Hazel slipped on a pair of sunglasses before replying, “Yes, I live in a town called Fréjus, it’s between Marseilles and Nice on the Côte d’Azur; no one outside France has heard of it but it’s a really old port town with a lot of historical buildings and ruins. I love it there.”
“Can you dive off the coast there? I’ve dived in the Greek islands but never in France,” AJ asked.
“Oh yes, it’s fantastic diving, we have many small islands along the coast like Hyères and the Port-Cros National Park. Then there’s Corsica, of course, which you can reach by ferry from Nice in about five or six hours, so it’s good for weekend trips,” Hazel replied, her enthusiasm building as she spoke of her home. “But the wrecks…” she waved her hands and shook her head. “We have the best wreck diving, so many, we have war wrecks and ancient wrecks, and...” She slipped her sunglasses back off. “Have you heard of the Rubis?”
“Yes, yes, the submarine, right?” AJ remembered excitedly, the others on the boat now listening to the women’s animated conversation.
“That’s right, it was a French sub used in World War Two and sunk for sonar practice after they retired it, I think in the early fifties. It’s off Saint-Tropez area. It is magnificent. Strong currents and deep, so it is not for beginners but you have to see this wreck. It’s at forty metres.” Hazel paused to convert the number.
“About a hundred and thirty feet or so,” AJ interjected. “I speak both systems.” She laughed.
“Yes, of course, so it’s deep, but so worth it. Perfectly upright and still in pretty good condition, although the deck is collapsing on top of the pressure hull. It’s not safe to go inside, although there are open compartments you can look in and still see instruments and controls.” Hazel took hold of AJ’s arm. “Like your submarine here I suspect?” she blurted.
“It sounds similar,” AJ agreed. “Ours is a bit further off the coast but only a few years different in sinking.”
Hazel shook her head. “Oh, I would love to dive your sub, that would be incredible,” she uttered softly.
“We go out there once a month but there’s quite a wait list I’m afraid,” AJ said sympathetically.
“Maybe another trip and I’ll plan ahead more.” Hazel smiled. “But you have other wrecks here too, yes?”
AJ stood up as Thomas eased back on the throttle, indicating they were approaching the dive site.
“Of course, we have some wonderful wrecks here – how long are you staying for?”
“A week or two,” Hazel replied casually.
AJ hopped up on the side of the boat, making her way to the front to tie into the mooring. “We can dive them all if you stay for two weeks.”
Chapter 7
April 1974
Whitey lay back in the lounger, let out a long sigh, and finally felt he could relax. The pool at the Holiday Inn wrapped around in a curving pattern, forming an island in the centre, where a palapa housed the outside bar. Three arched footbridges gave access to the bar or you could step from the pool itself. Beyond a low brick wall, the white sand beach stretched fifty yards to the edge of the Caribbean Sea, its light blue and teal water glistening and sparkling in the afternoon sun. A radio station played music from speakers at the bar. ‘The Air That I Breathe’ by The Hollies sounded strangely out of place on the tropical island, a contrast to the usual calypso and reggae.
Whitey turned and smiled at Ainsley, who looked as relaxed as he always did on the lounger next to him. “This doesn’t get old, mate.”
Ainsley beamed back. “No man, lived here my whole life and can’t ever say I’m tired of it.”
A shadow moved over Whitey, screening him from the sun, and a soft voice spoke in a friendly, accented tone.
“Can I get you gentlemen a drink from the bar?”
Whitey peered through his Ray-Ban Ambermatic Aviator sunglasses as the lenses adjusted their tint to the change in light. Before him, tray in hand, stood a pretty, tanned woman with long black hair and strikingly big green eyes. He’d noticed the red miniskirts and form-fitting frilly white tops on the waitresses, but this girl made the outfit look exceptional.
“I would like a drink my dear, thank you.” He turned towards Ainsley. “What you having, mate?”
Ainsley had sat up and was leering at the waitress like he was new to the female species. “Red Stripe... please,” he mumbled.
Whitey turned back to the woman who was waiting patiently. “Havana Club over ice for me please.” He tipped his sunglasses down his nose to allow her to see his piercing blue eyes. “May I know your name as you’re taking such good care of us?”
She smiled warmly and her cheeks flushed almost imperceptibly. “Isabella, but most people call me Izzie.”
Whitey nodded and returned the smile. “Well I’m not most people and I love your name, so I’ll call you Isabella if that’s okay?”
She grinned. “I don’t mind at all.”
Whitey extended a hand, subtly flexing his chest and arm a little to accentuate his athletic physique.
“Very nice to meet you Isabella, my name’s Whitey, and this is my friend Ainsley.” Neither of them looked Ainsley’s way, who continued gawking from his lounger.
She shook his hand, her eyes momentarily flicking from his face to his shirtless chest before returning to his eyes. “Nice to meet you too,” she said softly, deftly balancing the tray while shaking hands. “I’ll get your drinks for you,” she added and turned, walking away with a gentle sway to her walk.
