Chapter 3
We took one of the bigger boats and launched into the dark waters, leaving white foam trails in our wake.
I sat near the bow, watching massive ice chunks drift past us. Grant stood near the center of the boat, one hand braced on the metal console, talking with Viktor—our Russian dive officer—and Sam, the Alaskan boat operator who’d been working Waypoint Station for six years.
Viktor was tall and lanky, all limbs and energy, with hazel eyes that glittered with enthusiasm. He couldn’t have been much older than Grant and me, mid-twenties maybe, with a blindingly sunny disposition that seemed to brighten up even the Antarctic dull skies.
Sam was his complete opposite. Weathered face, dark eyes that watched everything and revealed nothing, he looked like he’d been carved from the same gray stone as the coastline.
He was older—thirties, maybe—and spoke about as often as those rocks did.
He studied me like I was a specimen under a microscope for long moments.
I must have passed whatever test it was because afterwards he only looked at the waters and focused on navigating the boat.
I watched Grant laugh at something Viktor said, his whole face transforming.
God, he was handsome. Not just objectively attractive in that high school basketball star way, but genuinely, devastatingly handsome.
The way the wind caught his long dark curls, how his shoulders filled out that drysuit, the easy confidence in his solid stance, powerful thighs spread apart on the rocking boat.
When had I started thinking about men like this?
I wrenched my gaze away from them and looked towards the floating ice chunks.
Victor’s voice blended with the engine noise and wind.
He was talking nonstop about last season’s dive and how he had certainly seen a mermaid and how he was most concerned about her lack of a wetsuit underwater.
Despite my inner turmoil, I couldn’t help smiling at his goofy stories.
Suddenly, a seal surfaced, just thirty yards out—a leopard variety—and I forgot all about attractive men for a moment. “Holy shit!” I yelled.
In my excitement, I stood up so fast I almost toppled right over the edge. Grant was at my side immediately. The boat’s engine cut to idle, and Sam called out, “This is the spot, Doc?”
“Yes! Can we…?” I turned to Grant, bursting with excitement. My research subject in its natural habitat. This was surreal.
He was smiling at me, something tender flashing in his eyes. He nodded and gave me a thumbs up. My heart rate doubled up for reasons that had nothing to do with the dive.
“Let’s get these on you.” He took my right hand and slid a glove over my fingers with careful precision, then secured the seal at my wrist. Then the left hand, the same meticulous attention.
Then he crouched down in front of me, bringing us eye-level.
He locked eyes with me. “You good, Doc?” His tone was soft.
Not teasing like it had been in the cabin.
It made my heart flutter. “I’ll be right next to you.
We’ll be able to talk via our radio and our crew up here will be monitoring us all the while. ”
“Yeah,” I said, and meant it. “I’m good.”
“I don’t need to remind you about the apex predators that leopard seals are, right?” The teasing was back.
I chuckled. “Everyone knows about their crushing bite force, but did you know that they have a secondary set of teeth behind the canines, specifically designed for filter-feeding krill?”
Grant’s eyebrows rose. “Apex predator with a salad bar backup plan. Huh.”
I laughed. “80% of their diet is actually krill.”
“Now, see, I didn’t know that.” He clapped me on the shoulder, stood, and clipped in the oxygen tank while Sam checked his seals.
Once he was satisfied, Sam addressed us in a no-nonsense way.
“Guys, as you all know, the protocol specifies that any time a leopard seal is in vicinity, no diving is allowed. The only reason we are able to go in is because of Dr. Cole’s special permit but you are to stay near the boat at all times and only shallow diving.
Grant, you’ll be watching Dr. Cole’s back and Viktor, you’re to monitor that seal from up here at all time. Clear?”
Everyone nodded.
“Let’s get you in the water.”
The water hit like a shock even through the drysuit.
I sank below the surface and let myself adjust to the pressure change.
My sight roamed around the crystal clear surroundings.
I knew from the footage that I’d studied for five years that South Pole underwater was different than the usual, but being in it for real hit different.
I could see the seafloor twenty-five feet down without any distortion, could track the gigantic ice formations extending into water columns.
All that research hadn’t prepared me for the sheer physicality of it all—the scale, the cold pressure against my chest, the way sound traveled differently down here.
Something touched my biceps. I jerked involuntarily, moving away with all the grace of a tadpole, then stopped and sheepishly smiled. It was Grant, of course. He started laughing at my antics. He pointed down toward a cluster of orange on the rocks.
Sea stars! I got excited like a kid, pointing at them back at him.
He grinned and nodded enthusiastically.
They were huge, covering the bottom in patches of bright color.
I sank down until I touched the sea floor.
Kicking slowly along the bottom, scanning for good hydrophone placement, I kept taking it all in utter wonder.
Current flow looked moderate here, minimal interference from ice movement.
A cloud of krill drifted past—thousands of them, dense enough that I had to wave my hand to clear my sight line.
The primary food source for leopard seals, and they were everywhere.
