by Albert Able
“What do you want to do with those?” Big J gestured to the polythene-covered pyre.
“I’ll check them over first, then we feed them to the sharks. Back with their own kind eh?” Alex turned towards the bodies.
There was nothing significant on the guards but on the older of the Syndicate men he found a piece of paper with two numbers neatly penned on one side, telephone numbers he assumed. He pocketed the piece of paper and returned to Big J.
“Nothing there. I’ll check their cabins.” Alex turned to leave then looked back. “You can put them over the side now,” he instructed indifferently. “Poor bloody sharks!” He shook his head in sympathy, “even they’ll get indigestion from eating those bastards.”
The cabins revealed little other than personal wash bags and a few bits of clothing.
“I bet that Syndicate bastard had a bad memory and these numbers are for his controller.” Alex showed the paper to John when he returned to the bridge.
“So Captain what are we to do with you?” Alex looked at the dejected man, who did not reply and looked even more forlorn.
John returned the piece of paper to Alex. “You know with a few modifications this would make quite a good dive boat.” John looked out along the gently rolling deck. “What would it take to acquire it?” He looked back at Alex.
“Don’t ask me,” he replied, “ask the owner!”
The captain looked up suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“He means how much for your ship?” Alex smiled back.
“It’s not for sale; it’s my business my living and my pension; no it’s not for sale.” He sat up straight, recovering some of his previous demeanour.
“Well let’s take a look at that will we?” Alex started to pace the wheelhouse slowly. “First you have a large mortgage with the Syndicate. Second you’ve lost one of their most valuable cargoes.” Alex sat in the navigator’s seat and said sarcastically, “Somehow I don’t see you qualifying for a bonus this trip. Do you?” He turned away and waved a finger at John. “Now on top of that he’s managed to loose two senior Syndicate executives.” Alex paused for effect. “So I think his life expectancy, even if we let him live, is very very doubtful at best. What do you think?”
John raised his eyebrows and sighed.
“Yes I didn’t think of it quite like that but I suppose you’re right. It’s a pretty shitty position to find oneself in.” John looked towards the beaten captain. “How the hell are you going to cope with those Syndicate buggers then?” He tried to sound sympathetic.
“For me and Jock this is a lifetime’s work.” The demoralised captain gestured with his outstretched hands. “Oh God, what have I done?” Totally beaten, he sagged into the chair, his head buried in his hands
Alex stepped over to him and grabbed him by the hair at the back of his neck and punched him with the heel of his hand in the solar plexus at the same time. “Now listen to me you miserable bastard. I want to know what happened to those four businessmen who accompanied the gold shipment. The one you say you transferred to the Yellow River Pirates’ junk?”
The blow expelled the air noisily from the pinned man’s lungs. Gulping erratically, he tried desperately to draw fresh breath. Alex held him down in the chair.
“Can’t breath eh? That’s what it’ll be like when you’re drowning,” He growled harshly at the near comatose man. “Don’t pretend I want an answer!” He shook the man’s head.
Gradually, as the muscle spasm calmed, the captain started to breathe normally again.
“You sod,” he gasped, “you’re no better than them!”
Alex released his prisoner, angry with himself for his own display of passion.
“I told you before, those men moved across to the pirates’ boat when we transferred the gold.” He rubbed his solar plexus area. “We sailed on to Singapore for another cargo. We don’t just work for the Syndicate you know!” His courage was returning.
Alex took a couple of deep breaths. “OK, OK, I have to believe you are telling the truth. Quite frankly if I thought that you were anything but another unfortunate sucker, duped by the Syndicate’s blackmailing style, I’d kill you myself right now,” Alex spat sharply at the sagging captain.
John chose that moment to intervene diplomatically. “Well, just to change the subject, what about my dive boat idea? We could easily repaint her, change the name and alter the profile a bit. You,” he pointed at the captain, “could command her and even keep a bit of the action. What do you think?”
“You do what you want John,” Alex snapped. He jumped out of the chair and moved to the window where he could see the crates being dumped over the side. “I’m only interested in destroying this cargo and the Syndicate. If you think you could trust this man, that’s up to you.” He seemed to have calmed down and moved back to his chair. “As far as the boat’s concerned, it’s probably a bit long and narrow for a dive platform but at least it would be as a start.”
The captain had more or less recovered his composure by now. “And so what’s in it for me?” he inquired tentatively.
“You get to live!” Alex barked.
The man shrank back from the verbal attack.
John came to his rescue again.
“I think you could keep twenty-five percent of the ship and you and the chief man here, but you work exclusively for us.” John looked pleased with himself. “Good plan?” he asked in anticipation.
“I don’t have much choice do I?” The captain sat up straight. “I worked a dive vessel once, when I was first officer for a French outfit in the Indian Ocean.” His mind flashed back twenty years, it had been a good time in his life. “It’s a deal,” he agreed softly. “Don’t worry about Jock - he just wants to be at sea and around his oily machines.” He offered a smile.
“Looks like it’s congratulations on your new business venture then!” Alex said as he looked at John without emotion.
