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Giordino never ceased to be amazed at Pitt's cold, calculating mind. Another man might have panicked at knowing his son and daughter had only minutes before dying an agonizing death. Not Pitt. He hung poised in the water as if he was contemplating the languid movements of a tropical fish. For several seconds he seemed placid and unmotivated. When he spoke, it was in an even, distinct tone.
"Paul, are you reading me?"
"I hear and understand your dilemma. What can I do from this end?"
"I assume your tool locker is equipped with a Morphon underwater bore."
"Yes, I'm pretty sure we have one on board."
"Have it ready at the ramp when we arrive and make sure the drill is fitted with its largest circular cutting bit."
"Anything else?"
"We could use an extra pair of air tanks with regulators."
"All will be waiting when you arrive."
Then Pitt wrote on his slate and held it up in front of the view port:
HANG IN. BACK IN 10 MINUTES.
Then he and Giordino rose out of sight and vanished above.
When Pitt and Giordino ascended to the surface and vanished from view, it was as though a rainstorm had fallen on a surprise birthday party out on a lawn. Their hopes had soared at seeing their father and his best friend, but with them gone everything turned bleak again.
"I wish they hadn't left," Summer said softly.
"Not to worry. They know the score on our air. They'll be back before you know it."
"How do you suppose they're going to get us out?" Summer wondered aloud.
"If anybody can pull off a miracle, Dad and Al can."
She looked at the needle on the air tank gauge. It was quivering agonizingly closer to the end. "They'd better do it quick," she murmured softly.
Barnum had the spare tanks and the Morphon underwater drill waiting as Pitt rushed back to the ship. Expertly turning the speeding boat on a dime, Pitt brought the boat to an abrupt stop beside the ramp.
"Thank you, Paul," he said.
"I aim to please," Barnum replied, with a tight smile.
No sooner was the gear stowed on board than Pitt jammed the throttles forward and charged back to the buoy floating over Pisces.
Lelasi threw out an anchor, as Pitt and Giordino adjusted their full face masks and fell
over backward into the water. Pitt had not inflated his buoyancy compensator to obtain neutral buoyancy with the heavy twenty-pound Morphon drill. He allowed its mass to drag him to the bottom in little less than a minute, equalizing his ears as he descended. As soon as his feet were firmly planted in the sandy bottom of the crevasse, he pressed the circular cutting edge of the drill against the view port.
Before he switched the drill to rotate, he peered inside. Summer looked like she was semiconscious. Dirk waved feebly. Swiftly, Pitt laid aside the drill and wrote on his slate:
WILL DRILL HOLE FOR AIR
TANKS. STAY CLEAR OF
INCOMING TORRENT.
With precious few minutes to spare, Pitt pushed the drill against the view port and squeezed the trigger, hoping against hope the bit would penetrate the transparent material with nearly the tensile strength of steel. The whirring sound of the drill motor, magnified underwater, and the rasp of the bit as it attacked the view port startled every fish within a hundred yards and sent them darting throughout the reef.
Pitt leaned against the drill and pushed with every muscle in his legs and arms. He was thankful when Giordino dug his knees into the sand, hunched beneath Pitt and placed his hands on the forward, cylindrical section of the drill, adding his strength to the effort.
