Pressure Read Free Page A

said, maneuvering between reporters and crew. “You look fine, by the way. I think we can get by with just a quick touch up.”
    Jessamine waited patiently while Julio expertly attended to her hair and makeup. When he was finished, she nodded at Khem and Hank, indicating she was ready. The two of them both signaled their confirmation.
    â€œGet the moon in the background,” Hank told Khem. “That will make for a nice shot.”
    â€œI’ve got it. Kind of cloudy, though. I need better lighting.”
    â€œYou want to light the moon?”
    As Jessamine approached the railing, Hank and Khem’s bickering faded into background noise. As a journalist, she’d trained herself to sort through information she was hearing, focusing on what was useful and disregarding the unimportant. She did that now, and heard several reporters inquiring about Peter Scofield’s status. None of the research team responded to their shouted demands.
    Jessamine realized that her seasickness had finally subsided. The research vessel was no longer swaying.
    â€œThere we go,” Hank said. “Look at that, Khem. Perfect lighting. Somebody up there must like us.”
    The clouds cooperated with the shot, sliding across the night sky, and the almost-full moon shone down upon a dark ocean that had suddenly gone completely still.
    Peter Scofield never resurfaced.

 
    TWO
    If you didn’t look too closely, Carrie Anderson decided, then it was easy to pretend that the end of the world wasn’t possibly due at any time now.
    Cured of the bends, she had just been freshly released from a small hospital in Chemin Grenier, a village of about twelve thousand souls located in Mauritius’s Savanne District. Well, perhaps released wasn’t the most correct terminology. Left early, against doctor’s orders was probably more apt. She hadn’t even waited to inform her superiors at Alpinus Biofutures, whom she was currently under contract with as a freelancer. Although, that really didn’t matter, since she was sure the hospital staff would notify them for her in short order.
    The day was warm, the sky clear and crystalline blue, and the town bustled with people. A public transportation bus chortled down the street, belching exhaust. Impatient drivers honked their horns behind it. A group of older men sat outside a tiny sidewalk café, eating cheap seafood and listening to a football game—or soccer, as she thought of it—on an even cheaper transistor radio that looked like it had probably been new during the Nixon administration. The match was FC Dodo versus Garrison, judging by the snatch of the broadcast Carrie overheard. It had taken Carrie many years to think of soccer and football as the same game, rather than the Americanized version of football that she’d grown up watching with her father. One of the men wore an immaculately cleaned and pressed Toshan Gunness jersey. For a moment, she thought of her father and the various New England Patriots apparel he’d worn over the years.
    The men good-naturedly ribbed each other in Creole, but stopped to stare at Carrie as she passed them by. Carrie didn’t notice, still lost in thoughts of her own. Memories of her father always made her smile.
    Reggae music rumbled from a nearby coffee shop. A few doors down, competing Sega music blasted from a corner bar, along with the sounds of dancing, clapping, and raucous laughter. Carrie paused in front of the doorway, considering for a moment, but then moved on, seeking some place quieter. The last thing she wanted right now was to be surrounded by a crowd.
    She passed a bicycle shop and saw customers inside. Likewise a bakery, bookstore, and pharmacy. None of the businesses were closed or shuttered. Within a block, she walked by a mandir, a mosque, and a church. None of their doors were boarded over. A signboard outside the Village Council chambers was plastered with flyers advertising