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Deep Fathom by James Rollins
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(Mass Market Paperback)
Average Customer Rating: 
(10 ratings)
- Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
- Pub. Date: March 2007
- ISBN-13: 9780380818808
- Sales Rank: 4,900
- 480pp
Synopsis
Ex-Navy SEAL Jack Kirkland surfaces from an aborted underwater salvage mission to find the Earth burning.
Solar flares have triggered a series of gargantuan natural disasters. Earthquakes and hellfire rock the globe. Air Force One has vanished from the skies with America's president on board. Now, with the U.S. on the narrow brink of a nuclear apocalypse, Kirkland must pilot his oceangoing exploration ship, Deep Fathom, on a desperate mission miles below the ocean's surface. There devastating secrets await him—and a power an ancient civilization could not contain has been cast out into modern day. And it will forever alter a world that's already racing toward its own destruction.
More Reviews and RecommendationsBiography
Spelunker, scuba diver, and all-around adventure junkie James Rollins sold his veterinary practice in Sacramento, California, to concentrate full-time on writing -- his thirst for thrills clearly informing his bestselling novels, including Black Order, Subterranean and The Judas Strain.
More About the AuthorCustomer Reviews
Number of Reviews: 10
Average Rating:
Write a Review
Another great book by Rollins!
Andrew, a James Rollins fan, 08/23/2004
The discovery of a lost Micronesian civilization, and a dire threat to the world. Perhaps Rollins best effort. If you like Clive Cussler or Matt Reilly, check this one out.
Also recommended: All of Rollins' novels Dourado-David Wood Inca Gold-Clive Cussler
The twist just keep coming
Darnisa
(soniqusleeper@msn.com)
, an avid reader from Brooklyn, 07/07/2004
James Rollins has done it yet again with his new novel. While in the past, many of his works are riddled with themes of lost civilizations and their eventual discoveries, i think that Rollins has outdone himself with this novel (in a good way). The first 50 pages are quite hard to get through but once you've passed those, the book doesnt disappoint. It's essentially like reading a movie, the action never stopped.
Also recommended: Coldfire (Dean koontz), The Walking (Bentley Little)
More Customer ReviewsFact File
Name:
James Rollins
Current Home:
Sacramento, California
Date of Birth:
August 20, 1961
Place of Birth:
Chicago, Illinois
Biography
James Rollins is the New York Times, USA Today and Publishers Weekly bestselling author of Black Order, Map of Bones and other adventure thrillers. He was born in Chicago and grew up in Ontario, Canada, and St. Louis, Missouri. He graduated with honors from the University of Missouri with a degree in veterinary medicine. And like most veterinarians, he presently shares his home with a Golden Retriever, a Dachshund, and a sixty-five year old parrot named Igor. Rollins currently practices in Northern California, and when not writing or working in his veterinary practice, he can often be found underground or underwater as an amateur spelunker and scuba diver. These hobbies have helped in the creation of his earlier books Subterranean, Deep Fathom, Amazonia, and Sandstorm. His thriller, Black Order, skyrocketed to the top of bestseller lists across the country, winning the author countless new fans, and was proclaimed by People magazine as one of last summer's "hottest reads." Map of Bones was chosen by Publishers Weekly as one of the most likely to win over Dan Brown's faithful audience, and the New York Times rated the book as one the summer's top crowd pleasers.
Author biography courtesy of HarperCollins.
Good to Know
Some fun and fascinating outtakes from our interview with Rollins:
"I often get asked if I still practice veterinary medicine. While I don't practice full-time, I still do volunteer. I work with a group that traps stray cats, brings them to the shelter, where I spend a day spaying and neutering them. It's basically eight hours of removing genitalia. It's a hobby."
"I am a TV junkie. I have two Tivos and they are constantly full."
"My first job was to flip pizzas. I once got a pie spinning that was ten feet across. I had to spin it on my back to keep it going. Yet, I still love pizza."
"Two hobbies I love -- caving and scuba diving -- are also essential research for my novels. Case in point:
I've always been an avid cave explorer, from the vast systems in Missouri to the lava tubes of Hawaii to the tighter squeezes of the California foothills. But one of my most frightening episodes also allowed me to better describe claustrophobia in my novels. While climbing out of the fairly technical wild cavern, involving lots of rope work, I managed to jam myself midway up a narrow vertical chute. Hung up on my ascending gear midway up the chute, I found myself unable to move up or down. My chest was squeezed between two walls, my left knee turned the wrong way. I could not maneuver, and there was not enough room to get a rescue climber to me. I was trapped. I remember the team leader, leaning down from above, shining his helmet lamp at me. ‘You either find a way to un-jam yourself, or you stay there forever.'
