Pressure (5 page)

“We should take it by force,” the cabbie muttered. “What use is having a military if we do not use it?”

As the landscape flashed by, Carrie thought about how different the little island nation was from most other nations associated with the African continent. While poverty still existed in Mauritius, the current government played an active role in trying to help their people overcome it. A visitor might assume all of the money was located along the beaches, resorts, and tourist areas, but when driving through the rural areas, as they were now, one encountered textile mills, farms, sugar plantations, and fisheries. She knew the latter was struggling recently, as a result of the spreading collapse. Fishermen had been banned from the waters around the southern coast, as the sea floor's spreading grew worse. This meant that the fisheries had to rely on the waters on the other side of the island, or amongst the lagoons. As a result, both their economy and their environment had taken a hit. But even before that, the fishing industry had struggled, confined to mostly trawling for shrimp and tuna, as bigger commercial fleets from Russia, Japan, Taiwan, and South Korea emptied the seas farther out.

The taxi slowed as they encountered a backup, caused by a minor traffic accident up ahead. Grumbling to no one in particular, the driver turned off the radio and rolled his window down. A wave of sticky, wet heat wafted into the cab. The driver leaned out of the vehicle, craning his neck for a better view. Carrie looked, too, and spotted a wooded park off to the side of the road. In the park's center was a huge bronze statue of a dodo bird.

“I am sorry for this, Miss.” The driver ducked back into the car and turned to face her. “It looks like they are moving it to the side.”

“That's okay,” Carrie assured him. “You can't control what happens.”

“You are looking at the statue?”

Carrie nodded. “That's your country's mascot, right?”

“Yes.” He smiled, apparently pleased that she knew this. Then, the smile faded and his expression became worried. “I fear that will be us soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before there were people, Mauritius belonged to the dodo. Before the Arabs came here, there was the dodo. When the Portuguese arrived, there was still the dodo. Then the French and the British. Soon, no more dodo. Now, we have independence. We are our own people. But we are not the original. We are not the dodo. And soon, I am afraid the dodo will have their revenge.”

“You mean the trench?” Carrie leaned forward. “I'm actually one of the researchers working on that.”

“Then you know,” he said. “You can tell me how bad it is. I think the government are not telling us the whole truth. I think we are facing extinction, just like the dodo.”

“I don't think it will come to that. Yes, the collapse is growing larger, but the absolute worst-case scenario would just be evacuation.”

“Is that not the same as extinction?”

“Of course not,” Carrie said.

The driver smiled sadly. “You would think they are the same thing if, like me, you had lived here all your life. This is where my home is. It was my parent's home. I was raised here. Now I raise my family here. Mauritius is all I have ever known. Every memory from my life is on this island. It is the same for my wife, and for our children. It is all we have, and soon, it may be gone. Is that not extinction?”

“I don't think it will come to that.”

Carrie tried to sound convincing, but she could tell by his expression that she had failed.

“You're the first person I've met who has seemed concerned about this,” she said.

“Oh, they're all concerned.” The driver waved his hand, motioning at the people in the other cars. “But I am in this taxi all day, with only the radio for company, and this is all they talk about. I guess I think about it more.”

Eventually, the vehicles involved in the accident were cleared to the side of the road and traffic began to move again. Carrie watched the statue of the dodo until it disappeared from sight.

The cab driver grew quiet again, returning to his own thoughts. Although he rolled the window up and turned the air conditioning back on, the radio remained off. They rode in silence once more. This time, the stillness seemed oppressive.

Carrie had the taxi drop her off at a resort far away from the harbor where their research vessel was docked. The last thing she wanted right now was to be recognized, or to run into anybody else from the expedition. After tipping the driver and wishing him luck, she entered the resort's restaurant. Light jazz played softly from hidden speakers somewhere overhead. The air conditioning was on just enough to make the establishment cool, but not uncomfortable.

