The North Sea was a slate-gray mirror, indifferent to the mounting “Final Notice” letters on Arthur’s kitchen table. Three miles out, the Silver Wake chugged rhythmically until the world suddenly tilted. The boat shuddered violently, floorboards groaning under a terrifying tension. The steel towing cables shrieked as they reached their limit, snapping taut like guitar strings. Arthur scrambled to the winch, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He was “fast”—snagged on something immovable on the seafloor. If he didn’t act, the tension could flip the boat or send a whip of steel through the cabin. He threw the engine into neutral, the silence following the mechanical roar feeling heavier than the morning fog. He leaned over the stern, squinting at the churning wake where his cables disappeared into the dark. He couldn’t see anything through the black, impenetrable surface of the North Sea; the water was a cold, blind wall.
He only knew that whatever held his net was heavy enough to drag his livelihood into the abyss, and there was only one way to find out what was standing in his way.