Rising Sea

by James Lawrence

  I guided the lead pod another fifty yards into the cave. Migos brought his pod next to mine and we connected the two with det-cord. The cave was big enough for both of us to swim next to each other, which was good because it was going to make it easy to turn around. It was completely dark in the cave except for the lights we had mounted on the top of our masks. We made the fifty-yard return trip to the mouth of the cave and waited for the sleds to arrive with another load of pods. Standing on the ledge, with our backs to the cave, we looked out into the dark water. Beneath us, it was ink black. Above, there was some light filtering down from the sun, but it was very dim and without the aid of a flashlight, many of the colors were filtered out. Our drysuits were red, but appeared black; fortunately, we had reflective tape on our arms that made finding each other easy.

  I checked my dive computer and it indicated that we had to begin our ascent in eleven minutes. If the sleds didn’t arrive in the next two minutes, we’d lose a full day, because we would have to dive this same location a second time. Migos tapped my shoulder and pointed. The headlight on the first sled came into view. We both swam out to intercept it as its twin props reversed to a stop in front of the cave. The second sled wasn’t far behind. I left Migos and went to the second one. I detached the pod and sent the sled back to Sorenson and Savage. I was in a hurry, so I swam with the pod in front of me like a kickboard. Migos was in front of me doing the same. When we got to where we positioned the first two pods, we both checked our dive computers and signaled each other to turn back. I left a marker light on the bag with the det-cord and connected it to the pod closest to the cave entrance.

  I followed Migos to the cave entrance. I wrapped the bungee cord of another Mark-Light around a rock and twisted the cap to turn it on. Migos and I were swimming next to each other staring at the computer screens attached to our right wrists that were guiding our rate of ascent. It got brighter as we went up. At three hundred feet we found the six large steel dive cylinders that made up our emergency gas supply. Migos and I stopped at the gas tanks that were attached to the end of the Sam Houston’s anchor line. Once everyone was in the water, McDonald had repositioned the Sam Houston over the detonation point and dropped our bail-out tanks on the yacht’s anchor. We both hung onto the anchor line and waited for the clocks on our dive computers to count down so we could move to the next decompression stop. Tied to the anchor line above the dangling cylinders was a mesh dive bag with plastic water bottles. I removed the regulator from my mouth and drank half a bottle.

  For the next four hours and eighteen minutes, Migos and I moved up the anchor line from decompression stop to decompression stop. Below us, we could see Sorenson and Savage doing the same. When Sorenson and Savage were done connecting the last demolition pods, they sent the sleds to the surface and joined us on the anchor line. Monitoring the progress of both dive teams was a green, box-shaped Seabotix ROV with a single claw arm. The ROV was on a tether line to a control unit in the Sam Houston. The cameras and sonar sensors on the ROV kept watch on our condition and progress and served as an alarm system in case a safety diver was needed. As the hours passed, the dark hull of the yacht above got closer and closer. When we finally breached the surface, I inflated my buoyancy compensator fully and spat out the mouthpiece. I was exhausted, my jaw hurt from biting the mouthpiece, and it felt so good to breathe fresh air again. We both swam to the hydraulic ramp which was positioned three feet below the surface and we sat upright on the ledge of the ramp.

  The ramp raised us out of the water. I disconnected and unhooked my rig and I felt it lifted off my shoulders from behind. I removed my fins and handed them and my mask back behind me. When I stood up, I was a little wobbly from fatigue. Cheryl took my arm and led me onto the deck. McDonald did the same with Migos.

  “How did it go?”

  “Everything worked perfectly,” I said. Cheryl and McDonald laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “You sound like Donald Duck,” Cheryl said.

  “It’s the helium; it will wear off in a bit.”

  I went downstairs to my stateroom to shower while Cheryl and McDonald stowed our equipment and prepared it for the next day’s dive. When I returned, Sorenson and Savage were already on the deck.

  The deck was getting crowded again with six of us, the two sleds, and the rest of the equipment. I found the hulking Sorenson sitting on the couch facing the bow.

