by John Hunt
“How was your trip, Tom? Any problems?”
Captain Stouffer shook his head. “It was quick and uneventful. Which is to say that we did not get torpedoed this time, and we did not need Navy planes flying cover for us. It’s nice to be undistinguished for a change.”
“Absolutely.”
“So, Mr. Onbacher, you’ve waited patiently for two months. What do you want us to do here? Thought that you might be crazy enough to try to find the Mary Brewer and the sunken OTEC. Is that what we are after?”
“No, no; not at all. They were well insured and are probably very happy to house the creatures of the deep ocean. Those two are long gone, thousands of meters down. No, I am not interested in recovering them.”
“So what are we after?”
Joseph looked up at Stouffer. He held his hand up to block the sun, and squinted.
“We are going after a wreck that no one believes exists. A wreck that will change the history books. And more importantly, a wreck that will change the future. I consider this the most important expedition I have ever undertaken. And I’m glad to have you aboard with me, Tom. We’re going to have fun.”
Captain Stouffer waited patiently for more information. Onbacher seemed in no rush, soaking in the smells and feel of the giant tug. But soon enough he inhaled deeply and spoke. “We are going to find the wreck of the Bounty.”
Stouffer smiled. “The Bounty was burned at Pitcairn’s Island, wasn’t she?”
“That’s what the history books say. But that’s not what actually occurred. For two hundred years, maritime historians have believed in a well-crafted obfuscation of the truth.”
34. A Man from Maine
PETUR STOOD ON the foredeck of the Elijah Lewis, his eyes squinting in an attempt to pierce through the glare from the sun as it reflected off myriad small ripples in the otherwise still ocean. Only the omnipresent gentle swells rolled by, barely noticing the islands as they lazily traveled from Asia to South America.
The ship was perhaps a kilometer off the west coast of Paradise 1, heading northward at a snail’s pace. They had been running back and forth for six days now, starting from as close inshore as they could safely go, which was only a few meters from the barrier reef. Those initial hours had been the most harried, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the ship turned around and began its next sweep a little further offshore.
One of the larger cabins had been converted into an electronics center. The computers that monitored the magnetometer and specialized high-definition digital sonographic machines filled the room. There was too little space left for the three men from Woods Hole who ran the equipment even to lean back in their chairs. Cables and wires ran out through the propped-open cabin door and down the passageways in all directions. It was common for the crew to trip on these invading cables, but installing a more permanent solution seemed wasteful, since Onbacher had no intention of making a career out of searching for wrecks.
Between the fancy machinery, the perfect weather, and the careful navigation of the ship by its master, the technicians cramped in the cabin below decks had been blessed with much assistance in mapping the underwater landscape with precise detail. The location and size of rocks as small as a man’s head were digitally recorded, even when the rocks were hundreds, or even a thousand, meters down. When the digital information was run through the attached computer-modeling program, the video monitor rendered a surprisingly realistic three-dimensional map of the ocean floor. Steering the ship by aid of the video imagery, as a child might do if it were a computer game, the technicians searched the sea floor for any anomalies that might suggest the presence of a sunken ship.
Some subtle elevations in the sandy bottom in the shallower areas had prompted a comparison with the magnetometer readings. Some of the metals from a shipwreck from the days of King George would be magnetic, and even small pieces would yield an increased signal. The video representation of the fluctuation of magnetic signals showed constant variation, even without any human artifacts around, and thus there was need for the careful sono mapping so the technicians would know where to concentrate their efforts.
The work, initially exciting, had already become routine. The repetitive nature of the routine gnawed on Petur to the point that he decided he needed to get off the ship. But monotony seemed not to affect either Joseph or the ship’s crew or captain at all. Petur had once questioned him about the need for such a large vessel, but the man had been adamant that the Elijah Lewis was the best choice. It turned out that Joseph chose his treasure hunting ship wisely. Totally accustomed to weeks of slow and steady towing across wide expanses of unchanging ocean, the crewmembers of this ship were in their element while floating slowly along the meticulously plotted grid that guided the sonographic survey. Boredom was customary and routine. This crew was well prepared for it.
