I reached headquarters and looked down as I passed the camera and unlocked the door. At Mariposa’s desk, I found the extra keys and took both Susan’s and mine then headed out, locking the door behind me. After boarding her boat, I started untying the extra lines that she used. When there were two remaining, I started the engine and checked the fuel gauge. It was standard procedure and good sense both for the stability of the gas and to be ready in case of emergency to keep the tank topped off. The needle hovered below the quarter-full mark and with the inaccuracy of fuel gauges in boats it could be less. I estimated there were a little less than twenty gallons. I would have to run slower to conserve fuel, but I figured I had plenty to make it out to Adams Key and back again. This was just another example of the common sense things not laid out in the manual that she chose to ignore.
It had taken some time to overcome my aversion to boating at night, but I tended to enjoy it now. The feeling of gliding over the ink black water with the low outline of the barrier islands and stars beyond reaching out to infinity could usually put any problem I was having on the back burner. Tonight was different, which only reinforced what Justine had come to mean to me.
I reached Adams Key feeling dirty, not from the day, but more from the way I had treated her. Using the current, I cut the motor well out from the dock and quietly set the fenders over the side while the boat drifted over. The last thing I wanted was to wake Zero.
At least I was able to accomplish that, or more likely he had picked up a cosmic vibration that I was alone and now he was mad at me as well. I dragged my bad mood upstairs and drank a beer. Before going to bed I took one more look at my phone, hoping that Justine had called while I had been making the crossing. As expected there were no messages on the screen and went to bed.
I woke up surprised that I had slept, after tossing and turning for most of the night. A glance outside showed an ominous sky with grey and black streaks running through it. I reached over for my phone to check the time and saw it was almost seven. Jumping out of bed, I dressed and made two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; one I ate on the way to the dock, the other was lunch.
I could hear the sound of Ray’s engine before I reached the dock. It was too loud and I knew something was wrong. Looking up at the coconut palms planted in clusters around the clearing, I noticed the fronds whipping back and forth. When I reached the open walkway the wind hit me hard. The weather gods were apparently adding their opinion of how I had treated Justine. It was too early to call her, but I promised myself I would reach her before she went to work.
“Gonna be a little bumpy out there,” Ray said from the deck of his boat. He looked over at Susan’s center console. “What’cha got, ole Susan stashed up there? Her boat, ain’t it?”
“This weather she won’t miss it.”
“Got that about right."
“I’m gonna grab my rain gear,” I said, heading back to the house. When I returned he was ready to go. I boarded and pulled my ball cap down hard on my head. Ray looked over at me and I released the lines and pushed off from the dock.
He must have noticed my apprehension. “Once we get in the water it’ll be all right,” he said.
The ride to the new reef was as advertised and despite the rain slicker, I was drenched. Figuring he was going to be wet in a few minutes anyway, Ray stood stoically behind the wheel the whole time.
The mooring balls we had set yesterday became visible and he idled up to the site. “Grab the boathook. We might as well use one of those balls we set yesterday. Use that fifty foot of line I got out there. Extra scope’ll make it a little easier on us up here.”
I followed his directions and tied off to the buoy. After feeding the fifty feet of line out, I noticed the boat was rising and falling with the waves without the extra jerk that you felt when at anchor. I turned to Ray, who was almost ready to dive, and joined him in the stern where I slid into the waiting BC with the tank and regulator already set. Breathing in through the regulator, I gathered my mask and fins and prepared the lines. Ray had already lowered the hose for the drill over and started the compressor.
Despite the mooring ball and fifty foot of scope, the four-foot seas tossed me around the boat, causing me to fumble with my gear. Ray waited patiently, but finally disappeared over the side. I stuck the regulator in my mouth and followed.
The extra weight quickly dropped me below the swells and I started to relax. At twenty feet there was no indication of the sea state above and I tried to focus on the work ahead. Ray was already on the bottom, moving the drill and hose to the next location. I followed and waited while he bored the first hole.
We had talked about doing things differently today to save some time and to reduce the number of dives. Instead of drilling the hole, setting the bolt, and securing the line for each buoy, he had decided to do all ten in sequence.
The new procedure had me drilling every other hole and the needle was pegged into the red on my air gauge when we finished the last one. I tapped the gauge so Ray could see and started up hoping I had enough air left to reach the surface. Halfway there, I heard the unmistakable sound of an engine. It is virtually impossible to tell the direction of sound underwater, but you can hear proximity.
When it finally stopped, I had the feeling that we had company.
22
The seas above us should have deterred most recreational fisherman or divers. Unless they already had a charter, even the commercial guys would have been thinking twice about going out today, making me wonder who would be in the boat now hovering above us. Until the reef had a chance to become established there were much better fishing and diving spots.
Ray must have suspected something was odd as well because he gave me the thumbs-up sign for us to surface. Leaving the weighted lines and drill on the bottom, we slowly started our ascent. When we were ten feet off the bottom I saw something coming toward us from the surface. My first thought was of that scene from too many dive movies when the bad guys start to throw meat and blood overboard to attract sharks.