A waiter guided her to a table overlooking a wooded grove. Placing her order, Carrie stared out at the trees and then around the restaurant. It was a faux-posh affair, catering to the tourists with a plastic type of elegance, but she didn't care. They offered the two things she needed the most right now—something to eat, and anonymity. She regretted that the former would have to be a small portion for now. After three days of hospital food, Carrie was ready for a five-course meal. But since she planned on meeting up with Abhi and possibly returning to the rift as early as tonight, a pre-dive meal would have to suffice. And as for the latter, it would be nice to relax for a while, safe from the press, or her fellow scientists, or anybody else who knew her.

Which was why, halfway through her meal, Carrie was surprised to look up from her table and see Paolo, the oceanographer and diver who she had supplanted on the Novak's research team, approaching from across the room. Carrie smiled at him, too stunned to speak. Paolo was slow to return the gesture.

“Paolo! I didn't expect to see you here. I figured you'd be back at the ship.”

“I'm surprised to see you here, as well. You were released early?”

“Something like that.”

Carrie played with her napkin, folding it and then unfolding it again. She felt flustered and unsure, and hated the uncertainty and effect that Paolo's sudden appearance had on her. Things had been tense between them over the last few weeks, although they'd interacted professionally, if somewhat coolly toward one another, in public—especially in front of the press. But Carrie knew that Paolo privately resented her for getting the lead diver role on this expedition, rather than him.

In truth, their rivalry went back further than just this recent research mission. A few years earlier, after her transition from world-class free diver to oceanographer, Carrie had gone to work for the Scripps Institute. That was where she and Paolo had first met. They started out as acquaintances, but had eventually gone out on a few dates, and then started a serious relationship that had lasted six months. Carrie had just started to let her guard down around him when Paolo unexpectedly broke it off one night. He said that he disapproved of Carrie's using a program leader's crush on her to get positions on prestigious teams. They had argued about it for hours. Carrie was convinced Paolo was just jealous of the fact that another man had a crush on her, and jealous that she got the position. After all, it wasn't like she had slept her way to the top. But Paolo had insisted on his moral stance. She'd argued that a woman who uses men's attraction to get what she wants was akin to men bonding over cognac and cigars—it was that same edge of nepotism. Paolo had stubbornly stuck to his guns, insisting that there was no difference between what she was doing, and using sex to get what she wanted. Angered by his belligerence, Carrie had decided that it was good he was breaking things off with her, because the decision was now mutual.

And that was the end of that.

Two months later, the Scripps Institute picked Carrie over Paolo for a position on a team that was embarking on a major survey mission in the Gulf of Mexico and she hadn't heard from him since.

Secretly, Carrie had always suspected that there was more to their breakup than just that argument. She had always battled insomnia, and usually had a bottle of Ambien on her nightstand. One night, early in their relationship, Paolo had asked if he could have one. Carrie had said fine. But then Paolo began floating the idea of selling the pills to raise extra cash for them both. Carrie had declined, gently at first, when she thought he was just kidding around, but more vehemently when he continued to suggest the idea. Paolo stopped bringing it up after that, but then she began to notice that her pills were going missing. When she eventually confronted him about it, he'd blown up, angrily denying any knowledge, and implying that perhaps she was taking more Ambien than she realized. It wasn't until a year after their breakup that Carrie had learned through a mutual colleague that Paolo had in fact been selling the pills regularly.

“May I join you?” Paolo motioned to the empty chair across from her. He seemed almost timid, a behavior which was quite unlike him.

Intrigued by his demeanor, Carrie shrugged. “Sure. Have a seat.”

Paolo wore a cream-colored shirt, pressed khakis, and brown leather shoes with no socks. She had to admit, he looked good—not at all like a man who had spent most of the last two weeks at sea. She suddenly—and uncharacteristically—wondered how she herself must look, having spent the last three days in the hospital.

As he pulled out the chair and sat down, Carrie smiled again. This time, Paolo returned the gesture much more quickly.

