“Which one of us does the polar bear plunge every year?”
“That has nothing to do with it,” she replied.
“The water is freezing,” he said. “I’m larger and heavier. My body will retain heat better and I’ll be better able to keep my footing against the current.”
Not only was Paul a longtime participant in the insane winterritual of plunging into the sea when it was at its coldest, he regularly swam in the Cape Cod waters during the fall and spring, when the water temps were in the fifties. That was still twenty degrees warmer than what they’d find down below, but he was certainly more accustomed to it.
“Not a fan of you being so logical,” she said. “But I admit that you’re right.”
Paul could hardly believe he’d actually won an argument with Gamay. Thinking about the rushing frigid water he would face down below he wondered if he could really call it winning.
He stepped onto the ladder and began to descend. Gamay followed a few rungs above him.
Gigi lay flat on the deck so she could keep an eye on them and call out instructions. “The door is just aft of the ladder,” she told them. “Ten paces or so.”
Paul climbed down another couple of rungs. The rushing water hit his legs. Frigid did not do it justice.
Gritting his teeth, he ducked his head to look beneath the bundle of pipes and electrical conduits that ran along the ceiling of the corridor.
The watertight door appeared to be closed. He saw no gap between its sides and the bulkhead. Studying the churning water, he noticed it was erupting upward from underneath. “I think the bottom half of the door is off the track.”
“It’s a vertical door,” Gigi said. “It comes down from above. There must be something blocking it.”
“I’ll check,” Paul said. He stepped down to the deck, grunting audibly as the water surged up to mid-thigh. The shock hit instantly, as if spears made of ice were plunging into his legs. He exhaled and let out a loud cry to help shake it off.
The secret of a late fall swim, or even the polar bear plunge, heremembered, was walking around on the beach in nothing but your swim trunks until the chilly air had cooled your skin to the point that the water didn’t feel so bad. This was not that.
“Okay, okay,” he called out, the painful sensation retreating. “I’m good. Frozen, but good.”
“I hear ice baths reduce inflammation,” Gamay replied.
“Then I’m going to be critically low on inflammation,” Paul said. With his mind clear and a decided lack of feeling in his feet, he waded carefully to the door.
“Can you see anything?” Gamay shouted.
The water was too frothy and dark, the corridor too poorly lit. Paul couldn’t see through it. Steeling himself for the next ice bath, he dropped down on one knee, pushed himself forward into the churning water, and stretched his long arm out while turning his head away.
His hand found the door. He slid it downward and discovered the edge. Moving his rapidly numbing fingers along the bottom of the door, he soon hit something. With no real sensation in his fingers, he couldn’t tell what it was, but the shape was jagged and uneven. Like a small tree. He guessed it was a piece of the hull, or part of an inner support structure torn off by the penetrator. He couldn’t identify it with any confidence, nor could he tell if it remained attached to anything on the far side.
He found a place to grip the object and pulled hard. It didn’t move. He tried pushing it the other way, but without any success.
Letting go, he pulled back from the door and stood.
“Paul, your hand,” Gamay shouted.
He looked down. Blood was streaming from a gash in his palm. The numbness was so instant and complete, he would never have suspected. With his other hand, he removed a flattened piece of metal as sharp as a razor blade.
“There’s a hunk of bent metal jammed in there,” Paul said, tossing the offending shard into the water behind him. “I can’t work it free without raising the door. Where are the controls?”
“Right side of the door,” Gigi told him. “Push the yellow button to reset and hold for three seconds. Then you’ll be able to use the red lever to raise or lower the door.”
Grabbing a notch on the bulkhead to provide stability against the rushing water, Paul pulled himself toward the controls. The yellow reset button was the size of a baseball; it couldn’t be missed. He pressed and held it. After three long seconds the lights on the panel began blinking.
He grabbed the sturdy red control lever and pushed it upward.
The door rose a few inches. The water flow surged through the gap with increased fury and force.
He gave it another second and then moved the lever to the middle, stopping the door in its tracks. Dropping down into the swirling liquid, he found the intruding length of steel and shoved at it again. It rocked backward several inches, but as soon as he released it the obstruction returned to its original position.