“Well thank you but there’s quite a bit to be done to her first and I want it all sorted out in black and white before I get too excited,” John asserted, looking sternly at the captain.
“Wise move,” Alex replied seriously. “So let’s test her out OK? I suggest we complete dumping the munitions, then we start your first dive operation.” Alex patted John on the back.
“Oh?” John queried.
“Yes by removing those magnetic mines we attached to her hull!” Alex grinned; the Captain stared back in horror. He had genuinely believed that Alex had been bluffing.
f
Greg not only delivered Remi and Sophie to the airport but was also obliged to help the hapless couple to organise their flights. Finally he thrust the tickets into Remi’s hand.
“Now, here are your tickets. Wait for the flight to be called and then go to gate four. Have you got that?”
“Yes thank you, I’m sorry to be such a dick but Sophie is still in shock.” Remi shook Greg by the hand. “ Please keep an eye on mother.”
“I don’t think you need worry about her. I’m quite sure Oscar will guard her with his life!” he smiled, releasing the handshake as he turned and then hurried back to the pickup and drove as fast as he could to the little cove where he had arranged to meet Dick and the young Australians he’d found at the dive centre. They were adventure diving around the Philippines and obviously both very experienced but the lack of adequate funds meant that they could not sustain the high cost of their specialised diving equipment.
Greg also discovered that they had also been warned off by a group of local divers. Greg’s timely offer to join in the treasure hunt was exactly what they needed to fulfil their own ambitions.
Greg pulled the pickup to a halt adjacent to the beach and immediately spotted Moby Dick’s boat at anchor a short distance from the shore. Dick and Oscar were already on the beach talking to the two divers.
“Hi there,” he announced his presence cheerfully. “I see you’ve already met.”
Oscar was so pleased to see Greg safely back
he almost ran to greet him.
“Thank goodness you’re back; did they get away OK?”
“I expect so. I helped to organise a flight and tickets, so all there was left to do was to get on to the flight - so yes, they should be OK,” he assured his friend.
“So where’s the gear?” Greg asked, turning to the divers.
“Dick’s loaded most of it onto the boat; there’s just the mobile compressor left,” the taller one confirmed, in his rich Australian drawl. “Tell you the truth, by the time we’ve loaded that, me and Rod here will have to swim behind the bloody boat,” They laughed together.
“They’re not joking either.” Dick looked glum; he’d already had to scold them for scuffing their heavy compressed air cylinders across his precious teak deck and by the time they were all on board there was very little open deck space left.
“We’re moving away from here, we’ll spend the night at anchor about ten miles further down the coast; the holding is good and there’s almost no swell.” Dick smiled at last. “It’ll be that bit more comfortable, especially for those not used to boats.”
They sped away down the coast. It was dusk and perfectly calm by the time they were moored and tugging gently on their anchor, exactly as Dick had predicted. Now, sitting in the cockpit drinking beers and chatting, the men relaxed. Eventually Annie appeared.
“OK you lazy lot, dinner is served!” She reached down into the cabin and reappeared.
“Here pass them along.”
Each plate was almost completely covered by a whole crayfish cut into two halves and garnished with chopped green and yellow peppers; several small boiled potatoes filled the remaining spaces. Finally Marion appeared, still with a large striped apron tied around her waist.
“Here, try this spicy mayonnaise. I hope it will be to everyone’s taste.”
She looked at Oscar.
He responded with a silent expression of ecstasy.
Other than the initial exclamations of genuine surprise at the unexpected feast, they ate in silence.
“In case you’re wondering where the shellfish came from,” Annie said, interrupting the silence, “one of our local Cray fishermen paid his bill by leaving them at the boat this morning. They don’t come much fresher than that!”
“Very nice,” the Australian diver Rod enthused as he stuffed his mouth full of potato liberally covered with the tangy mayonnaise. “Can’t get Slim here to cater for us like this!”
As soon they had all finished Annie collected the empty plates. “OK so you’re nearest to the door - it’s your turn with the dishes, OK?” she smiled at Dick.
He looked up in surprise but did not protest. Marion was about to rise from her deckchair to help when Annie signalled her with a wink and vanished below with Dick.
“So did you manage to get any gas?” Greg asked Slim, starting the conversation.
“We have three tanks - that’s all we could get. It’ll give us about one hour’s total dive time at around fifty metres. That equates to about half a dozen plunge dives I suppose.”
“Nothing like enough really,” Rod added, “but it might at least allow us to locate the site” He looked out across the moonlit water. “It’s a bit hit and miss but we might as well try. There is nothing to lose is there!”
“Dick reckons we should start out from here about five in the morning in order to arrive well before slack water,” Oscar observed.
“At least we will be able to tow our mini magnetometer about a bit while we’re waiting - you never know, we might get lucky,” Rod added enthusiastically.
“Well I’m going to get some sleep in that case.” Oscar stood up.
Marion put out her hand to stop him.
“I’ll go first.”
Oscar stood back, remembering Dick and Annie below, and marvelling at feminine intuition.
