He reached the compartment that just a week ago had most likely been a small dining room for officers. He stepped on a metal table as a stool to reach the ceiling and opened the compressor valve. The saw began to spin, and Riley pressed it into the bulkhead. The force needed to cut the thick steel plate in those conditions was tremendous. It didn’t help that his helmet kept him from seeing what he was doing.
His goal was just to make sure the equipment worked and the steel could be cut. After less than ten minutes of using the saw, Riley was satisfied. If they were lucky, they could finish tomorrow. He turned off the saw, made sure everything was ready for the next dive, and, whistling in his helmet, started making his way out.
Just then he saw a blue-gray shadow pass through the dim beam of his flashlight and stir up the nearby water.
Riley instinctively took a step back, more surprised than afraid. But fear took over when he made out the silhouette of a sharp triangular tailfin. His blood froze. There was only one animal on earth with that feature. He didn’t know what kind of shark it was that had just passed two feet in front of his face, but he could be sure of one thing—it was big.
The first thing Riley felt was indignation. What the hell is a shark doing inside the ship? Did he lose something? Then he remembered the hundreds of decomposing bodies in the Phobos. For a shark, he thought with a grimace of disgust, it must be like a candy store.
After he regained his composure, he tried to look at things objectively. The shark hadn’t attacked him—it just happened to pass by. With so many German bodies to play with, it had no reason to be interested in a middle-aged captain with a bulky suit and absurd copper head. Working up his courage, he took a deep breath and went two steps forward. Here we go. I’m not gonna get scared about a damn fish.
He went out the door with more caution than he would’ve liked to admit. Looking left and right, he was relieved to find it was gone. His light could barely reach more than a few yards, its reassuring power dissipating before it had even reached the end of the hall. Since he’d been underwater so much that day, every minute he spent multiplied the decompression period and the risk of an embolism. He had to get out as soon as possible, shark or not.
He grabbed the cord and started to lumber toward the exit. His iron boots rang out against the steel. He considered whether the sound might attract the shark, but soon realized he’d never seen ears on a fish. Even at ten feet long with a nasty personality, it was still a fish.
If he remembered correctly, the corridor he had to follow to the outside stayed straight for ten yards before dividing into three hallways. He had to take the right one and then make two lefts. It was only twenty or twenty-five yards total, and the friction of the rope in his gloved hand reassured him. He kept walking carefully like that, sweeping the ground with his light. When he got to the turn, he had the urge to look back at the corridor he’d just come from. Glancing out the right window of his helmet, his heart dropped as he pictured two hungry jaws coming at him.
But there was nothing.
He kept his light shining in that direction for a few seconds as if to give fate the chance to realize his fears. But no shark came from the shadows. With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes, realizing that until then he’d been holding his breath. He smiled with relief and turned ahead.
There it was.
20
For a second he didn’t know what he was seeing.
It was just a flash. Not even that. When he tried to remember it that night, lying in his cabin, all he was sure of was that he’d been extremely lucky.
The shark plowed into him before he could react, hitting him in the center of his chest with its nose. If it weren’t for the lead weight, he would’ve definitely broken a rib. Riley regained his balance with difficulty. Holding onto the guide line, he bent over just as the shark opened its mouth and came at him, fiercely unhinging its jaws.
Luckily, bending over made the shark miss and bite the copper diving helmet. The sound of the teeth on the metal like a thousand fingernails on a chalkboard froze the blood in his veins. For seconds that felt like an eternity, the shark gripped the helmet and shook it so hard Riley thought it’d rip his head off.
After realizing the pointlessness of the struggle, the shark released its grip, and Riley dropped to his knees. He shuddered as its belly rubbed across his back as it left, no doubt dissatisfied but glad to move on.
When Riley finally got up, he took a knife from a sheath on his calf. He was dazed, unclear what had just happened, but the shark had vanished. If it weren’t for the deep scratches or the two-inch tooth stuck in his helmet, the crew wouldn’t have believed a word of it.
After the large dinner Jack prepared, Riley went over the unpleasant details. He then shuffled to his cabin, leaving Jack in charge, glad the day was finally over. Once in his room, he collapsed onto his cot, not bothering to undress.
Just as he was letting himself sink into the warm embrace of unconsciousness, there was a knock on the door.
“Go away.”
It came again. “Captain?” Elsa’s voice called.
Shit, he thought without answering, opening his eyes in the darkness.
“Can I come in, Captain?”
Riley sighed, thinking how to get rid of her when another knock told him it wasn’t going to be easy.
“Coming . . .” he muttered. He stood up, turned on the light, and opened the door. “Can you tell me what’s so important that—”
Elsa put her hand on his neck, pulled him closer, and kissed him passionately on the lips. Pushing him into the room, she closed the door with a bare foot.
Drowsy and dizzy, Riley was conquered by the incredible hunger of the hot lips and lusty hands that started unbuttoning his shirt. Her nimble fingers found their way to his skin, first feeling his chest, then pressing into his back. She pulled him toward her, pushing her breasts against his body as her tongue opened his mouth.
