“I don’t care if you come or go, I want you to sell me that stock. If you don’t, then these go to your wife. Period. Also, since it has come to this, I will set the price.”
“Not selling.” The smoke that came from his mouth was not smoke, it was streams of bubbles. They raced from his mouth to crowd together at the ceiling.
Cromwell stared, not understanding. He opened his mouth to speak, but choked on the words. Something was wrong.
“I’m leaving now,” Jack said. He raised a few inches on his flippers, nudging himself upwards. He turned toward the door, fumbling with it to open it, then pulled himself through, swimming.
People in the outer offices gasped and dropped bundles of paper and cups full of coffee. Jack swam past them, kicking lightly with his fins. He made his way past the coffee machine, past the horrified figure of his shared secretary, and around the corner to a fire-escape window. He had trouble working the latch though his thick gloves, but he got it open.
Jack didn’t look back. He swam though the window, out past the rusty iron fire escape, out into the wide area between the skyscrapers. He checked the gages on his right arm and began to rise slowly. Too fast and he would get the bends, too slow and he’d be out of air. I’ll be okay, he thought. Don’t panic and everything will be fine. He continued his slow ascent. He passed roof level of the building and beyond, peered down through the murk at the dirty roofs with their ventilation boxes and duct tubes, the TV antennas, the unlit neon signs. The image of the buildings faded as the pressure decreased, losing itself in the dark. Jack continued to rise. It felt good, he began to feel clear-headed.
This was a stupid risk, he thought. Stupid, stupid. Never go diving alone, never dive too deep without the right mixture.
Still upwards, rising slowly. The murk grew lighter, more blue. Then it was clear. Jack saw a shadow above him; he was almost to the surface. The shadow was the bottom of the boat. He broke surface right next to it, pulled off his mask and threw it up to his wife.
“You had me worried!” she said. “You were down a long time!”
“Had a bit of narcosis,” he said. “I’m okay.”
She reached out eagerly and helped pull him aboard, and while he was stripping off his gear she started the outboard engine and pointed the skiff back toward the island. His gear off, Jack reclined against the floatation pillows and basked in the warm tropical sunlight. Yes, he thought, it’s good to be back home.
Behind them the bodies began bobbing up, one-by-one, from the drowned city below.