Aleksa, if they wanted to continue being funded. This was Harry's ace in the hole. It would be tricky, but he was a US Senator with enough power to make the most powerful men think twice about crossing him.

No one wanted to cross swords with a sitting US Senator?

Harry knew it wasn't smart to stop returning Clayton's calls, but he couldn't listen to him complain and still get anything done. He was moving as fast as was judicious. Once Ivan was home, all would be forgiven. That's what Harry was after.

At one o'clock on Thursday afternoon, the senator's car stopped at the front doors of the Hay-Adams Hotel in town in Washington DC.

Harry was on the phone in the backseat. His driver held the door open, and a tall graying man in a perfectly tailored suit stepped out of the front doors.

Harry hung up the phone and stepped out of the car.

"Senator, so nice to see you again," Bob Alexander said.

"Yes, it is," Harry said, and they shook hands like old friends do.

"Lunch in my suite. They'll bring it up at one thirty. We can have a drink and we can discuss the details you are here to talk about."

Two men in suits just as well tailored as Bob's stood on either side of the front door, they followed them inside.

"There was a suspicious device in your Capitol Hill office. It didn't seem operational. It looked old. We removed it and there are devices that will signal my people if there is any activity."

"I have a man, Ortiz. He's a private detective in Tampa. He came highly recommended. He does my offices and home at the cove. He comes on Tuesdays each week. I have no reason to suspect he isn't doing a fine job, and if he is doing a fine job, I want to retain him."

"He comes Tuesday? I'll have my men go in Wednesday and run checks on everything there. I can tell you if he missed anything."

"Just what I had in mind. I'd like to keep him."

"We can cover you everywhere you do business under the protection plan you've hired us to perform, but your detective is going to do it a lot cheaper than we can do it. I'd keep him if he's doing the job," Bob Alexander recommended.

"I've got to be back on the floor at three. I'll need to leave here by two thirty. I'll give you my schedule. You can call and we'll meet when it's convenient," Harry said.

"That's fine, Harry. The problem with the CIA is another problem. You do understand that it will require a major military team to be inserted to assure the outcome you're after."

"That's why I'm here, Bob. Do you mind if I have another one of these?" Harry said, holding up his empty glass.

"Tyler, another drink for the senator."

"Yes, Sir," Tyler said, bring Harry another bourbon and branch.

Robert Alexander's demeanor and posture was strictly military. Harry's people had done a complete investigation on the retired colonel who went into contracting as soon as he had his twenty years in with the US Marines.

He'd been a major in Vietnam. He was wounded twice and besides the two Purple Hearts, he had a bronze star. His file was full of commendations for bravery above and beyond the call of duty.

Harry didn't care about his two divorces, DWI, and drunk and disorderly incidents which never got a lot of notice. Harry had been drunk a few times. He'd once had a wife. He still had two sons who never called, if they didn't need money.

Bob Alexander was a man Harry liked right away. He oozed loyalty and competence. He had a grasp on what Harry wanted as soon as they met.

Bob walked his new client down to the front entrance. The same two men stood on either side of the front door when they stepped out. Bob opened the door of Harry's limo for him.

"I'll get back to you with the details on Saturday. If you'd like to meet for dinner, I'll make reservations at Hogates for us, Harry."

"That's my favorite place to eat in DC," Harry told him.

"I know," Bob said, shutting the door.

Harry laughed.

"I'll be damn," Harry said.

He wasn't the only one who checked people out. The guy even knew his favorite restaurant. He'd served his brand of bourbon and the right branch water to go with it. They ate Maine lobster for lunch.

He liked Bob Alexander. The man could pat you down without you knowing you'd been touched.

*****

When trouble came to the cove, you wanted Popov on your side.

Clay didn't think of Popov when he thought of what Ivan told him before leaving to return to Cambodia. This was the best fishing season of the year and the fishing fleet went out for two days, came in for one, and went back out for three days.

What could a Russian fisherman do that a United States Senator wasn't doing. Clay had been after Harry to do something to get Ivan back for months. So far, Harry did nothing.

Clay's life went on without his men. One was gone because it was how he put off his son's anger about his father's absence. Ivan's absence was necessary if Ivan ever expected to get his life back. The people who did this to Ivan were government people. Harry was one of the most powerful men in government. He needed to step up.

Clay wanted to get a gun and start shooting everyone who had anything to do with taking Ivan away from him. Being totally nonviolent made this a reach for a peaceful marine biologist. It meant taking a big step into the dark side of human nature, but he'd been without the man he loved for too long. It was time to do something.