Passion burned like gasoline on a bonfire. Riley found himself returning her kisses as she undid his clothing and he undid hers. At first he felt a hint of guilt at his unexpected desire. But the passion of the woman now straddling him on the floor, pulling her dress over her head to expose her small white breasts with erect pink nipples, was too much. Carried away by lust as part of his mind thought of excuses for Jack, he grabbed her breasts hard, and Elsa moaned with pleasure. Her moans turned Riley on even more. He pulled her face to his and kissed her before rolling over on top of her. He ripped her panties off, leaving her naked and vulnerable. He admired her light skin, disheveled hair, parted lips, and passionate gaze.
“Come . . .” she whispered hoarsely, opening her thighs, offering herself unconditionally.
And Riley went.
When he woke up, the first lights of dawn shining warmly on the bulkheads, Elsa was already gone.
At some point in the night, she’d gotten up without waking him, taken her clothes, and returned to the cabin she shared with Kirchner. The first thing he felt was disappointment; he would’ve liked nothing more than to feel her soft skin again. Her taste was still in the back of his mouth. It’s probably better this way. He still didn’t know how to explain to Jack what had happened without being called a traitor. But before that, he had to figure out what had actually happened himself.
Tucked under the covers, he thought hazily about how he hadn’t slept with anyone besides Carmen in a long time. A certain sense of betraying her rose up in him too. Come on, he thought, how can you be unfaithful to a prostitute? He felt guilty for thinking of her as a prostitute instead of the woman who had saved him in more than one way—not the other way around, as everyone, including Carmen, believed.
In the art of love, there was no comparison between the two women. Elsa had undeniable beauty and boundless energy that exploded with no aim but immediate pleasure. She was a volcano, a twenty-something eager to wildly ride till dawn—what any sane man would want.
But she wasn’t Carmen.
The certa
inty made him shudder. He realized it was more than sex that linked him to that mysterious woman who he could never know more about than she wanted to tell.
There was a knock on the door, which made his heart skip a beat. “Yes?” he asked, anxious it was Elsa again.
Instead, Jack’s baritone announced, “It’s seven.”
“Seven?” Riley repeated.
“Fuck, Alex,” Jack said, entering the cabin without asking permission. “Last night we agreed the first dive would be at seven-thirty. Did you forget?” He looked around in astonishment. “What the hell happened here? It’s a mess.”
“No . . . I’m not really sure,” he said sincerely, rubbing his eyes as he sat up and put his feet on the ground. “Yesterday was a long day.”
“Yeah,” Jack mumbled, brushing aside Riley’s leather jacket with his foot. “You haven’t been drinking?”
“Piss off.”
“It’s too risky, Alex. It’s not just your—”
“I haven’t touched a bottle in days,” he interrupted, raising his hand, trying to avoid another sermon. “I know I can’t do a dive hungover.”
The first officer looked at him, trying to sense whether he was lying or not, but there were no open bottles around, no smell of alcohol. “Okay,” he said. “In that case, I’ll be on deck preparing the equipment with everyone else. There’s coffee in the kitchen.” He turned to leave.
“Oh, Jack,” Riley called when Jack’s hand was already on the doorknob. “If you come into my room without my permission again, I’ll hang you from the crane by your balls.”
Jack raised an eyebrow in disgust. “Whatever you say, my captain,” he answered sarcastically. “I’ll hang myself if it makes you happy.”
A half hour later, haggard but awake thanks to some strong coffee Jack made, Riley went on deck dressed in warm clothes for the dive. He was lucky to be bundled up because a humid easterly wind was blowing, and with it came clouds that hid the sun and sky, raising the waves and signaling the end of good weather.
Since Riley was the last one to dive the day before, it was Marco’s turn. Jack and César helped him get his equipment and weights on. Julie was already scanning the horizon with binoculars from her perch to make sure no one was coming. Meanwhile, Dr. Kirchner watched, as usual, from a distance. He was not inclined to lend a hand but was considerate enough not to interfere.
Elsa wasn’t there, which made Riley feel relieved, since he didn’t know how she would act after last night. He certainly didn’t want to have another discussion with Jack, especially after blatantly not keeping his word. The problem was there and solving it wouldn’t be easy, so the longer they put it off the better.
Marco was ready in a few minutes. They put his helmet on and quickly got him in the basket, which then was lifted over the rail and lowered into the rough sea. Riley had to smile when he realized Marco had a pole with a knife attached to the end to use as a harpoon. It seemed the shark story had made its mark.
Forty minutes later, Marco was back, dripping water on the deck. When they took off his helmet, he said the shark hadn’t shown up, but there was another, less dramatic problem. “The circular saw is working, but it’s wearing out faster than we thought. It’s cutting worse and worse, so I only did the first few feet instead of the planned ten.”
“You don’t have a replacement blade?” Kirchner asked.
“We do,” Jack said, worried, “but only one.”
“It’s going to be very tight,” César said. “If they break early, we’re done.”
“Can’t you get more? I mean, worst-case scenario you can go to Tangier for another, right?” Kirchner asked.
“It’s not that easy,” Riley said, adjusting his diving suit. “Saws to cut steel underwater are hard to find, it’s not like buying a handsaw. They could take months to arrive, if ever.”