So over the course of a long hour -- wriggling, sweating, cursing, and clawing -- I managed to creep a millimeter at a time out of the jam. After this event, I had a better understanding for panic and the determination born of pure desperation, essential ingredients for to writing thrilling fiction.
But spelunking through caves was not my only ‘research' lesson. Two decades ago, I also took up scuba diving and went on dive trips all around the world: Monterey Bay, Hawaii, South Pacific, Australia. I particularly remember one trip to the Great Barrier Reef in Australia. I was informed by the dive master to beware of the many hazards found in the region. ‘On land, Australia has seven of the ten deadliest snakes. The seas are worse. Box jellyfish can kill in minutes. Local sea snakes are some of the most toxic. But worst of all is the stone fish. It looks like a stone, but its spines are loaded with paralytic poison. So be careful what you touch.'
And down we all went, buddied up in pairs, enthusiastic and excited. I dropped toward the reef and adjust my buoyancy until I'm floating just above the reef. All around spread amazing sights: giant clams, a flurry of colored fish, an astounding variety of coral. But I miscalculated my buoyancy, my weight shifted, and I planted a hand into the sand to stabilize my tumble, careful of the razor-sharp coral. Inches from my thumb, a jagged rock suddenly sprouted fins and swam away. I met the gaze of my buddy diver. His wide eyes firmed up the identification. The deadly stone fish. And I had almost slapped my hand on its back. As the fish scurried away, I understood at that exact moment how little Nature cared about the life of a scuba-diving novelist. Down here, Nature ruled. We were only visitors.
This mix of respect and terror is brought to life in my latest novel, The Judas Strain."
Feature Interview
In the summer of 2007, James Rollins took some time out to answer some of our questions about his favorite books, authors, and interests: What was the book that most influenced your life or your career as a writer?
I don't know if it was any one novel so much as entire narrow genre of writing, specifically the pulp writers of the thirties and forties. I had a large collection of reprints while growing up: Doc Savage, The Shadow, The Spider, The Avenger. From adolescence through college, I was absolutely in love with these old "scientific adventure" novels. On some unconscious level, I think I've been trying to bring back those old dime adventure stories, recast into the present, adapted to modern technologies, and given a polish. Along those same lines, the three writers who also had a great impact as the founders of "scientific thrillers" were Jules Verne, H. Rider Haggard, and H. G. Wells. In fact, my first novel, Subterranean, was an attempt to do a modern retelling of Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth.
What are your ten favorite books, and what makes them special to you?
Only ten? I read across a wide field of genres, so I'll list them by different genres.
Literary Fiction:
Fantasy:
Science Fiction:
Mystery:
Horror:
Graphic Novels:
Romance:
Thriller:
Memoir:
Other:
What are some of your favorite films, and what makes them unforgettable to you?
Here, also, I could go on and on:
Oh, I could fill up pages and pages here.
What types of music do you like? Is there any particular kind you like to listen to when you're writing?
I am a massive Bruce Springsteen fan. I skipped studying for my national board exams in veterinary medicine to stay up until 2 a.m. to catch his concert. Still I got one of the highest scores of my veterinary class, which I attribute to Springsteen's concert. The Boss rules!
If you had a book club, what would it be reading?
I would run a book club that covered a wide range of genres. So many book clubs seem one note, limiting the range to literary fiction or one specific genre. I'd prefer to mix it up, challenge members to sample genres that they might never have considered, to pull them out of their comfort zone. Every genre offers a new world of vocabulary, pace, story, structure, and character. So why not stretch those wings a bit?
What are your favorite kinds of books to give -- and get -- as gifts?
Like I mentioned above, one of the joys of reading is that sense of discovery. I'd prefer to get a book that I might never have tried before. If there's a book you love, buy another copy and give it to a friend. I know I would love to receive such a gift. It not only offers a chance to read something new, but it also gives you some insight into your friend. Why did he or she like this enough to gift it to me? Additionally, it also allows you to share something later, to compare notes, to talk about it over coffee. So books make a GREAT gift.