It turned out I wasn’t far off. Sinking quickly, the first package hit the concrete and exploded. It was followed by several others. Before I could figure out what was going on the concussion from the blast hit me and spun me upside down. I swatted at the inflator hose on my left side, intending to inflate my BC and rise above the fray, but it wasn’t where it should have been. After a half dozen explosions the water was full of silt, which only added to my vertigo.
Remembering that I was almost out of air, I forced myself to relax and regulate my breathing. Just as I started to regain my wits my head hit something hard. A little woozy, I tried to figure out where I was. Visibility was near zero and I used my hands to survey the area around me. Feeling sand, I realized I was on the bottom. The initial blast had blown me away from the reef.
Knowing I didn’t have enough air to wait until the silt settled, I pressed the inflator button and added enough buoyancy to allow me to float off the bottom. As I moved up through the water column I assessed my condition. My ears were buzzing from the blasts and I checked my limbs. Finding everything working, I started to fin toward the surface. Twenty feet from the bottom, the silt suddenly cleared and I checked my surroundings.
It was the same feeling as looking out the window of an airplane at the clouds below. The water was clear around and above me, but when I looked down there was a silt layer disguising the bottom. Now that I knew I was okay, I started scanning the water for Ray. The layer of silt still hung in the water and I couldn’t see him anywhere around. I was about to descend until I took my next breath and felt a slight restriction. I didn’t need to check my gauges to know I only had a few breaths of air left. This left me no choice but to surface.
At ten feet, I felt the surge from the seas above and I looked up, trying to find the boat. Yesterday at this depth the hull had been easy to spot, today with the waves passing overhead, I couldn’t see it and started to get anxious. With each breath it was becoming har
der to inhale and I felt the last drop of air enter my lungs as I pushed through the surface.
A wave immediately crashed over my head and I pressed the button to inflate the BC. Nothing happened and I gasped for another breath just as a large wave took me under the surface. It took two more waves until I remembered my training, and after taking a deep breath that was half sea water, I expelled it into the mouthpiece on the hose. The BC slowly inflated and several breaths later, I was bobbing on the surface.
Another moment of panic struck when I saw nothing in front of me except white-capped waves and the transom of a boat moving away. I squinted through my fogged-up mask, but couldn’t read the name stenciled on the back. About to lose the only chance to see who had done this, I pulled off my mask and stared at the boat. It was a sportfisher, similar to Burkett’s, but larger with a turquoise bottom. I could barely make out the lettering on the back: Mud Man.
Now that I had a name, I needed to find Ray and survive this. I had been in dangerous situations before and knew I had to get control of my emotions. With the BC acting as a flotation device and keeping my head above the waves, I was out of immediate danger, allowing me to assess the situation.
Finally, after several minutes, I could feel the adrenaline wane and my thought process slowly return. But I was angry. Wanting revenge is not healthy, and ultimately soul-sucking rather than satisfying, but in this case it fueled me and I rolled with it. The only way to get revenge on whoever was aboard the sportfisher was to find them. That meant I had to save myself and find Ray. I would deal with my feelings later.
Using my fins, I spun in a circle, finally spotting the three buoys we’d been getting ready to install. There was nothing else in sight. When I was in the troughs of the waves, it was impossible to see anything but water, but when I was lifted onto the crest, I could see a fair distance. The boat and the buoys we had secured yesterday were gone.
With nothing but ocean behind me, I flipped on my back and finned toward the cluster of buoys. They were floating freely with the current, but with their higher profile the wind was moving them faster than me. It took a few minutes of hard kicking to reach them and, out of breath, I grabbed for the line. Finally able to rest for a minute, I scanned the water and started calling out Ray’s name.
I knew in this wind, whistles were often useless, but anything can give you hope. Reaching for the bright orange device, I alternated blowing into it and calling Ray’s name. Without the air to descend or any sight of Ray on the surface, it was my only hope and I continued.
Pausing to catch my breath, I thought I heard an engine approaching and redirected my energy in that direction. The noise was faint, but it sounded like it was upwind and I renewed my efforts, hoping my voice or the whistle would be carried toward it. A larger wave lifted me on its crest and I turned toward the sound. Before I crashed down into the trough, I saw a T-top. I was sure it was the forest green that the park service used. With everything I had, I blew the whistle. The next wave lifted me and I saw the bow turn toward me. It was my boat and Justine was at the wheel.
She came in on the downwind side and extended the boat hook toward me. I grasped for it, but the effect of the wind on the higher profile of the boat pushed it out of reach. Slowly, Justine circled back around and came in closer. This time I was able to grab the hook and she pulled me toward the dive ladder.
Grasping the stainless steel bar, I reached down for my fins and immediately felt my leg seize up. Exhaustion had been staved off by the adrenaline surging through me after the explosion. Now that I was within two steps of safety, cramps had started to set in.