Something launched itself off a rock to my right. A scallop, flapping its shell halves to swim in short bursts. They could do that here—most scallops couldn’t, but Antarctic species had adapted. I watched it settle back down on the seafloor a few feet away.
Grant touched my arm again and pointed out into the open water.
The leopard seal!
My heart almost stopped in the thrill and terror of seeing this majestic creature come at me.
It swam smoothly and rapidly. It didn’t approach us, just passed by in a wide arc.
I tracked its movement, noting the depth, the behavior pattern.
Solitary patrol, not hunting. Perfect! A male establishing territory before breeding calls started. Just what I needed.
I turned to Grant, unable to keep the huge grin off my face.
But Grant wasn’t watching the seal. He was watching me. My heart did a funny flip. His eyes were fixed on my face behind the mask, focused and intent. He wasn’t smiling. Just looking at me like nothing else down here mattered. Wasn’t he supposed to be watching my back?
I swallowed, punched him lightly to get his mind back, and forced myself to turn back to the work. The seal had disappeared into deeper water. I needed to focus on site assessment, not on whatever was happening with Grant’s attention.
We stayed down for twenty minutes, drifting along the bottom while I mentally cataloged placement options. When we surfaced and climbed back into the boat, my hands were numb and I couldn’t feel anything around my lip area. But I was over the moon. It was one of the best dives, hands down.
The ride back to Waypoint Station was loud with engine noise and wind. Grant kept glancing at me, but I pretended not to notice. That moment when he had been lost looking at me caused a shift in the air between us.
Back at the station, he led me to the dive bay room—an indoor space with concrete floors and drains.
“Okay,” Grant said, unwinding a hose from the wall. “This part’s going to hurt.”
“How bad?”
He turned the valve and steam rose from the water spray. “Your hands are going to burn when circulation comes back. Just breathe through it.”
The warm air hit my face at first. I yelped. He directed the spray at my gloved hands and pain shot through my fingers immediately. I yelped more. “Normal reaction,” Grant said. “Give it thirty seconds.”
He moved the spray up my arms, across my chest, down my legs. Steam poured off the drysuit. Sensation returned to my limbs and finally I was not a frozen popsicle anymore.
“My turn,” he said, offering me the hose. I took it and sprayed him down the same way he’d done for me. Water cascaded off his shoulders, ran down his chest, pooled at his feet. The outline of his massive cock was unavoidable. I had a new fascination with divesuits.
His hands flexed as the warmth hit them, fingers curling and straightening, but he didn’t make a sound. Damn. Why was that so hot?
***
The mess hall at the main station building was half-full when we arrived, the smell of hot food making my stomach growl. A few people looked up as we entered. We grabbed trays, loaded our food, and sat at a corner table.
“So here’s the plan,” I said, between bites. “I’ll setup the equipment for remote data capture in our cabin tonight. Tomorrow we go back out, you dive and deploy the full hydrophone array. We test it out. Then we go out daily to check the array and observe seal activity.”
Grant nodded, chewing. “What happens if the dude starts doing his thing?”
“My equipment will pick it up.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“We have seven days. So hopefully we’ll get lucky.”
“Works for me.” He took another bite. “I’m all yours, Doc.”
That shouldn’t have made my pulse jump.
“Dr. Cole!” A man was standing next to our table with big bushy eyebrows and a bright smile. I stood to shake his hand. “I’m Marcus, one of the glaciologists.”
“Dr. Marcus Webb, of course I’ve heard about you, sir. An honor to meet you.”
He waved a hand. “Eh, I’m just an old geezer. Welcome to Waypoint.”
“Thank you. Have you been here long?”
“A few weeks. Your first time?”
“Yeah.”
He gestured to Grant. “You’re in good hands. He’s a pro and a legend around here.”
Grant snorted and shook his head. Clearly, they knew each other.
Marcus turned back to me, grinning. “I must say…I didn’t know you would be so young. And handsome.”
My face heated. He was at least twenty years my senior and was obviously pulling my leg.
“Am I right, Grant?”
“I knew.” Grant quipped.
Those bushy eyebrows climbed, and he looked mighty interested like an old lady who’d just snagged a juicy piece of gossip to share in her Sunday group. “Did you now? How?”
“We knew each other a long time ago.” I hurriedly interrupted.
“Well, it can’t be that long since you’re so young!” He cackled, pleased at his own joke.
“Seven years, three months and eleven days.” Grant supplied and then took another bite and kept eating while Marcus finally fell speechless.
And I just stared at my diving partner, thunderstruck.
At some point, Marcus must have left, but I didn’t register that.
We walked back to the cabin as the Antarctic twilight stretched across the sky, that strange half-light that never quite went dark this time of year. Grant walked beside me silently. My skin prickled with the awareness of his proximity.
At our cabin, we found a note taped to the door. I pulled it down and read:
Bed delivery canceled--weather grounded the supply flight. Apologies for the inconvenience.