Chapter 20 - The Cistern Beneath the Lake
By mid-afternoon, the sky over the lake had darkened to a violent charcoal. A summer squall was rolling in from the north, whipping the lake into foaming whitecaps that battered the wooden dock. The wind howled through the pines, bending the ancient branches toward the water.
Ryan stood at the edge of the dock wearing a heavy neoprene wetsuit, a diving mask pushed up on his forehead, and an oxygen tank strapped securely to his back.
"This is insane, Ryan!" Sarah screamed over the roar of the rising gale. She held a rain slicker tightly around herself, her hair lashing across her face. "The storm is moving too fast! You can't dive into the north shallows right now—the undertow near the old dam spillway will pull you under!"
"If Marcus gets an emergency injunction from his pet judge in the morning, his private security will seal this estate by noon," Ryan shouted back, tightening the straps on his dive knife. "This is our only window. The original trust deed is in that cistern. If I bring it up, Pendelton can file for an immediate federal injunction against Vance Holdings. It ends Marcus once and for all."
"Let me go with you," Ashley pleaded, stepping onto the wet dock. "I know the layout of the old pump house! Dad showed me when I was ten!"
"No! Stay with Noah inside the house," Ryan ordered. "Keep the storm shutters bolted. If you see headlights, call the state police, not the county sheriff. Got it?"
Ashley nodded, tears mixing with the driving raindrops on her cheeks.
Ryan pulled his mask down, took the regulator between his teeth, and fell backward into the churning black water.
The world went instantly silent, replaced by the deep, rhythmic hiss of his own breath. Below the surface, the lake was murky and cold. Visibility was less than five feet as suspended silt danced in the beam of his underwater dive light.
Ryan kicked his fins, descending toward the rocky shelf near the north pier. The foundation here was treacherous, built from granite boulders laid down during the 19th-century logging boom. Weeds swirled around his limbs like reaching fingers.
After five minutes of fighting the disorienting current, the massive concrete mouth of the old drainage cistern materialized out of the green gloom. It was heavily encrusted with freshwater mussels, its iron intake grate rusted through.
Ryan squeezed through the gap in the grate, entering the submerged tunnel. The beam of his light cut through the dark water, illuminating a sealed brass marine cylinder chained to the central valve wheel.
His heart hammered against his ribs. *It was there.*
Ryan drew his dive knife and began sawing through the corroded chain links. The metal groaned under the tension. With a final violent snap, the chain gave way. He grabbed the brass cylinder, clutching it to his chest.
Suddenly, a massive surge of water shoved him violently against the concrete ceiling.
Above, the storm had broken the surface into chaos. But worse—a heavy, metallic shadow settled directly over the cistern's exit.
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Ryan looked up through his mask in horror. A motorized dive propulsion vehicle was hovering at the mouth of the tunnel. Behind it was a diver in sleek, all-black military-grade gear.
The figure pointed a pneumatic speargun directly at Ryan’s chest.
