Deep Storm by Lincoln Child Read Free Book Online Page A

the Grecian bend. This led to the nickname “the bends.” Given the depth at which they were currently working, Crane felt certain caisson disease was involved one way or another.
    â€œI assume you have a hyperbaric oxygen therapy chamber or some other kind of recompression equipment on site you’ve been treating the patients with?” he asked. “When we’re done here, I’d like to question them directly, if you don’t mind.”
    â€œActually, Doctor,” Bishop said in a clipped voice, “I think we could proceed more quickly if you let me outline the symptomology, rather than make assumptions.”
    This took Crane by surprise. He looked at her, unsure why she had responded so tartly. “Sorry if I’m overeager or presumptuous. It’s been a long trip, and I’m very curious. Go right ahead.”
    â€œWe initially became aware something was wrong about two weeks ago. At first it seemed more a psychological issue than a physiological one. Roger noticed a spike in the number of walk-in visits.”
    Crane glanced at Corbett. “What were the symptoms?”
    â€œSome people complained of sleep disturbances,” Corbett said. “Others, malaise. A few cases of eating disorders. The most common complaint seemed difficulty in focusing on what they were doing.”
    â€œThen the physical symptoms began,” Bishop said. “Constipation. Nausea. Neurasthenia.”
    â€œAre people working double shifts down here?” Crane asked. “If so, I’m not surprised they’re feeling fatigued.”
    â€œOthers complained of muscle tics and spasms.”
    â€œJust tics?” Crane asked. “No associated pain?”
    Bishop looked at him with mild reproach, as if to say,
If there had been pain, I would have mentioned it, wouldn’t I?
    â€œThese people aren’t presenting with caisson disease,” Crane said. “At least, no variant I’m aware of. I guess I don’t see the concern. Problems with concentration or focus, constipation, nausea…that’s all non-specific. It could simply be work-induced stress. It’s an unusual environment and an unusual assignment, after all.”
    â€œI’m not through,” Bishop said. “Over the last week, the problems have grown worse. Three cases of cardiac arrhythmia in people with no history of heart disorders. A woman with bilateral weakness of the hands and face. And two others suffered what appeared to be transient ischemic attacks.”
    â€œTIAs?” Crane said. “How extensive?”
    â€œPartial paralysis, slurred speech, lasting in each case less than two hours.”
    â€œWhat were their ages?”
    â€œLate twenties and early thirties.”
    â€œReally?” Crane frowned. “That seems awfully young for a stroke.
Two
strokes, at that. You did neurological workups?”
    â€œDr. Crane, please. Of
course
we did neurological workups. Non-contrast cranial CT scans; EKGs to check for cardioembolic event triggers; the rest. There’s no EEG on the station—you know they’re mainly used for seizure disorders or coma—but in any case it wasn’t necessary here. Except for evidence of stroke,
everything
was completely normal.”
    Once again the tartness had crept into her tone.
She’s territorial,
Crane thought.
This is her turf and she doesn’t like me stepping on it.
    â€œEven so,” he said, “it’s the first evidence of dysbarism I’ve heard today.”
    â€œDysbarism?” Corbett asked, blinking through his round glasses.
    â€œDecompression sickness. Caisson disease.”
    Bishop sighed. “Actually, I believe that caisson disease is the one thing we can safely rule out.”
    â€œWhy? I assumed—” Crane fell silent. He realized that Asher had never told him outright what the problem was. Given the nature of the Deep Storm station, he’d assumed caisson