Petur on the other hand was feeling restless. He had joined the hunt initially for the excitement. When the excitement of the search was replaced with the monotony of the mapping, Petur decided that he would not be missed if he hopped aboard the next pleasure craft that sailed by and asked for a lift home.
“Penny for your thoughts?” It was Joseph, who had come up behind the younger man.
“Good morning, Joseph. I’m not really thinking about anything. Just enjoying the view.” He pointed to the shore. “It’s amazing how, even on a calm day like today, that steam cloud always rises up from the reef there. It chronically blocks any view of that part of the shoreline.”
“That’s why the zebra beach is so untouched. Most people still don’t know about it. Someday that place will be the most popular beach on the island, I bet.”
Petur mused, “It would have also been a wonderful place for the mutineers from the Bounty to have settled.”
“Yes it would have. But that is not what happened.”
“No, it isn’t,” Petur said quietly. “They might have had a better time of things on Paradise though. Adequate space and harborage are two things that Pitcairn’s Island lacks entirely, but that here we take for granted.”
“Yes. You picked a good island, Petur.”
The two men stood quietly on the deck of the tug, staring down into the water as if perhaps their eyes might perform better than the modern technology at detecting a vessel so far below. The Bounty, still rotting, was down there somewhere.
“I’m going to take a break from the hunt, Joseph.”
“Are you going ashore?”
“Yep. I have been doing nothing here anyway. If we had stumbled upon it during the first couple of days, that would be one thing. But it looks like we need to settle in for the long haul.”
“It would be a good idea to keep your hopes and fears steady over time. As for me, I am so excited I can hardly breathe. I know she is near, Petur. I know it. I want to be here when we find her!”
“And you will be, my friend. You will find her. I am sure of it.”
Joseph stopped looking at the water, and was silent.
After a minute Petur asked him, “Are you going to go down on her?”
“Oh, yes. I’m not as young as I once was, so deep scuba diving will be difficult for me. But I will go down in the submersible in any event, shallow or deep.”
“It’s not like that’s terribly safe either.”
“Oh, it’s safe enough. We have the best one available.” He turned aft toward the shining white three-man submarine which lay on the mid-deck just forward of the bridge. It was perched upon a wooden and metal cradle, strapped down with broad dacron bands, and attached from above by cables to the starboard derricks of the Elijah Lewis. She was completely secure. She had not been moved from that position since she was set there weeks earlier.
“That is one fine submarine.” Petur said, admiringly.
“Do you know much about submersibles, Petur?”
“Not a damn thing. That’s why I can say so confidently that that is one fine submarine. I know nothing about them.”
“It’
s a three-man deep-water vessel. Capable of withstanding depths of up to twenty thousand feet.”
“Where did you round that thing up from? Same place you stole those ocean-floor mappers?”
“Nope. Got the sub from Scripps in La Jolla, California. The oceanographic institute there owes me a favor or two. Maybe three. The Elijah Lewis was in Seattle. It was much easier to just stop by Southern California than to get a sub all the way from Woods Hole. You know how much it costs to FedEx a submarine across the country?”
“How do you do all this, Joseph?”
“It helps to be rich!”
“Money surely can be equated with influence.” Petur commented, not intending to be insulting.
Joseph was not insulted. “Money is one of the sources of influence in this world, Petur. It is not the only source however. Look at you. You had no money at all, and look what you have accomplished.” He waved his arm broadly, encompassing the whole of the Paradise Island chain. “A powerful vision pursued by a truly dedicated man has always brought more power than any amount of money. Nonetheless, money used wisely, and with the right ethical and moral codes to guide its use, is surely powerful.”
“You’ve always seemed to use it wisely.”