Do you have any special writing rituals? For example, what do you have on your desk when you're writing?
My main ritual is to write six pages every day. I'm very regimented in this, but to help with this, I have TWO yellow Post-it notes stuck to the edges of my computer monitor. One lists the five senses to remind me not to just write visually. Sometimes writing is like trying to capture a movie in your head and put it on paper. It's a struggle and a challenge every day to try to get that movie that plays like crystal in your head to shine like that on paper. And one of the ways of achieving that is not to forget to fold in other senses into your writing: taste, sound, touch, smell. So the Post-it note reminds me not to forget this. The second note is even more important. It's a simple declarative statement: "I give myself permission to write crap today." So many writers talk about being "blocked." And this statement is my shield against that. Sometimes the sense that you have to write perfect prose that day can cripple a writer, so my simple statement reminds me to relax, have fun with it, to know that writing is an adventure. And then the story flows!
What are you working on now?
I'm just finishing up my 2008 thriller, and I've just sold my first young adult novel, which I'm gearing up to write this winter. And just to keep busy, I'm also writing the novelization to the next Indiana Jones movie. Now you understand WHY I mentioned above about the necessity of writing six pages a day. Writer's block?!? Who has time for writer's block?!?
Many writers are hardly "overnight success" stories. How long did it take for you to get where you are today? Any rejection-slip horror stories or inspirational anecdotes?
I definitely was not an overnight success. First of all, I have years of short stories -- horribly written short stories -- buried in my backyard. I personally fear some future archaeologist stumbling upon this cache of stories and using them a verifiable proof that the end of the twentieth century was void of literary merit. And it didn't get much better when I got around to writing novels. I was rejected by 50 different agents before one finally agreed to represent my first novel. So it's a long haul, but one well worth the uphill climb.
If you could choose one new writer to be "discovered," who would it be?
I'm going to choose not so much a new writer as someone who deserves be discovered and read more widely. That would be Dan Simmons, whose novel The Terror was a critical success and finally a moderately commercial success. But I've been reading Dan Simmons since his first novel, The Song of Kali. It went on to read horror awards across the board with its debut. Later, he produced a modern opus of science fiction titled Hyperion, which garnered him the Hugo Award for best science fiction of the year. He's gone on to write stellar detective novels and now a novel in the literary vein with The Terror. The ability of this writer to cross genres with some striking success is amazing. As a writer, he's a high-wire act that everyone should be experiencing.
What tips or advice do you have for writers still looking to be discovered?
As I mentioned above, as someone who was rejected by fifty different agencies, I must stress the word PERSISTENCE. Believe in your work, keeping sending it out there... but more importantly, don't stop writing. Move on to a new project. Don't keep revising the same book unless an agent or editor asks you to. Simply accept that baby is finished and ready for the world... and go about conceiving a new one. Keep doing this and eventually you will get published! And while I do believe in the old adage "Write Everyday," I also also believe you should "Read Every Night." The best teacher of the craft is simply a good book. As you write and struggle with difficulties in your own writing, each book you read can teach you aspects of the craft. Why re-invent the wheel, when you can learn by example?
From the Publisher
Ex-Navy SEAL Jack Kirkland surfaces from an aborted underwater salvage mission to find the Earth burning.
Solar flares have triggered a series of gargantuan natural disasters. Earthquakes and hellfire rock the globe. Air Force One has vanished from the skies with America's president on board. Now, with the U.S. on the narrow brink of a nuclear apocalypse, Kirkland must pilot his oceangoing exploration ship, Deep Fathom, on a desperate mission miles below the ocean's surface. There devastating secrets await him—and a power an ancient civilization could not contain has been cast out into modern day. And it will forever alter a world that's already racing toward its own destruction.
Customer Reviews
Number of Reviews: 10
Average Rating:
Write a Review
Another great book by Rollins!
Andrew, a James Rollins fan, 08/23/2004
The discovery of a lost Micronesian civilization, and a dire threat to the world. Perhaps Rollins best effort. If you like Clive Cussler or Matt Reilly, check this one out.
Also recommended: All of Rollins' novels Dourado-David Wood Inca Gold-Clive Cussler
The twist just keep coming
Darnisa (soniqusleeper@msn.com), an avid reader from Brooklyn, 07/07/2004
James Rollins has done it yet again with his new novel. While in the past, many of his works are riddled with themes of lost civilizations and their eventual discoveries, i think that Rollins has outdone himself with this novel (in a good way). The first 50 pages are quite hard to get through but once you've passed those, the book doesnt disappoint. It's essentially like reading a movie, the action never stopped.