“Just hang there for a minute. It’ll pass,” Justine called down.
I looked up at her. “I love you.”
“I love you back, now get your butt out of the water.” She reached down and grasped my tank valve.
I got a knee onto the ladder and reached behind me again. The change in position helped and I was able to remove one fin. I tossed it into the boat and with Justine pulling on the valve I was able to climb onto the small platform. Turning my back to the transom, I sat there breathing hard for a second before releasing the straps on my BC.
Justine pulled the tank and BC into the boat. Free of the encumbrance, I was able to remove my other fin and climb aboard. “Have you seen Ray?” I asked as I collapsed on the deck.
“No, or his boat. I just saw those buoys floating and then heard the whistle.”
“He might still be under.” I tried to estimate how long it had been since the explosion and couldn’t decide whether time had stood still or moved faster. My watch solved the problem. It had been forty-five minutes into the dive when I started toward the surface. The stopwatch on my dive computer was still running. “Fifteen minutes. He could still be alive.” We had shared the workload this morning and I had no doubt he had more air than I did.
“Where’s the reef?”
“Should be the last waypoint on the screen.”
I moved to the bow while she drove toward the coordinates.
“Here,” she called out.
I waited until she turned into the seas. When she was about a hundred feet upwind I dropped the anchor. Rope followed chain and soon slack started to form. I tied off the line while Justine backed down to set the hook. There was no time to wait and see if it had set and I moved to the gear sitting on the deck. I reached for the tank and BC, but Justine shut me down.
“I’ll go. Call for help.”
She was right. Besides the nitrogen still in my blood, I had already started to cramp, and if Ray was down there and needed help, I would be unable to assist him. Justine still had her gear aboard from yesterday. I helped her gear up and turned on the tank valve. “You only have a thousand pounds left.”
“Let’s hope that’s all I need.”
It was the last air we had aboard.
I could still feel my muscles resisting as I helped Justine into the BC and watched as she rolled over the side. A second later there was no sign of her except a small stream of bubbles. After taking one last look, I stood, crossed to the console, and picked up the microphone.
With the VHF radio set to channel 16, I put out a call to the Coast Guard. There was no need to notify Martinez; he had a base station in his office. He would know as soon as they did. A response came immediately and I informed them of our location and situation. I could imagine Martinez sitting in his office, wringing his hands. Announcing this on the open airwaves was going to attract some negative press, but Ray’s life was more important.
They responded that they were en route. Just as I put the microphone back in its holder, I heard my name through the speaker. It was Johnny Wells, the ICE agent that shared our dock space. I answered and we switched channels, something I probably should have done with the Coast Guard. The transmissions were still public, but interested parties would have to change channels as well.
He responded that his Interceptor was heading our way with an ETA of ten minutes. I had been aboard the thirty-nine-foot quad-powered boat before and seen dive tanks in a rack in the cabin. If he was only ten minutes away, they could aid in the search. I asked him to have divers ready and went back to the side of the boat.
The minutes passed slowly and with nothing to do but stare at the water and think I tried to remember anything I could about the Mud Man. It was a curious name and I had a feeling I had seen or heard of it before. Having spent over three-hundred days on the water that wasn’t unusual, and I tried to recall where I knew it from. Just as the Interceptor pulled alongside, I found the memory. It was the name, really. People in the industry referred to concrete as mud, and I remembered the pictures on Brockmore’s wall. It was his boat.
“How can we assist?” Johnny Wells called across as two of his men secured the boats together.
“Got a missing man. Justine is down trying to locate him.”
“Got it.” He had two men geared up and signaled for them to go. They rolled backward over the side and submerged.
I felt better knowing there were three divers looking for Ray and checked my watch. Justine had been down a half-hour. That was about the limit of her air.
As if on cue her head broke the surface, she signaled that she was okay, and finned to the ladder.
“He’s good. The other divers have him.” She spat out the regulator, gasped for air, and hung from the ladder while she caught her breath.
Knowing that she had found Ray and he was all right was a relief, and I let her rest for a minute before helping her aboard. The ICE agents came to the near gunwale.
“He was trapped under a piece of rubble. I think his leg is broken, but he still had air. With the other two divers, we were able to lift it off him. They should have him to the surface any second.”
The ICE agents took positions port, starboard, and stern. One of them called out and they worked like the well-drilled team that they were to bring Ray aboard.
“We can get him in a lot faster.” Johnny said as soon as the divers were aboard. Without waiting for an answer, he ordered his men to release the lines, spun the wheel and slammed down on the throttle. I had no idea how badly Ray was injured, but he was in a damned fast boat and in good hands.
The wake from the quads hanging from the transom of the Interceptor threw me against Justine and we stood together staring at the boat until it was lost in the waves.
23
“I meant it,” I said as we watched the horizon swallow the Interceptor.
“Meant what?” Justine asked.
Backwater Pass Page 14