The hydraulic winch easily pulled up the anchor chain as they prepared to leave the following morning. Greg stood with a hose washing away the mud and odd bits of seaweed before the chain vanished down the hawse pipe; eventually the anchor itself appeared covered in mud and clanked noisily into its holding blocks. Greg gave the thumbs up signal as he hosed away the last bits of mud. Dick returned the signal and the boat moved gently ahead.
It was pretty crowded on board and the Australian divers had wisely chosen to sleep under the stars, rather than on the cramped banquette seating in the stuffy saloon.
Dick pushed the throttles forward and although the speed increased, the boat was obviously stern heavy.
“Even with all her power she’s noticing the extra weight,” he observed critically, looking back at his deck littered with the heavy diving equipment. “We should move some of the weight forward to keep her on an even plane.”
They responded silently to his request, moving the compressor up to the wheelhouse; most of the remaining gear they moved forward into the saloon. The boat’s attitude in the water changed significantly and the log notched up another five knots.
“That’s better my baby.” Dick patted the side of the dashboard, talking aloud to his beloved boat.
It took just over three hours to reach the spot on the chart where Greg estimated the submarine to be located. Dick judged that the tide was still running at about four knots to the northwest, which meant the water was still running from the continental shelf into the deeper water. That would cause a powerful undercurrent and not at all suitable for free diving.
“Better to wait for slack water in about two hours - then the divers will have about an hour before the tide turns and the flow comes surging up from the deep water and into the bay,” Dick advised the eager men.
“With such powerful currents if there is anything down there I suspect that it will have been significantly eroded by the flow of the sand-laden water acting like sandpaper on the metal hull,” Rod explained. “Ships like the Titanic are preserved because there is little or no tide movement down where she is lying but out here, well, we’ll see won’t we?” he smiled at the attentive group.
Slim rigged his mini magnetometer to a length of heavy fishing line and a small float. They would tow it up and down over the target areas to search the depths for any metal objects. Its signals would be translated into images on a tiny hand held screen.
“It’s barely man enough for a job like this but it may just give us a rough fix.” Slim looked up at Dick “OK then. Can we traverse the area at about six knots, up an down tracks, a bit like mowing the lawn please,” he smiled, his rich Australian accent somehow making it sound so simple
For about an hour they trawled up and down as requested - then suddenly they received a distinctive ping from the sensing equipment. Greg pressed the Mark button on his hand held GPS.
“The first one! Well we’ve made a start!” The mood on board changed to air of high expectancy. They soon had several marks on the plotter - and not all in the same position - but Greg was convinced.
“A pattern is definitely developing,” he insisted.
They were all so immersed in their search that they did not notice the two boats approaching at high speed. In fact they were less than a hundred metres away before Dick looked up and warned the others.
“Oh Christ it’s those bastards who had a go at us last week.”
Annie had also seen them and ducked below to find the shotguns. The boats slowed and took up station on either side of Dick’s boat. Several armed men stood menacingly, holding their weapons at the ready.
“Stop your engines,” a voice commanded.
Annie appeared with the two ten-gauge semi-auto shotguns.
“I’ve loaded them,” she whispered. “Five shots in each. SG then solid alternatively - it’s the best combination,” she confirmed casually.
Dick ignored the instruction to stop.
“Better pull your gadget in, we are going to have to make a quick getaway!”
He looked at Annie.
“Leave those on the floor. Then I want you two girls and the child down in
the forward cabin. Greg, you and Oscar get down there as well - we’re going to need all the weight forward if we are to get onto the plane quickly and outrun these buggers. I hope our Aussie friends can shoot!” Greg and Oscar obeyed without question.
The magnetometer was recovered and the two divers moved to stand by Dick with the loaded guns ready out of sight at their feet.
“I don’t think they’ll shoot until we show our true intentions so I’m going to try to make a run for it now, OK boys?”
They nodded a little apprehensively. Rod looked astern and noticed a large seagoing tug had appeared out of the heat haze; it was probably about a mile away but heading in their direction.
“Look mate!” Rod tugged Dick sleeve. “We’ve got more company!”
Dick didn’t wait - he slammed the throttles to full. The boat lurched forward but one engine seemed to falter for a moment; the other struggled to lift the loaded boat. The minute’s delay seemed like eternity, then gradually as the missing engine cleared itself and fed more power to the propeller, the boat responded and finally accelerated away but not before their tormentors had time to give chase, having correctly anticipated that Dick would try to escape. The men on one of the boats were able to fire a few shots but the acceleration of their own vessel made it difficult to aim with any accuracy. It wasn’t long however before they recovered and began to fire shots with uncomfortable precision.
Rod and Slim picked up the shotguns and positioned themselves kneeling on the deck at the transom. They returned the fire but didn’t appear to achieve any visible hits on the pursuing boats.
Erratically weaving and turning at maximum speed as they tried to out-manoeuvre each other, all the boats were inexorably getting closer to the approaching tug. The mini battle had raged for about five minutes when a voice on the radio called, “This is the Ocean Tug Deep Blue to vessels engaged in firing. Stop at once or we will fire on all of you!” The call was repeated twice but ignored.