Also recommended: Coldfire (Dean koontz), The Walking (Bentley Little)
A little slow to start but Excellent! when you get into it
Troy, a Dad with not much free time., 12/18/2001
I found this book to start off slow and it took me awhile to get into it but it did pick up towards the end. I don't think this was James’s best work but I still recommend it. However, It may be just me? In the last couple months I have started 2 other books and never finished… I am now on my third and that doesn’t seem promising either. I guess I am a picky reader.
Also recommended: Excavation, Subterranean
AGAIN!!
Marcy (dmyoungs@aol.com), addicted to Mr Rollins books, 11/09/2001
Well...ive been waiting for this one....read the prologue about 3 months before....and waited patietly....as soon as i heard it was coming out...i was at the bookstore....mr rolins is an awesome writer....this is THE best one yet....each book he has is incredible....a CANT PUT DOWN....i was so anxious to finsih it i read so fast...i had to reread the end...because i couldnt wait....i tell everyone at bookstores every where...get his books...you wont be disappointed...he is awesome....cant wait for his next one.....
Also recommended: DONT MISS SUBTERRANEUM AND EXCAVATION ALSO
Hard Read
A reviewer (Ideaz 369@aol.com), A reviewer, 10/22/2001
I had a hard time getting into this book. For one thing the characters were just not that interesting. Then there is no end to the constant catastrophes that appear starting with chapter one and never stopping. There are so many things going on and I don't think the author brings them all together well in the end. In fact the ending was just plain UNBELIEVABLE.
Also recommended: I like the PREY novels by John Sandford. Start with The Rules of Prey.
Showing 1-5 NextProduct Details
- ISBN:
0380818809
- ISBN-13: 9780380818808
- Format: Mass Market Paperback, 480pp
- Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
- Pub. Date: March 2007
- Sales Rank: 4,900
Read an Excerpt
Chapter One
Nautilus
July 24, 3:35 P.M.
75 miles SW of Wake Island, Central Pacific
Jack Kirkland had missed the eclipse.
Where he glided, there was no sun, only the perpetual darkness of the ocean's abysmal deep. The sole illumination came from a pair of xenon lamps set in the nose of his one-man submersible. His new toy, the Nautilus 2000, was out on its first deep-dive test. The eight-foot titanium minisub was shaped like a fat torpedo topped by an acrylic plastic dome. Attached to its underside was a stainless steel frame that mounted the battery pods, thruster assembly, that mounted the battery pods, thruster assembly, electrical, can, and lights.
Ahead, the brilliance of the twin lamps drilled a cone of visibility that extended a hundred feet in front of him. He fingered the controls, sweeping the arc back and forth, searching. Out the corner of his eye he checked the analog depth gauge. Approaching fifteen hundred feet. The bottomof the trench must be close. His sonar reading on the computer screen confirmed his assessment. Nomore than two fathoms. The pings of the sonar grew closer and closer.
Seated, Jack's head and shoulders protruded into the acrylic plastic dome of the hull, giving him a panoramic view of his surroundings. While the cabin was spacious for most men, it was a tight fit for Jack's six-foot-plus frame. It's like driving an MG convertible, he thought, except you steer with your toes.
The two foot pedals in the main hull controlled not only acceleration, but also maneuvered the fourone-horsepower thrusters. With practiced skill Jack eased the right pedal while depressing the toe of the left pedal. The craft dove smoothly to the left. Lights swept forward. Ahead, the seabed came into view, appearing out of the endless gloom.
Jack slowed his vehicle to a gentle glide as he entered a natural wonderland, a deep ocean oasis.
Under him, fields of tubeworms lay spread across the valley floor of the mid-Pacific mountain range. Riftia pachyptila. The clusters of six-foot-long tubes with their bloodred worms were like an otherworldly topiary waving at him as he passed, gently swaying in the current. To either side, on lower slopes, giant clams lay stacked shell-to-shell, open, soft fronds filtering the sea. Among them stalked bright red galatheid crabs on long, spindly legs.
