CHAPTER VIII
The Fancy Frogmen
"The question is," Rick stated, "when was the oil put in? While we wereat Charlotte Amalie? Or while we were out hunting the wreck just now?"
"In Charlotte Amalie, of course," Tony said. "Why do you think it mighthave been done just a little while ago?"
Rick shrugged. He had no answer to that. The question had popped intohis mind unbidden.
"We didn't take the compressor apart," Scotty reminded him.
That was true. But Rick had started it in Charlotte Amalie to be sure itwas functioning. There was no oil in it then. He said as much.
"You started the compressor at the same time you checked the tanks,"Zircon reminded him. "I believe the oil was put in at the same time thevalves were loosened."
That seemed reasonable. Rick put aside his hunch. "Well, we found it intime, anyway. Now Scotty and I will have to tear the compressor down andclean it before we can recharge the tanks."
"After lunch," Tony said. "Don't you remember? A diver is supposed torest after each dive. Relax, and I'll have some sandwiches ready in afew minutes."
All hands were hungry. Scotty stowed away four sandwiches and Rick didnearly as well. Then they started work on the compressor. It wasn't ahard job, but it was tedious, and nearly two hours elapsed before theyfinished. Each part had to be washed in soap and water, then carefullydried. Finally, the compressor was ready. They carried it to the boat,started the gas engine, and connected the tanks. But before the airstarted to flow, Rick carefully inspected the filter system to be surethat hadn't been tampered with too.
"You know," he observed, "these enemies Steve is hunting know a lotabout sport diving."
Scotty considered. "They knew that tanks could be dangerous, and theyknew that oil in a compressor is dangerous. You're right, Rick. Theyknow plenty about it."
"But it doesn't do us much good to know that they know," Rick concluded."Well, now what? It will be a few hours before all the tanks arecharged."
"Where are Zircon and Tony?"
"Napping. We probably should join them."
"Not me. There's nothing to do after sundown but sleep. I'd like to takea walk and look the island over."
Rick sighed. "Always an eager beaver. I'll go with you, if you don'twalk fast."
They turned north and walked up the beach. Somewhere off this stretch ofbeach was the _Maiden Hand_. But where? They strolled along leisurely,stopping now and then to examine some bit of beach flotsam. There wereshells, but most of them were small and water worn.
"We'll have to collect a few shells on the reef," Rick said. "Barby willbe disappointed if we don't."
"That's easy enough to do," Scotty replied. "I saw half a dozendifferent varieties this morning."
They passed a beach house, obviously empty. Rick gestured toward it."Funny how few people there are here. If I owned a place on this islandI'd be here all the time."
"Unless you had to make a living," Scotty added practically. "This isn'tthe season for vacations. I expect vacation time finds plenty ofactivity here. There's one cabin occupied to the south of us. I sawpeople there this morning. They're probably the same ones who waved atus from a boat when we flew over day before yesterday."
"The boat isn't there now," Rick observed. "At least, I haven't seenit."
"They may have gone to St. Thomas for supplies. Or they may have gonehome." Scotty pointed to what seemed to be the largest house on theisland, near the northern tip. "That's quite a place. Let's go have alook."
There was a long pier in front of the house, and, unlike the others onthe island, this house had a second story. There was no sign of life.They walked around it and found a barbecue pit. Scotty examined it."This has been used recently, probably in the past few days."
Rick bent down and peered at a scrap of meat. "You're right. They hadsteak. And this piece hasn't dried out yet."
"Maybe they're still here." Scotty walked to the back of the house."They might be out fishing or something." He looked in a window andcalled urgently, "Rick! Look!"
Rick hurried to his side and peered in. The room was evidently used forstoring diving equipment. Hung along one wall were three full divingsuits of expensive make. Next to them, neatly racked, was an assortmentof spear guns, all of the spring type, and all of Italian make.
On another wall were three Scuba regulators, not aqualung types such asthe boys used, but the variety that carries a full face mask throughwhich the diver breathes. In a rack on the floor were nine spare tanksand a compressor much larger and more expensive than theirs.
Swim fins, also of Italian make, were lying on a table. They were theshoe type, put on like a pair of slippers. Rick identified an underwatercamera, complete with steering fins and outside controls, and a numberof face masks with built-in snorkels. Boxes stacked on the floor carriedlabels that identified them as midseason suits of French make.
"We've found some real fancy frogmen," Scotty observed. "This placelooks like a high-priced show-room for diving gear."
"Pretty plush," Rick agreed.
They wandered back down to the beach and found that this area of theisland was apparently more open to the sea. There were bits of flotsam,including coconuts that had washed in. The sea shells were larger, andthey found a few worth picking up.
Scotty beckoned and pointed to a piece of wood, nearly buried in thesand. "What do you make of this?"