  “Did you connect all six pods?” I asked.

  “Yeah, everything went great. We had time at the cache, so we set up the next six pods for movement.”

  “Awesome. Do you feel ok?”

  “Yeah, I’m a little dehydrated and a lot hungry, that’s all.”

  “It was a solid dive plan.”

  Migos came over and slapped Sorenson on the back.

  “We need to take some video of Shrek talking in that squeaky helium voice,” he said.

  “Don’t joke about recording anything on this mission. When we’re done, we’re going to erase every piece of data that shows we were ever here. Dive computers, navigation systems, everything—even your Fitbit if you have one,” I said in a very serious voice. Migos stopped joking. He could tell this mission was going to keep me on edge until it was done.

  I walked to the hydraulic ramp and helped McDonald lift the ROV out of the water. The underwater robot was connected to a six-hundred-meter thin tether line wrapped in a big spool on the starboard side of the stern. Several underwater writing pads were next to the spool in case the need arose to send a message down to the divers or vice versa.

  I went to the kitchen and removed a pan of thick rib-eye steaks. I balanced the pan with one arm while I carried them up the steep stairs to the flydeck. I turned on the gas grill and removed a Sam Adams Winter Ale from the fridge. A few minutes later, Migos and Cheryl joined me. Cheryl was carrying a salad and Migos had a basket of sourdough bread.

  “The potatoes and corn will be ready in fifteen minutes,” Cheryl said.

  “We’re all starving,” I replied.

  Savage, Sorenson, and McDonald finished installing fresh batteries in the sleds and preparing the equipment for the next day’s dive. We all sat around the table after dinner and programmed our dive computers. McDonald and Cheryl had already calculated the data and McDonald programmed the sled ARNAVs. It was dark by the time we were finished. I moved the yacht back over to Antelope Shoal. Our demolition positions were all on the sea wall; the shallow water in Antelope Shoal was in the center of the line of demo positions. The route to the demo positions was longest on the first and last positions, shorter on the second and fourth, and shortest on the third. The routes to and from the demolition cache looked like a Chinese fan if diagrammed out. We were planning on our second day to complete the second demo position and finish half of the third.

  After I dropped anchor, I found McDonald on the stern deck moving the yellow Gavia AUV onto the hydraulic lift.

  “Are you going to finish that survey of the wall where you found the metal?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’m going to do a zig-zag pattern of the wall from the top of the shelf all the way down to one thousand meters.”

  “How long is that going to take?”

  “Seven hours at three knots.”

  “That’s a lot of data.”

  “It is. During your dive tomorrow, the data will transfer over the boat’s LAN and I’m going to build a 3D map of that section of the wall.”

  “What for?” I asked.

  “I’m curious about the metal return and I want to see what the AUV can do.”

  “Knock yourself out. I’m heading to bed; four hours of hanging onto the anchor line while decompressing wore me out.”

  I found Cheryl charging batteries in the engine room when I got below deck.

  “I’m going to bed,” I said.

  “I need a few more minutes; I’ll join you soon.”

  I don’t know when Cheryl did join me, because I was out like a light. When I
woke up the next morning it felt like deja-vu from the previous morning. I left Cheryl sleeping and found McDonald at the galley table working the AUV data on his laptop. The morning weather was great, the sky was sunny, and the sea was calm when Migos and I drove off the back ramp in a pair of STIDD sleds.

  Many hours later, Migos and I were dangling off the anchor line that was positioned next to demolition site three when we heard a ship propeller above. Looking up, I could see the bottom of a hull move abreast of the Sam Houston on its port side. The hull was bigger than the Sam Houston; I estimated it at eighty to ninety feet. From our vantage point, that’s all we could tell. The other ship remained abreast of the Sam Houston until we had only five minutes to go in our last decompression stop and then it departed.

  “Who were our visitors?” I asked when Cheryl removed my rig.