Movement drew Jack's attention forward. A thick eyeless eel slithered past, teeth bright in the xenon lamp. A school of curious fish followed next, led by a large brown lantern fish. The brazen fellow swam right up to the glass bubble, a deepsea gargoyle ogling the strange intruder inside. Minuscule bioluminescent lights winked along the large fish's sides, announcing its territorial aggression.
Other denizens displayed their lights. Under him, pink pulses ran through tangles of bamboo coral. Around the dome, tiny blue-green lights flashed, the creatures too small and translucent to be seen clearly.
The sight reminded Jack of flurries of fireflies from his Tennessee childhood. Having lived all his young life in landlocked Tennessee, Jack had instantly fallen in love with the ocean, enthralled by its wide expanses, its endless blue, its changing moods.
A swirl of lights swarmed around the dome.
"Unbelievable," he muttered to himself, wearing a wide grin. Even after all this time, the sea found ways to surprise him.
In response, his radio earpiece buzzed. "What was that, Jack?"
Frowning, Jack silently cursed the throat microphone taped under his larynx. Even fifteen hundred feet under the sea, he could not completely shut out the world above. "Nothing, Lisa," he answered. "Just admiring the view."
"How's the new sub handling?"
"Perfectly. Are you receiving the Bio-Sensor readings?" Jack asked, touching the clip on his earlobe. The laser spectrometer built into the clip constantly monitored his bloodgas levels.
Dr. Lisa Cummings had garnered a National Science Foundation grant to study the physiological effects of deepsea work. "Respiration, temperature, cabin pressure, oxygen supply, ballast, carbon dioxide scrubbers. All green up here. Any evidence of seismic activity?"
"No. All quiet."
Two hours ago, as Jack had first begun his descent in the Nautilus, Charlie Mollier, the geologist, had reported strange seismic readings,, harmonic vibrations radiating through the deep-sea mountain range. For safety's sake he had suggested that Jack return to the surface. "Come watch the eclipse with us, " Charlie had radioed earlier in his Jamaican accent. "It's spectacular, mon. We can always dive tomorrow."
Jack had refused. He had no interest in the eclipse. If the quakes worsened, he could always surface. But during the long descent, the strange seismic readings had faded away. Charlie's voice over the radio had eventually lost its strained edge.
Jack touched his throat mike. "So you all done worrying up there?"
A pause was followed by a reluctant "Yes."
Jack imagined the blond doctor rolling her eyes. "Thanks, Lisa. Signing off. Time for a little privacy." He yanked the Bio-Sensor clip from his earlobe.
It was a small victory. The remainder of the Bio-Sensor system would continue to report on the sub's environmental status, but not his personal information. At least it gave him a bit of isolation from the world above -- and this was what Jack liked best about diving. The isolation, the peace, the quiet. Here there was only the moment. Lost in the deep, his past had no power to haunt him.
From the sub's speakers the strange noises of the abysmal deep echoed through the small space: a chorus of eerie pulses, chirps, and high-frequency squeals. It was like listening in on another planet.
Around him was a world deadly to surface dwellers: endless darkness, crushing pressures, toxic waters. But life somehow found a way to thrive here, fed not by sunlight, but by poisonous clouds of hydrogen sulfide that spewed from hot vents called "black smokers."
Deep Fathom. Copyright © by James Rollins. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.Read a Sample Chapter
Deep FathomChapter One
Nautilus
July 24, 3:35 P.M.
75 miles SW of Wake Island, Central Pacific
Jack Kirkland had missed the eclipse.
Where he glided, there was no sun, only the perpetual darkness of the ocean's abysmal deep. The sole illumination came from a pair of xenon lamps set in the nose of his one-man submersible. His new toy, the Nautilus 2000, was out on its first deep-dive test. The eight-foot titanium minisub was shaped like a fat torpedo topped by an acrylic plastic dome. Attached to its underside was a stainless steel frame that mounted the battery pods, thruster assembly, that mounted the battery pods, thruster assembly, electrical, can, and lights.
Ahead, the brilliance of the twin lamps drilled a cone of visibility that extended a hundred feet in front of him. He fingered the controls, sweeping the arc back and forth, searching. Out the corner of his eye he checked the analog depth gauge. Approaching fifteen hundred feet. The bottomof the trench must be close. His sonar reading on the computer screen confirmed his assessment. Nomore than two fathoms. The pings of the sonar grew closer and closer.