“Months? Where would they come from?”
Riley frowned as César and Jack fit the helmet on his head. “From Germany.”
Going down again, firmly attached to the basket, Riley thought that the routine resembled an elevator ride to the office.
He touched down and went in. He couldn’t help but look carefully around every corner, but he arrived at the room without mishap. He examined the blade of the circular saw, which was as beat up as Marco said. He looked up to see what was left to do and noticed a stream of air bubbles escaping through the opening they made, which meant the pressure up there was high enough. The bad news was that, although Marco had done about a third of the hole, they would need to dive at least two more times to finish.
Trying not to think of everything that could go wrong, he got up on the sturdy table they were using as scaffolding, opened the pressurized air valve, and pushed the worn blade hard against the ceiling. Cutting the bulkhead made the suit vibrate so terribly his bones shook.
After the planned half hour for the dive, his arms were cramped, and he could feel sweat running under his clothing. He turned off the saw and looked up at his progress. Disappointing. Despite his efforts, he hadn’t done nearly as much as Marco. It was definitely the blade’s problem, which now had fewer teeth than a retired boxer. He had no choice but to bring it back to the ship, so they could put a new one in for the next dive.
He retraced his path back to the basket and halfheartedly pulled three times on the cord, thinking about how they could finish the job without the blades, which were as precious as they were brittle.
The basket jolted unexpectedly, and he almost lost his balance. Afraid of falling, he clung to the supports and looked up, when the sudden impact came again.
Then it hit him. A storm had formed on the surface, and he was in the worst possible place for one.
He looked up and saw waves crashing on the port side of the Pingarrón’s hull. If it weren’t for the four anchors, the force of the sea would have pushed them into the dangerous coastal shallows. It was a losing battle, however, since sooner or later, the anchors would begin to slip, and they’d lose control of the boat.
For a moment, he felt angry his crew hadn’t raised anchor and gone to port or the open sea, but then he realized it was because of him. At the risk of sinking, they still waited for him to return.
When he was a few yards from the surface, he heard the reassuring sound of the engines starting and saw the anchors lifting from the sandy bottom. It was exactly what had to be done, and he felt proud of his meager but excellent crew. Then dread suddenly came over him—if they were all controlling the ship and the engine room, who was operating the crane?
A minute later he saw Dr. Kirchner, handling the controls with skill—no doubt the result of his careful observation—and ignoring the rain pelting him in the face, like a seasoned sailor who’d done it his whole life. Next to him were Marco and Elsa, collecting the umbilical cord and preparing to receive him on deck.
21
“How’s it going?” Riley asked after the helmet and lead were off.
“The storm caught up with us while you were under,” Julie said, standing firm at the helm. “César’s in the engine room pushing it, and Jack’s pulling in the anchors. Pressure’s dropped three hundred pascals in half an hour and still declining.” She tapped on the barometer. “So I’m setting course for three-zero-zero to reach open water and get as far away from the coast as possible.”
Riley looked at the prow of the Pingarrón and saw clouds of foam bursting as the waves struck. It was incredible how much the weather had worsened in less than an hour, but in the strange climate around the Strait of Gibraltar anything was possible. That’s why there were so many shipwrecks off the southern coast of Spain and northern coast of Morocco.
“We can’t go,” he said.
“Pardon?” Julie asked, squinting.
“The storm could last for days. We can’t lose time going to sea and coming back.”
“But we have to go!” Julie said, pointing ahead in case Riley hadn’t realized they were in the middle of a storm.
�
�I know, I know,” he said, looking closely at the map of the strait. “But we have to stay close. Maybe we should go to Tangier.”
“With this storm? Il est impossible, Capitaine! We’ll hit the bank if we try to get to port.”
“Okay, what about here?” He pointed at the Bay of Tangier outside the dike. “There’s a good cove where we could moor, safe from the rise.”
“But if the wind veers northwest,” she objected, looking at the map sideways, “we’ll be trapped.”
“In that case we have no choice but to head to open water and pray hard,” he admitted, “but I’d prefer to avoid it if we could.”
Julie frowned, unconvinced.
The first rule in case of a storm is to get as far away from the dangers of the coast as possible. That’s especially the case if it’s full of menacing shoals and reefs. It’s a rule without exceptions, and even the most inexperienced sailor knows it.
Experience and common sense made Julie want to head to the Atlantic. Still, her answer was exactly what Riley wanted to hear. “You’re the captain,” she said, turning toward the coast. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
Riley was about to answer that he hoped so too, but kept his mouth shut.
Over the course of the day, the storm doubled in intensity. Although they were sheltered within the bay, the inevitable swell made the Pingarrón rock hard. That didn’t sit well with the two passengers, who ignored the downpour and walked like zombies to the rail every few minutes to vomit.
As evening came, Jack went to the helm to relieve Riley, who had taken his wet suit off, but still hadn’t changed clothes.
“You stink,” Jack said.
“Thanks, I love you too,” Riley answered, sinking into his chair without taking his eyes from the horizon.
“I’m serious. You smell like you have a dead cat under your sweater.”
Captain Riley (The Captain Riley Adventures Book 1) Page 14