He'd been waiting for Harry to put the fear of God into the government men and have them put Ivan on the next plane home.

Clay knew he was pushing too hard and if Harry could do something, he would, but his pain over Ivan's situation had reached critical mass. It was time for him to do something.

He'd talk to Popov. It was Popov's cove. Ivan was his business partner. Maybe he'd have ideas about what could be done.

By two the following afternoon, Clay had settled into his laboratory office to write reports on that week's dives. He'd gone to sit in the shop after a dive. He felt closer to Ivan when he was there. Taggart often had information he wanted to know.

That morning Tag went with Popov to buy the supplies they delivered at the marina. It was the first time since early June that the fishing fleet stayed in port for a full second day.

When Clay brought his air tanks toward the shop, he set them down to assist in taking grocery bags from Popov, delivering them where he specified. Before Popov got away, Clay would tell him he wanted to talk.

The fisherman were all out on the deck of their houseboat, waiting for their goods. Clay said hello to men he saw a couple of times a year. There were a few specialty items Popov gave to Tag to get to the right spot.

Before Clay got back to the end of the dock, Popov was driving the truck away. He took it back across the street to park it at JK's Kitchen, and Popov went inside. Clay would catch him later before the fishing fleet went back out.

Clay didn't know what he would say to Popov, but he wanted to talk to him, and Taggart passed the message along. The Russian sea captain was a busy man with many responsibilities. Clay didn't know the half of it, but he expected to see Popov soon.

By then, he might know what he wanted to say.

By two that day, he'd managed to push Dylan and Ivan into the background so he could write the reports he'd been putting off for a week. Harry didn't dare come near the cove, which meant there was no one to read what he wrote. He still needed to write them. This was how he documented change, the water's conditions, and he noted things that stood out as unusual.

Popov wasn't easy to miss. He was a little larger than Captain Tito, his second in command, but Popov's presence was larger. He could fill a room. He often held court at JK's and everyone in the restaurant revolved around him. His laugh was infectious, his English still atrocious but he made himself understood.

When Clay looked up from writing something important, he lost his train of thought immediately.

"Popov. Thank you for coming. I am having trouble," Clay said.

Popov hesitated at the door before walking to the shelves with the specimens. The shelves covered one wall now.

"I'm remembering you showing Popov one of these. You were a boy. Popov's good luck charm. I am knowing this boy is special. That's twenty years now?"

"I went fishing with Ivan and Nick my second year here. 1965. You had a good trip. You claimed I was responsible. I didn't know my butt from a fishing net. I didn't do anything," Clay explained.

"Being there is all. Popov is not miss this. Fisherman looking for why too many fish in nets."

"I didn't have anything to do with it," Clay said.

"You were blessing for Popov fleet. Not because of fish, because of you. The sea furnished Clayton's spirit. Popov is feeling this here," Popov said, touching his heart. "Spirit of sea goes with you."

"You're the man who can make me feel more important than I am, Popov. I'm made better by the faith you have in me."

"I'm born of the same spirit of the sea as are you," Popov said. "You are wanting to talk, and Popov is doing the daydreaming."

"Come into my office. I've only got coffee to offer you, My Friend, but it's fresh and it's hot," Clay said.

"This is what Popov is needing. Please, I'll take a cup."

Clay washed a cup before pouring Popov a strong black cup full. He poured one for himself and he moved his reports to one side.

"Taggart has told you about Ivan?"

"I'm hearing what he says. I need to be told how it is he is being kept away for so long," Popov said.

"It's a long story," Clay said.

"You are having plenty of coffee. Time I know this story."

Popov knew Ivan was under arrest for murder. He never believed it for a minute and he expected it to be cleared up. As Ivan got further and further away from the cove, Popov wasn't sure of how this could be allowed in America. It sounded more like KGB at home.

"This is making no sense to Popov. He is now in another country. He is not wanting to be there. They're threatening him if he refuses to cooperate. This is like KGB. Where is Harry? The senator does nothing for my business partner. I am needing him here to do his business, because I am making it my business."

"I have no answers, Popov. I only have questions. Why Harry isn't doing something, I don't know. I want to know, but he doesn't even return my phone calls," Clay said.

"Popov is knowing Junior long before he politician. Long before he is living at cove.," Popov said.

"Junior?"

"Father's name for Harry Jr. He is only coming to cove once senior is dying. Popov saw him once, twice. Senior is running things at the cove. Is here at Conservancy. Then Harry comes and stays."

"Speaking of long stories," Clay said. "That's a story I'd like to hear. Harry's been here since I've been here. He was in charge of the Conservancy once he became interested in me. My dad worked for him. He was younger than my dad and older than me. That's what I knew back then. He knew I was an Olson kid. Then, I went fishing."