“I was born lucky, Petur. I was born wealthy. I had supportive parents who instilled in me a sense of responsibility to create value. The best conceivable education was given to me. Given to me, Petur. I did not have to struggle in the least. Although to address this lack of struggle, I did work for years in the merchant marines. That wasn’t easy, mind you. But I have never known insecurity, either emotional or financial. I have never known that kind of hardship. This had the potential to give me a certain weakness of character.”
“I have seen no weakness of character. You’ve had a fortunate life. And it’s allowed you to accomplish much. You were the first, Joseph.” Petur waved his hand, taking in all the islands in the Paradise chain.
The older man laughed. “Well, I am certainly glad that we met. If we had not, I might have dribbled the rest of my money away on useless pursuits and you would now be wallowing in despair, your vision unfulfilled, and perhaps working in a cubicle somewhere.”
“Instead,” Petur added, “we are searching for a forgotten truth.” He pointed to the sea below them. “We are attempting to rectify history. To restore the reputation of a man long considered a scoundrel.”
“Yes, if we find the Bounty here, we may indeed demonstrate that Fletcher Christian was a hero.”
The hum of an outboard motor came to Petur’s ears, and he searched the water to see its source. It took but a moment before he saw a small open boat speeding toward them. It seemed to be coming from the vicinity of Paradise 5.
“I think I’ll try to get a lift home on that boat,” Petur told Joseph as he leaned down to pick up the nylon duffel by his feet.
Joseph nodded his assent and understanding. “I will call you immediately if we find something.”
“You mean, when you find something!” Petur reprimanded, with a smile. He waved his arms about briskly, trying to get the attention of the driver of the approaching boat. He could begin to make out the shape of a man, standing behind the center-console helm of the roughly seven-meter fiberglass powerboat. He looked like a big man. In a moment, the man waved back, turning his steering wheel slightly so as to make a closer approach.
The man was not just large; he was fat. He handled his boat expertly and piloted the little craft parallel to the slow-moving ocean-going tug. He called up to Petur, who was still on the bow.
“Hello!” Petur called back. “Wondered if I might hitch a ride. Are you going to the resort?”
“Close enough. Heading back to the wharf in the lagoon. I’ll swing around to the resort, though.” The man had an amiable smile and a friendly demeanor.
“The lagoon is great. I’ll be right down. Can you swing close alongside, below the ladder there?” Petur pointed to the side of the tug, about halfway along.
The man nodded, placed a cigar in his mouth, and sped up and forward, beginning a gentle turn that looped him around until he was alongside. Petur looked up at the starboard bridge wing. Captain Stouffer was there, looking down at him.
Petur called up, “Mind if that fellow comes alongside? I am going to catch a lift home with him.”
Stouffer looked around at the water, and had a brief conversation with the man at the helm, who was invisible to Petur because the bridge windows were reflecting the white clouds in the sky so perfectly that they served as one-way mirrors. The captain then shouted down, “No problem. Be careful, Mr. Bjarnasson.”
“Thanks for having me aboard again, Captain. I’ll be back.” Petur worked his way aft, and slid cautiously out on the gangway. It was tied fast to the beam of the vessel, and he felt secure as he walked along the non-skid surface. By the time he reached the end, the man in the powerboat had pulled in directly underneath him. About a meter separated the giant tug from the relatively small powerboat, but fortunately, the waves were not choppy today and the swells, gentle and broad because they were in the middle of the vast ocean, lifted the two crafts synchronously.
Petur tossed his duffel into the open cockpit of the boat below, and then lowered himself over the ramp. His feet were hanging just six feet above the deck of the motorboat when he dropped himself as gently as he could and landed surprisingly softly on the tan fiberglass just forward of the center console.
The man pressed his throttle forward and nudged the wheel to the right. Turning too sharply would cause the stern to kick into the hull of the tug, and the man was careful to avoid this outcome.
