Beast by Peter Benchley Page A

head since, first of all, no visitors were ever taken on deep dives in Bermuda and, second, deep diving wasn’t something sensible people did by choice.
    Lucas didn’t say a thing while the two discussed the depths of the various shipwrecks they had been on, comparing the Constellation to I’Herminie, the North Carolina to the Virginia Merchant. None of them lay deeper than forty feet—breath-hold range for anybody but a consumptive. He wasn’t tempted to correct them when they talked about the Cristobal Colon versus the Pollockshields, two iron ships so shallow you had to take care not to hit them with the boat.
    He had found his opening when the boy—Scott, his name was—said something like, “The boat guy said the deepest wreck around’s the Pelinaion.”
    “Where is it?” asked Susie. “Will he take us to it?”
    Lucas leaned forward and turned his head toward them and said, ” ‘Scuse me. None of my business, but I’m afraid somebody’s pulling your chain.”
    “Really?” Susie’s eyes opened wide, and Lucas decided that she had the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen.
    “Yep. Like I say, none of my business, but I hate to see you get a bum steer.”
    “What is, then?” said Scott. “The deepest wreck.”
    “The deepest shipwreck in Bermuda,” Lucas said with a smile, so charming, pleased to find that his mouth was working even though his lips felt kind of numb, “is the Admiral Durham. It’s off the South Shore. Leastways, the deepest one anybody’s ever seen.”
    “How deep is that?” Scott had a look that said he didn’t believe a word of this but that he had nothing better to do just now than humor Lucas Coven.
    “She starts at a hundred and ninety, then angles down the slope to about three hundred.”
    Susie said, “Wow!”
    Scott said, “Gimme a break… .”
    Looking back, Lucas wished he’d said something terminal like, “Piss off, Junior,” something that would have sunk the expedition right then and there.
    But Susie had given Scott a punch on the shoulder and said, “Scott! Listen, for once in your life,” which meant she was interested.
    So Lucas had let his mouth keep running.
    “She ran up on the South Shore in a storm and hung there a day or more while they tried to pull her off. They got her free okay, but she was holed so bad that before they could patch her she filled up and went, slid back down the hill.”
    “And you’ve seen it,” Scott said.
    “Once, years back. She’s not so easy to find.”
    “What was it like?” Susie asked, all eager.
    “Gets your blood to racing. I call her the Widow-maker.” He didn’t, but it sounded good. “For a long time you don’t see anything at all. Then all of a sudden she looms up out of the deep, and your first thought is, Man, I must be narcked. ‘Cause what you see is a great iron ship that looks to be sailing right up at you. Then, what downright convinces you that you’ve got the vapors is that there’s this no-kidding locomotive train engine lying right beside her, fallen off the bow. Just about the time your head clears, it’s time to go. You only get about five minutes at that depth.”
    “I don’t believe it,” said Scott.
    Lucas said, “That’s your privilege,” and motioned for a refill.
    Susie put a hand on Lucas’s arm, actually touched him, and, with a glance at her brother that told him to keep quiet, said, “Our treat,” and gestured to the bartender to give them a couple of beers and Lucas another vodka.
    That was the moment when Lucas knew he had them. And because he was enjoying himself and trying to figure out where to take Susie when they managed to ditch Scott, he didn’t think the time would come when he wished he hadn’t.
    When the drinks came, Susie said, “Excuse us a minute,” and she took Scott’s arm and led him off by some empty tables. They stayed over there, whispering, for three or four minutes, gesturing at one another, and when they came back it was Scott who started