Rick examined it. It was curved, and a shred of green metal still clungto the rusty remains of an ancient hand-fashioned nail. He looked upwith sudden excitement. "It's a section of a ship rib. And a pretty oldone, too." His finger indicated the shred of metal. "Copper. Or used tobe." He broke it off. "Completely oxidized. It's been in the water along time, perhaps even centuries."
The boys stared out at the reef, both half afraid to put their thoughtsinto words. Finally Scotty asked, "Do you remember reading about anyearthquakes or big tidal waves down here recently?"
Rick tried to recall. "No. Why?"
"Well, the _Maiden Hand_ has been under the water out here for a coupleof centuries--and in pretty deep water, too. It would take somedisturbance that could reach down a hundred and twenty feet to break offa chunk."
Rick grinned. "You're right. But we haven't anything to lose by taking alook, have we?"
They trotted down the beach toward their own house at a half run. Ricklooked at his watch. "At least one pair of tanks should be full by now,and there's plenty of time for a dive. Come on!"
They paused at the pier, put the pressure gauge on the first two tanksin series, and found them charged, as Rick had predicted. Then they ranfor the house.
Zircon and Tony were gone and there was a note on the living-room table."_We're exploring the southern end. Be back in an hour or two._"
"Shall we wait?" Scotty asked.
"No need. We can take our floats. Let's get going."
They changed to trunks. Then, since they would not have anyone on thesurface to keep track of time or depth, strapped on wrist watches,compasses, and wrist depth gauges. Floats and weight belts were put on,then the boys added small plastic slates and pencils for writingunderwater. Knives, masks, snorkels, their favorite guns, fins, andlungs completed their equipment.
"Shall we walk up the beach, or swim?"
"Swim," Rick said promptly. "This stuff is too heavy to carrycomfortably."
They launched floats, placed aqualung mouthpieces on top of their masks,and swam parallel to the beach. By using snorkels they avoided theeffort of lifting their faces out of water to breathe and conserved theair in the tanks. With effective but effortless leg strokes they movedalong rapidly.
As they approached the ship rib that Scotty had found they turned andswam straight out toward the reef, crossed it, then came to a halt.
"Let's tie our floats to something," Rick suggested, and Scotty nodded.
Aqualung mouthpieces replaced the snorkels, and each boy tested his flowof air, checked to be sure his mask was connected to the
lung by asafety line, charged his gun, and set his watch. The watches, designedespecially for underwater swimming, had an outer dial that could be setto show elapsed diving time.
Rick hooted and pointed down. Scotty nodded and they submerged. Becauseof their belt weights, and the weight of air in their tanks, they werejust heavy enough to sink slowly. After the dive, when the air in thetanks was nearly exhausted, they would weigh about five pounds less andhave a slight positive buoyancy that would help them to rise.
They found coral outcroppings and tied their float lines, being carefulnot to cut their hands. Rick suddenly wished they had brought canvasgloves. Scotty still wore a single rubber one.
Then, with a few strong kicks to overcome their inertia, they starteddown the face of the reef. It fell off sharply for about forty feet,then more gradually until sand bottom was reached at about ninety feet.
Rick felt the sensation of thrusting his face into a wedge as thepressure increased. He swallowed a couple of times and felt his earsequalize, but his mask was beginning to hurt. He exhaled through hisnose and equalized the pressure inside the mask.
There were plenty of fish around now. A grouper saw them coming andducked into his hole in the coral. A fairly large moray eel, only hishead visible, watched their progress. Tiny demoiselles fluttered aroundthem, and a pair of red squirrelfish watched from the shelter of apurple coral fan.
The coral growth was spectacular, with fantastic shapes and colors.Then, as they went deeper, the colors gradually faded to a uniformgreen. Rick knew from underwater flash photographs that the appearancewas deceptive. The colors remained, but the quality of light changed.
Scotty hooted four times, the signal for danger! Rick looked and saw abarracuda hovering near by. He gulped. The fish was easily five feetlong. Both boys lifted their spear guns just in case the 'cuda attacked,but the motion alarmed him and he was gone with one powerful flick ofhis tail.
Rick consulted his wrist depth gauge, holding it close to his faceplate. They were at bottom at ninety feet, and the clean sand droppedaway at an angle of about thirty degrees. The boys planed downward, afew feet above the sand until Rick's gauge read 120 feet. This was thelimit of their dive. Going deeper would mean stopping for decompressionon the way up.
He recalled that the waves came into the beach from a slightly northerlydirection and motioned to Scotty that they should turn north. Scottymoved out to the limit of visibility, and they swam on a compass headingof north, watching for any sign of a wreck. Now and then a coral shelfextended out from the reef, but they saw nothing that could have been awreck. Once they swam over a patch of marine growth perhaps twenty feetlong and ten wide, and a huge eagle ray lifted from it and glided offlike a weird futuristic airplane.