  “Philippine Navy. They asked what we were doing, checked our registration. Stared at you guys for a while on the ROV monitor and left.”

  “They bought the treasure hunter story.”

  “Yeah, they did.”

  “Good cover, then.”

  The next morning, I found McDonald at his normal position behind his laptop at the galley table. I poured myself a hot cup of coffee from the steel thermos coffee pot.

  “Come and have a look at this,” McDonald said. I walked over and slid in beside him.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “It’s a shelf on the sea wall. It’s about thirty feet wide.”

  “Yea, I can see that.”

  “Look at how the shelf bulges here,” he said.

  “It does that in a lot of places,” I said.

  “It does, but the shape of this bulge isn’t natural. It’s straight in the middle and it curves up in the front and the back.”

  “I can’t see that; it has too much growing on it,” I said.

  “Let me zoom out.” The side scan sonar image zoomed out and I saw what McDonald was talking about. It looked like a small ship was balanced on the shelf.

  “The shape looks like a junk. Is this where the metal readings are coming from?”

  “Yeah, lots of metal, especially for a wooden junk.”

  “Where is this location in relation to demo position four?” I asked.

  McDonald zoomed out farther and showed a picture of a large section of the wall. He hit a key and all five demo positions showed against the dark background of the wall. He moved an arrow cursor on the screen to point.

  “This is demo point four; it’s at 518 feet. The shelf is at 284 feet and its 417 yards along the wall towards demo point three.”

  “Migos and I will be done at least ten minutes earlier today. Let’s recalculate the dive and have us detour to the wreck on our way up after we’re done with the demo.”

  “Just you and Migos?” he asked.

  “Yes, just us. It’s too late to reprogram the sleds. We’ll have a look and then swim back to the Sam Houston.”

  “I think that’s too dangerous. Why don’t we check it out with the ROV when you guys are done today?”

  “You’re right. I’m too excited; this is my first treasure hunt. I can’t wait to see what’s in that ship.”

  “It’s at 274 feet. Cheryl and I could dive it this afternoon when you guys are done after we’ve had a look at it with the ROV.”

  “That’s a better idea. When we’re down today, you should prep for the dive. We also need to get the bags and recovery gear ready.”

  When everyone was awake and in the galley, I asked McDonald to share his news. The high risk deep-water technical dives we were performing were physically and emotionally draining. The team was exhausted, and the energy level was very low. The idea of creating a tsunami wave and possibly endangering innocents was an added burden that weighed on us all. The news of finding a wreck and possibly a treasure was like a surge of electricity that lit the room up with excitement and picked up everyone’s spirits.

  “What’s the plan, boss?” asked Migos.

  “Well, I realize none of us are all that fired up about our current mission but completing the next three dives takes priority over everything else. Today after we’re done, we’ll use the ROV and poke around the wreck. If we find something, we’ll send Cheryl and McDonald down to have a closer look.”

  “I’m on board with that,” Cheryl said with a big grin.

  “Today we finish demo positions three and four. Tomorrow is a long leg; we finish demo position five. The day after tomorrow the only two people who are scheduled to dive are Migos and me. We’re going to use the sleds and emplace the limpet mines on all five sites. We’ll change that. While Migos and I are arming the sites, you guys will be diving the wreck. We’ll synch the mines to detonate the next day. That means we can dive on the wreck today and for three more days before we have to get out of Dodge.”

  “Awesome plan!” Sorenson said while giving Migos and Savage a fist bump.

  “Whatever we find, we split evenly six ways,” I said.

  “Don’t we have to pay a tax to the Philippine government?” Migos asked.

  “We’re supposed to, but after that demo goes off, we’re not going to want to have a record of ever having been here. Why don’t we just donate to a Philippine charity instead?”

  “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. For all we know, the only thing on that wreck is a bunch of old metal cannons that set the magnetic sensors off on the AUV,” McDonald added.

  “That’s true; in fact, it’s probably the most likely scenario. We’ll know more after today,” I said.