Whitey relaxed into his lounger and pushed his glasses back up his nose nonchalantly. From the corner of his eye he carefully watched her saunter to the palapa with a final glance back over at him as she reached it. She did everything with grace and subtlety, not the giggly, clumsiness of a flirting teenager, and he liked that. He guessed she was probably in her late twenties, and the accent was Hispanic, but not the South American he’d become used to in Peru.
“Man, she really dug us, brother,” Ainsley observed as he sank back in his lounger. Whitey grinned and was surprised Ainsley wasn’t wiping drool off his face.
Women had never been a problem for Whitey Snow. From a young age he’d discovered his good looks and fun-loving personality made him popular with the girls, and a guy other guys liked to hang out with. He joined the Royal Navy as soon as he was old enough in 1945, only a few months before hostilities ceased in Europe. He was one of the few they kept around, and he did eight years before deciding he’d had enough of bouncing around the world on grey ships. Too many ports of call held more interest than he could satisfy on a brief stop, so at age 26 he shed the uniform and headed to Thailand, a place he’d become enthralled with. Living was cheap, women were plentiful, and Whitey found his talent for trading smokes and liquor in the service made a lot more money in the free market.
“You got a boat, Ainsley?” Whitey changed the subject.
“A boat? Of course I got a boat, we’re on an island brother, everybody’s got a boat.”
Whitey laughed. “Okay, so where do you keep your boat?”
“Near town, it’s moored overnight just off the beach,” Ainsley replied.
“What does this boat of yours do all day then?” Whitey asked curiously.
Ainsley hesitated a moment. “Well, it’s actually my brother’s boat, so it’s out fishing during the morning.”
Whitey laughed again. “I see, so if we wanted to go diving, would your brother let us take this boat, that everyone on the island has, except you.”
Ainsley scoffed. “Man, it’s the family boat, every family on the island has a boat. Of course I can use it, just gotta go out when he’s done fishing. Or on Sunday, he don’t fish on Sunday.”
“Perfect, cos we’re going diving,” Whitey added.
“Diving? Like under the water?” Ainsley sat up.
“Yeah, you know, scuba diving.” Whitey looked at his friend. “You never been diving? This place is supposed to be the best diving in the western hemisphere.”
&
nbsp; Ainsley shook his head animatedly. “Hell no I never been diving man, that ain’t right, we need air and the air’s up here not down there. I’ll take you out on the boat but I ain’t doing no diving, man.”
Whitey laughed incredulously. “That’s funny Ainsley, that’s like living in the Alps and hating skiing.”
Ainsley lay back down shaking his head. “I ain’t skiing neither. I’m a Caymanian, brother, we don’t do snow.”
Chapter 8
November 2019
The morning sun lit up the reef like a Monet painting and the residents cruised, darted, and hovered about, in a scene akin to a bustling metropolis. The divers descended amongst the throng of activity, and AJ led the group to a crack in the reef forming a sandy-bottomed ravine running towards deeper water. Comfortably wide enough for the divers, she dropped in and gently finned her way forward so the others could follow. Several squirrelfish peered at her from crevices and the long antennae of a lobster probed the water, sensing the movement near its hideout. AJ pointed out the interesting critters so her train of divers would see them too. The ravine widened slightly and the coral to her right had grown over the opening, forming a ledge that overhung the sandy floor. Lying on the sand in the shallow shelter of the ledge was the sleek, mottled-brown figure of a six-foot nurse shark. Contrary to popular belief, many sharks do not have to continually move to keep oxygen-rich water passing over their gills. The nurse shark pumps water through its gills to get the necessary oxygen, and AJ carefully pointed at the flaring gills as they fluttered and moved the water, stirring up a little sand with each pulse. The big, boneless fish watched the passing divers carefully with its beady little eyes, but seemed unthreatened, and certainly not keen on giving up her favourite resting spot.
The ravine opened to a sandy expanse at the end of the coral finger, and AJ allowed the group to gather next to her. In the sandy flats all appeared still except for a few tilefish hovering above their constructed dens and a bed of garden eels waving like strands of hay in the wind. AJ held up her hand to hold the group stationary before finning softly forward about four feet off the sea floor. She paused over an open section of sand, its surface textured in subtle waves by the ebbing tides. Moving slowly, she extended a hand down and pointed at the surface, which appeared to be nothing more than the sandy sea floor. Soon the group began to notice what she was pointing out. An eyeball flicked and moved around, taking in its surroundings, its owner wondering why this noisy, bubble-exuding critter was hanging over its piece of the ocean. AJ eased away to leave it in peace and finned back to the group. As she reached them, the sand all around the eyeball raised up and the stingray, deciding to move on anyway, raised its large flat body with a ripple of its wings, sending sand cascading in waves to settle back on the floor. The grey figure with its long, slim tail glided away to hunt molluscs in another part of the ocean off Seven Mile Beach.
