In the morning light, the submarine Charon V bobbed on the surface, riding on a pontoon platform. Bright yellow, it looked like a child’s bathtub toy sitting on a deck of oildrums. A rubber Zodiac launch took Norman over, and he climbed onto the platform, shook hands with the pilot, who could not have been more than eighteen, younger than his son, Tim. “Ready to go, sir?” the pilot said. “Sure,” Norman said. He was as ready as he would ever be. Up close, the sub did not look like a toy. It was incredibly massive and strong. Norman saw a single porthole of curved acrylic. It was held in place
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