"I am having you brought to Popov last day. Popov feels spirit. Not enough to know who he is seeing. Not even Popov is not seeing Clayton's future. You are small boy with the big spirit. Popov is big Russian fisherman, is not seeing you becoming such great man."

"Popov, I do my job. I love my work. I learn each day, but I'm not good enough to go get Ivan back. My mind is shutting down. The spirit can't get through my sorrow. I am thinking that I may leave the cove. I will take my son, my husband, and I'll find an island somewhere that no one knows us and no one can find us."

"This is not good for Popov to hear," the big Russian said softly. "I am doing something to help you. Popov would not like to see you leave. You are part of what cove is becoming?"

"You are the only man who might change my mind?"

"Tell Popov what he is doing for Clayton."

Clay carefully maneuvered the Russian fisherman into position where he could make his wishes known. How did he ask him to risk his life going to get Ivan for him. He knew Popov would go. It might be the only way to get Ivan out of the hands of evil men.

"You are being quiet. We go to Popov's boat. We share Vodka, make plan. You no longer boy. Time we share great Russian drink."

Popov stood. This wasn't a question, it was a statement. They returned to the marina, went down the dock, and got on Popov's launch. Clay had been on the fishing fleet's captain's boat before, but he'd never journeyed into the middle of it where Popov lived during peak fishing season.

It was surprisingly large with several comfortable chairs. There were pictures of Popov's family, his boat, his men, fish so large they couldn't fit in the pictures taken of them. There were decorative knitted pieces on the furniture.

Popov's quarters were bright with reds, oranges, yellows. It brightened the room. This was Popov's place in the world. It impressed Clay that Popov had an entirely different identity when he was in his quarters.

The glasses clinked and Popov threw his first shot into the back of his throat. Clay did what Popov did. He knew when you were in Rome, you did it the way the Russian sea captain did it.

One shot burned his throat and then his stomach. As quick as it hit bottom, Clay saw everything go fuzzy.

Men like Popov and Harry came from a generation of men who drank hard, played hard, lived hard. They knew only one speed, full speed ahead. Clay respected the rituals of men who were larger than life. Many men grew up with a glass of booze in his hand. They often had a cigarette in the other.

Clay didn't drink or smoke. He'd take one drink to validate his respect for hard drinking men, but two would knock him down. His second drank sat in front of him, if he wanted to take it.

Clay didn't drink because of Ivan. When Boris was lost, Ivan got lost in booze. It may have killed the pain, but it took a terrible toll on Ivan. It cost him ten years of his life. Clay learned from Ivan's misadventures with alcohol. Neither of them drank now.

Clay had the glass of Brandy with his father on special occasions, but they were fewer and further between. Popov realized that Clay did join him for one drink. Popov never stopped with one, but he didn't mind other men doing what was right for them.

Clay even banged his glass down the way Popov did it, but he wouldn't pick it up after it was refilled. Clay's brain felt a little fuzzy as soon as the Vodka hit his stomach. He needed to maintain a bit of control if he was to ask Popov what he decided to ask him.

He looked at the glass of Stoli, trying to see through the fuzz. That stuff could probably take paint off of things.

"Old Russian custom," Popov said. "Vodka was once the only pleasure Russian people knew. The iron grip of Soviet not good. Popov is no longer good Russian sailor. Times they change. The Soviet is dying. Eat too much and now are having the indigestion. It's too late for Popov to go home. This home now. My room is little bit of Russia," Popov said, drinking two more glasses of Vodka.

Clay tried to focus. He heard Popov speaking from a distance.

"Once there is way Russian man was to act. It was coming from time Russian men had no sense of self. Drink too much. Fight too much, do little. No trouble in doing little."

"Popov is changing. He does not see the life as hard. Life is as you make it in America. Smile is better than frown. Happy words beats insults. I find gentleness, friendship, a place where Popov belongs. Is good, Clayton."

Russian philosophy 101 was never Clay's best subject. People were people, and they could be happy or sad, depending on how they wanted to be. Clay was happy but he was sad. He was helpless to do what needed doing. He needed the help of a strong man who knew how to walk into danger and come back out again. He'd ask Popov to go get Ivan.

Taggart was right, Clay would probably get himself shot if he went over there. He'd probably get Ivan shot too.

Popov would agree to take on a task that needed doing. He would do it for Clayton Olson, his friend. He'd do it because he wanted Ivan back where he belonged. He'd do it because it's what a man did.

*****


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