  Chapter 6

  South China Sea

  Sorenson dropped the lime green ROV into the water from the hydraulic ramp. Next to him on the starboard side was a pole holding a pully. Playing out through the pulley was a thin green tether line attached to the ROV. The tether line was released automatically by the spool and was connected to a rugged laptop, manned by McDonald, that was the ROV’s control unit. The Seabotix LBV 300 weighs thirty-nine pounds and is brick shaped with dimensions of 24 x 15 x 15 inches. The submersible robot has six thrusters, three cameras and a grabber arm underneath that can lift twenty pounds.

  All of us were crowded on the sofas inside the salon. The big screen TV was streaming the video from the control unit manned by McDonald. A bright spotlight and the ROV’s main camera were directed at the wall as the ROV descended. The ROV was rated to a depth of three hundred meters and on the big reel we had six hundred meters of line. McDonald and Cheryl were both wearing wetsuits, clearly hoping we would find something worth getting wet over. The camera showed a sea cliff teaming with sea life. The depth reading on the screen showed 260 feet. McDonald tilted the ROV to capture the shelf on the sea cliff below the vehicle. He moved the ROV along the shelf until it was over the sunken wreck.

  Plants, coral, and sand covered the wreck, but the shape of a ship underneath was unmistakable. McDonald hovered the ROV five feet above the ship and inspected the top side. The stumps of three masts could be seen as could an elevated structure that had probably once been an upper deck containing rooms on one end of the wreck. McDonald brought the ROV over to the side of the wreck and conducted an inspection of the hull. The wood must have rotted badly over the years because the distance between the top deck and the solid rock of the shelf was only about five feet. The hull had pancaked as the wood rotted and the weight of the deck crushed down on itself.

  “Whatever cargo the wreck carried is between the shelf floor and the wooden deck,” I said.

  “It can’t be much of a cargo, because it’s all flattened,” McDonald said.

  “Can you use the grabber to pull off the rotted decking?” I asked.

  McDonald maneuvered the ROV to one end of the ship.

  “How long is the ship?” I asked.

  “It’s about seventy feet,” McDonald said

  “From the shape and because of where we are it must be a junk. I wonder how old it is.”

  “No idea on the age. We need to find somethi
ng we can use to date it.”

  The video showed the claw arm closing on a piece of coral and then lifting it away. Beneath a small piece of wood was visible. The claw then closed on the wood and pulled. The rotten wood pulled away like it was made of something soft.

  “This is taking too long. Let’s put Cheryl and McDonald in the water. Migos, you take over the ROV,” I said

  Savage and Sorenson helped rig up McDonald and Cheryl. Cheryl was wearing her yellow wetsuit; the dive wasn’t deep enough to require a drysuit and the water temperature according to the ROV was sixty-six degrees. Minutes later, the ROV screen showed McDonald and Cheryl coming into view above the wreck. They began to pick through the debris created by the ROV on one end of the junk. Cheryl held up a bowl in front of the ROV camera, placed the bowl in a mesh bag and continued to dig. McDonald brought out a small cannon about the size of a small mortar from the debris. For the next forty minutes, the two pulled off parts of the deck, foraged beneath, and then moved on another five feet or so towards the far end. Both had a handful of items stuffed in their bags, mostly pottery or small metal items. The plan called for them to return after fifty-five minutes into the dive. That way the decompression would only be twenty minutes.

  When they were ten feet from the end, McDonald held up a gold coin for us to see. It was about the size of a silver dollar and it had a square hole in the center. Cheryl joined him and soon she was holding up coins. McDonald found a bar of gold; it was a strange looking bar, not evenly shaped. At this point, all four of us in the salon of the yacht were cheering. The alarm must have gone off on their dive computers because both suddenly stopped working and began to ascend. We were a triumphant group when we brought Cheryl and McDonald back on board.

  Twenty-one coins and three gold bars were in the bags.

  “There’s gold everywhere we looked at that far end of that wreck,” McDonald announced.