Above him on the bridge wing stood Joseph. He called down to Petur. “See you back here in no time, Petur! I bet we find her in ten minutes!”
“I hope you do!” Petur called back. Joseph had formed a puzzled look on his face. “What’s wrong?”
Joseph shook his head and waved him off. Petur was unable to hear what he said to Captain Stouffer. But he saw that Stouffer looked down at the little craft, then shrugged at Joseph. Petur thought nothing more of the exchange, and adjusted his pants, which had ridden up a bit when he climbed down.
He moved aft and held out his hand. “Thanks for the ride. I’m Petur.”
“Frank. Frank Clemons. Good to meet you.” The man’s hand completely enveloped Petur’s.
Clemons pressed the throttle forward sharply and they surged ahead. The boat settled into a plane as it briskly moved through the gentle swells. The wind generated by the boat whipped past Petur’s face, and Petur squinted to block it from his eyes.
“This thing sure is fast,” Petur said idly.
“What’s that?” Clemons shouted back.
“I said, this boat is fast!” Petur yelled into the man’s ear.
Clemons nodded and sat his large behind in one of the white vinyl chairs behind the steering console. Petur took the other chair. The windshield blocked the wind, but the high pitched whine of the two hundred horsepower Evinrude outboard still hindered conversation.
“Do you live on Paradise?” Peter loudly asked.
“No.”
“Staying at the resort?”
“Nope. On a ship.”
“Are you a sailor, then?”
“Engineers mate. Came in on a freighter.”
“Are you staying for a while?”
“Dunno. The engines are in good shape, and the cargo ain’t large, so I s’pose we’ve got no reason to stay long. But the skipper, he has his eye on a certain female at this port. So, I s’pose it depends on his luck.”
“Nice to be able to get out on the water in a little boat for a change, isn’t it?” Petur prompted the man. It was a little unusual for one of the seamen from a tramp steamer to rent a boat and spin it around the islands. They usually like to stay on land when they can.
“I s’pose. I been to these islands ’bout fifteen times in the past three years, and never taken a tour. This boat is cheap enough.”
�
�Where did you go today?”
“Just bombed around the islands. Went over t’ Paradise 5. Barren rock, that place is. ‘Twasn’t much to see.”
Petur tried to place his accent. As Petur was not American, he could do no better than to guess that the man hailed from New England.
“Well, I do appreciate the ride. I was getting a little bored on that tug, going back and forth.”
“Whatcha up to?”
“We’re mapping the bottom. Trying to find the best line to run power cables between Paradise 1 and the other islands. We’ve just started mapping the floor between here and Paradise 5.” They had worked up a cover story. It was boring enough and plausible enough that no one had questioned it yet.
But this man did. “What are you doing that for? What’s on Paradise 5 worth providing power to? Seems like just a rock to me.”
Petur shrugged. “Well, you never know. We keep expanding all the time. Just planning for the future. Paradise 5 may be useful to us someday. If we don’t think about it now, then we won’t know where to lay the cable when we need to.”
The man nodded, seeming to accept the thin explanation. Barely audible over the engines, he muttered, “Maybe you’ll never need to.”
Petur thought the comment a bit strange. He took a moment to look around the boat. It was one of the rentals from the resort. They were usually kept spic and span, but this boat seemed to have been neglected. There were scratches and grooves in what was usually a shiny fiberglass gelcoat. Both the bow and stern line were smudged with black and brown dirt. The deck was filthy with brown and green slime, ground in by heavy shoes. Looking down at the man’s feet, Petur saw black boots half covered with muck. The boat would need some cleaning after today; that was for sure.
It took only twelve minutes for the spritely outboard to travel around the southwestern corner of Paradise 1 and enter into the lagoon. The man slowed down, watching carefully for the swimmers who occasionally strayed into the boat lanes. Petur appreciated the man’s cautious driving and concern to keep his wake to a minimum with all the small sailboats skirting around the lagoon nearby.