Seated, Jack's head and shoulders protruded into the acrylic plastic dome of the hull, giving him a panoramic view of his surroundings. While the cabin was spacious for most men, it was a tight fit for Jack's six-foot-plus frame. It's like driving an MG convertible, he thought, except you steer with your toes.
The two foot pedals in the main hull controlled not only acceleration, but also maneuvered the four one-horsepower thrusters. With practiced skill Jack eased the right pedal while depressing the toe of the left pedal. The craft dove smoothly to the left. Lights swept forward. Ahead, the seabed came into view, appearing out of the endless gloom.
Jack slowed his vehicle to a gentle glide as he entered a natural wonderland, a deep ocean oasis.
Under him, fields of tubeworms lay spread across the valley floor of the mid-Pacific mountain range. Riftia pachyptila. The clusters of six-foot-long tubes with their bloodred worms were like an otherworldly topiary waving at him as he passed, gently swaying in the current. To either side, on lower slopes, giant clams lay stacked shell-to-shell, open, soft fronds filtering the sea. Among them stalked bright red galatheid crabs on long, spindly legs.
Movement drew Jack's attention forward. A thick eyeless eel slithered past, teeth bright in the xenon lamp. A school of curious fish followed next, led by a large brown lantern fish. The brazen fellow swam right up to the glass bubble, a deepsea gargoyle ogling the strange intruder inside. Minuscule bioluminescent lights winked along the large fish's sides, announcing its territorial aggression.
Other denizens displayed their lights. Under him, pink pulses ran through tangles of bamboo coral. Around the dome, tiny blue-green lights flashed, the creatures too small and translucent to be seen clearly.
The sight reminded Jack of flurries of fireflies from his Tennessee childhood. Having lived all his young life in landlocked Tennessee, Jack had instantly fallen in love with the ocean, enthralled by its wide expanses, its endless blue, its changing moods.
A swirl of lights swarmed around the dome.
"Unbelievable," he muttered to himself, wearing a wide grin. Even after all this time, the sea found ways to surprise him.
In response, his radio earpiece buzzed. "What was that, Jack?"
Frowning, Jack silently cursed the throat microphone taped under his larynx. Even fifteen hundred feet under the sea, he could not completely shut out the world above. "Nothing, Lisa," he answered. "Just admiring the view."
"How's the new sub handling?"
"Perfectly. Are you receiving the Bio-Sensor readings?" Jack asked, touching the clip on his earlobe. The laser spectrometer built into the clip constantly monitored his bloodgas levels.
Dr. Lisa Cummings had garnered a National Science Foundation grant to study the physiological effects of deepsea work. "Respiration, temperature, cabin pressure, oxygen supply, ballast, carbon dioxide scrubbers. All green up here. Any evidence of seismic activity?"
"No. All quiet."
Two hours ago, as Jack had first begun his descent in the Nautilus, Charlie Mollier, the geologist, had reported strange seismic readings,, harmonic vibrations radiating through the deep-sea mountain range. For safety's sake he had suggested that Jack return to the surface. "Come watch the eclipse with us, " Charlie had radioed earlier in his Jamaican accent. "It's spectacular, mon. We can always dive tomorrow."
Jack had refused. He had no interest in the eclipse. If the quakes worsened, he could always surface. But during the long descent, the strange seismic readings had faded away. Charlie's voice over the radio had eventually lost its strained edge.
Jack touched his throat mike. "So you all done worrying up there?"
A pause was followed by a reluctant "Yes."
Jack imagined the blond doctor rolling her eyes. "Thanks, Lisa. Signing off. Time for a little privacy." He yanked the Bio-Sensor clip from his earlobe.
It was a small victory. The remainder of the Bio-Sensor system would continue to report on the sub's environmental status, but not his personal information. At least it gave him a bit of isolation from the world above -- and this was what Jack liked best about diving. The isolation, the peace, the quiet. Here there was only the moment. Lost in the deep, his past had no power to haunt him.
From the sub's speakers the strange noises of the abysmal deep echoed through the small space: a chorus of eerie pulses, chirps, and high-frequency squeals. It was like listening in on another planet.
Around him was a world deadly to surface dwellers: endless darkness, crushing pressures, toxic waters. But life somehow found a way to thrive here, fed not by sunlight, but by poisonous clouds of hydrogen sulfide that spewed from hot vents called "black smokers."
Deep Fathom. Copyright © by James Rollins. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
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