It was quiet, except for the regular chuckle of their exhausts, and thelight was subdued and even. It was a world without shadows. Still, Rickthought, there was plenty of light for photography. Next time he wouldbring his camera.
The watch showed him that over half their allotted time was gone, and hehooted once to Scotty, then reversed course, heading back toward theirfloats.
They approached the patch where they had seen the ray and Rick pausedsuddenly. There was an odd shape on the sand near the patch. Heflippered over to it and examined it. Scotty joined him. It looked likean oversized mushroom protruding from the sand at an angle.
Rick unsheathed his knife and poked at it. The sharp tip penetrated fora fraction of an inch, then stopped. It was either rock or metal, andjudging from the shape, it was unlikely that it was rock. He put hisknife under it and pried, and the thing moved in the sand.
Both boys went to work on it, scooping the sand from around it. In amoment they had it clear. It was something like a dumbbell, covered withmarine growth where it had been above the sand, but fairly smooth underit.
Rick took his belt slate and scribbled, "Metal."
Scotty nodded. Then both of them turned to look at the patch of marinelife.
A distant throb, as though of a boat, caught their attention. Theylooked up, but the surface was invisible.
It was Tony and Zircon, Rick decided. They probably had returned to thecottage and found the diving equipment missing. They could spot thelocation where the boys were diving easily enough, first by the floats,then by the bubbles of their exhausts.
Scotty hooted suddenly, four times. Rick turned quickly in time to see asix-foot shark speed past. The tips of the pectoral fins and the seconddorsal were darker than the rest of the fish, and Rick identified it asa black-tipped shark. Obviously, the shark was on business of its own,not particularly interested in them. Still, it was curious. The sharkwas rushing almost straight up.
_Rick turned in time to see a six-foot shark speed past_]
Scotty gripped his arm and pointed. More sharks! Another black tip. Anda ten-foot leopard shark! All rushing upward.
The boys watched tensely, and then out of the dimness above somethingsped down at them, followed by the sharks. It landed in the clear sandjust beyond the marine growth. Rick saw a black tip go for it, then theblack tip was struck from the side by the big leopard. In spite of hissudden apprehension, Rick couldn't help wishing for his camera.
The sharks rushed again, and the falling object was lifted from the sandby the disturbed water. This time, Rick recognized it. A chicken! It wastied to a length of string from which dangled a lead sinker. The birdwas dead, but apparently freshly so. He knew that it was the chickenblood that had brought the sharks--and a giant barracuda! The greatfish, a full six feet in length, slashed past the sharks and tore achunk out of the bird.
The leopard shark made a fast pass at the barracuda, then turned andsnapped at a black tip. Rick gulped. A hole suddenly appeared in theblack's side, as smooth as though scooped out of ice cream. And then theother sharks hit the wounded black tip.
There were many sharks now, worrying the chicken and the wounded blacktip like fierce dogs over scraps of meat. Rick thought, "We'd better getout of here!" He hooted twice at Scotty, the signal to ascend. Scottymotioned to him to retreat. Rick picked up the dumbbell-shaped object.It was heavy, but not too heavy to handle, and he started a slow retreatalong the sand.
The sharks were paying no attention to the boys, but Rick wasn't at allsure that they wouldn't, once the supply of chicken and wounded sharkwere exhausted. His mind raced. Where had the chicken come from? Whoeverhad tossed it into the water would have known that the blood would bringsharks. It wasn't a casual toss, either. Not when the chicken had beenweighted with a fishing sinker big enough to carry it to the bottom.Tony and Zircon would never do such a thing. Besides, they had nochickens.
Rick and Scotty backed far enough away so that the sharks could nolonger be seen. Then, heading toward the reef, they started for thesurface. Scotty was slightly in the lead, and Rick kept glancing back incase one of the big fish decided to follow. But they reached the surfacewithout incident and broke water about two hundred feet from theirfloats. There was no boat in sight.
Replacing aqualung tubes with snorkels, they swam on the surface, facesdown, alert for sharks. When they reached the floats, Scotty kept watchfrom the surface while Rick dove to untie the lines.
As they climbed on the floats and lifted masks, Scotty and Rick pointedand yelled "Hey!" simultaneously.
But they had seen different things. Rick had seen the _Water Witch_ passthrough the reef and head for them. Scotty had seen another boat, a bigcabin cruiser, tied up at the pier in front of the house occupied by thefancy frogmen!
Rick turned and looked at the cruiser, then at the house. He was in timeto see the front door close. There would have been plenty of time forsomeone to drop the chicken from the cruiser and then cross the reef andtie up at the dock.
"I'll bet that's where the chicken came from," Rick said harshly.
"That's a bet I won't take," Scotty returned. "But you can bet we'llfind out!"
The Wailing Octopus: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story Page 8