“It's a shame about Alpinus getting sidelined,” she said. “What's next for you?”

“Oh, I'm staying onboard. Just because the NOAA is taking over doesn't mean we'll be leaving completely. Alpinus Biofutures still has a vested interest in what's occurring here. I'm sure you'll still be a part of the team, as well?”

“I guess,” Carrie replied. “Honestly, I don't know yet. I haven't talked to anyone from Alpinus since I got out of the hospital. I don't know if I still have a job or not.”

This time, Paolo's smile was wistful. He stared out the window, seemingly lost in thought.

“Same old Carrie,” he said. “Always up to something.”

“Excuse me?”

He turned back to her. “You're staying on. Maybe not for our current employer, but you're definitely staying here.”

“Honestly, Paolo, I haven't decided anything yet. Have you forgotten that Peter died? Or that I almost did?”

“I've forgotten nothing. Especially how you operate. And I know exactly what you're up to.”

He waited for her reaction. Carrie started to protest her ignorance, but something in his expression told her that it was pointless to do so.

“Goddamn it, Abhi,” she cursed. “Let me guess. He told you because he was worried about me?”

“I haven't talked to Abhi since yesterday.” He pointed at the table. “But I know a pre-dive meal when I see one. You just got released from the hospital. You are probably famished. And the food here is fine. Yet all you've ordered is a small bowl of fish soup, and a large pitcher of water. You've drank seven glasses.”

“How long were you watching me, Paolo?”

He ignored the question. “You're hydrating, and you're not gorging yourself, which tells me that you're diving soon. Possibly tonight?”

Carrie remained silent, waiting for Paolo to make his next move. He was right. They both knew that. A diver lost lots of water while swimming, and it took a human body several hours to store water, so hydrating before a dive was essential. So was a diver's food intake. Diving on a full stomach meant that their body would use energy and oxygen to digest the food—oxygen that was needed elsewhere during a dive. And diving on an empty stomach increased a swimmer's chances of freezing more easily, because if they ran out of carbohydrates, their body would begin metabolizing their fat stores, which once again used up crucial oxygen. She felt a pang of guilt for having assumed that Abhi had broken her confidence. The question now was, what did Paolo want?

“I thought so,” he said, finally, breaking the silence first.

“So, what are you going to do, Paolo? Tell Alpinus I'm diving without their permission? Get me fired? Is this about revenge?”

Frowning, he placed a hand over his heart in a broad, sweeping gesture. “You wound me, Carrie. There has been plenty to occupy us both these last few weeks, and despite all of the setbacks the mission suffered, we have each made valuable contributions, regardless of our positions—a position, that I must admit, I'm curious how you obtained.”

“Fuck you.”

“I see that is something else that hasn't changed, Carrie.”

“What's that?”

“You still curse like an American gangster rapper.”

“I've got ninety-nine problems and you're not one.”

He wagged his finger. “That is a Jay Z song, yes?”

“It is, but Ice-T did it first. People forget that. And don't try to change the subject.”

“Well, Jay Z or Iced Tea, you curse enough for both.”

Before she could respond, the waiter sidled up to their table. He cleared his throat nervously, as if the tension between them was a palpable thing, and asked if there would be anything else. Carrie shook her head slightly, barely acknowledging him. Her gaze remained leveled at Paolo. She did not blink. The waiter shuffled off.

“I'm sorry,” Paolo apologized. “Perhaps I could have said that more tactfully.”

Carrie didn't reply. She simply continued to stare at him, refusing to speak, to blink, to move. Her body felt like a tuning fork, vibrating with anger and frustration. What did he want? What was his angle?

The answer, when it came, surprised her.

“I'm not here to jeopardize you, Carrie. This isn't about revenge or blackmail. Despite what you might think, I still care about you. I know we're not exactly friends anymore, but I wish we could be. Time has a way of changing a person—of making a person see things in ways they didn't before. There are things from the past I regret, very deeply. I'm sorry for what I did.”