Moving to another coral finger, staying at around thirty-five feet, AJ slowly finned over the reef. Bright yellow tube sponges sprouted in chubby protrusions from several coral heads and AJ scoured the waters in search of something. Rolling on her back and scanning the surface, she found what she was looking for. Pointing through the crystal-clear water towards the sky, she directed the group to the hawksbill turtle taking a few breaths on the surface. The turtle, with its beautifully coloured shell, was at its most vulnerable when grabbing a breath. It used to be from hunters taking the turtles for their meat and shell, a trade the Caymans had been famous for, but now it was from boat traffic. AJ signalled for the group to wait and pointed to the abundant yellow sponges around them. The turtle soon ducked his head below and began swimming awkwardly back down to the reef to continue feeding. Choosing a large clump of yellow tube sponges, he wrapped his flippers around them, using a claw on each flipper to gain a firm grip, before taking a bite from the sponge with his powerful beak. Tiny shards wafted in a cloud around the turtle as he crunched on his breakfast in loud chomps that could easily be heard underwater. The clean-up crew of coral eaters soon swooped in and made short work of the floating crumbs, before the turtle bit down again and removed another chunk.
Ray didn’t miss a beat with his camera and added some close-up turtle shots to his stingray-in-flight and resting-nurse-shark collection. The Davis kids did well staying back a bit as they swam about excitedly. AJ made a mental note to remind them not use their hands as they moved through the water. The Freemans calmly observed as always; experienced and wise, they were happy to hang back and let the newer divers get in close, while they conserved their energy and air. They usually surfaced after a long dive with enough air to do a second dive. AJ quietly watched Hazel. She was as graceful in the water as she was above, and moved with polished ease and minimal effort. AJ had noticed she’d pointed out several interesting fish to Ray and had patiently stayed close while he photographed them, taking her assigned dive buddy role seriously. From the way she moved in the water with perfect buoyancy, maintaining her depth effortlessly, and from the gentle stream of bubbles exhaled in a regular, relaxed timing, AJ could tell she was experienced and comfortable.
The hour passed quickly with so much to see, and AJ signalled for the group to begin their ascent, with a three-minute pause at fifteen feet to allow some of the excess nitrogen to work out of their systems. She’d planned to take the second dive, but since both were shallow, she had taken lead on the first, and would let Thomas guide the next one. Breathing from the dry, clean air of the Scuba tank helped clear her head, and for the past sixty minutes she’d forgotten the hangover that had dulled her morning. She looked around at her customers and friends hanging in the water while the three minutes ticked away. All were still and relaxed; even the Davis kids took example from the others and floated motionless, looking down at the reef below for a last glimpse of a rare or interesting critter. AJ felt a warm glow of satisfaction radiate throughout her body and pictured a soft wave of positive energy emanate away into the Caribbean Sea. In these moments she was consumed by the realisation of how fortunate she was.
Chapter 9
April 1974
Ainsley steered his bright red 1972 Ford Capri Mk1 3000 GXL along North Church Street with the ocean on their right, and thick mangroves and an occasional home on their left. Ainsley tapped out the beat to ‘Radar Love’ by Golden Earring that played from the car radio. With the windows down, the fresh breeze helped offset the morning heat and Whitey tried not to stick to the black leather seats.
“Honestly mate, what good is this fancy car, here on the island?” he asked his friend, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
Ainsley looked at him as though he’d insulted his mother’s honour. “It’s a three-litre Capri man, do you know how much it cost me to bring this beauty over from the UK?”
Whitey laughed. “Exactly my point mate, and where on the island can you give this flashy car a real run?”
Ainsley shook his head. “That’s not the point Whitey, it’s the coolest car on the island man; this beauty pulls skirt like you wouldn’t believe.”
Whitey smiled and shook his head. “Bloody poser.”
Ainsley pulled the Capri into the car park of a white-painted building on the water. A sign on the second floor advertised it was the Lobster Pot restaurant; downstairs displayed it was Bob Soto’s Dive Shop.
“Here you go man, Soto’s, anything to be known about diving on the island this man knows, started the whole diving thing here,” Ainsley effused.
They walked through the propped-open door into the dive shop where a young, tanned man in a tank top and snug shorts looked up from behind the counter. Whitey glanced around at displays of masks, snorkels, various horse collar-style flotation jackets, and some of the new buoyancy compensating packs. Posters on the wall touted products from Aqualung, At-Pac and Scubapro.
“G’day fellas,” the man behind the counter greeted them in a thick Australian accent, flicking his long, wavy blond hair from his face.
“My good friend here has
a few questions about diving on our fine island, so I brought him here and told him you guys know everything there is to know about that!” Ainsley proclaimed with a big smile.
“Well, we dive in the water rather than on the island, but yeah, I should be able to help you fellas,” the man replied with a smirk, looking at Ainsley warily.
Ainsley lost the smile. “Is Bob around man?”
The Aussie shook his head. “Nah, Bob’s travelling at the moment.” He turned his attention to Whitey. “What can I help you with, mate?”
Ainsley gave up and wandered off to pretend to be interested in looking at dive gear, unimpressed with the man’s lack of enthusiasm for his own enthusiasm.
“I’d like to know a bit more about your dive sites, especially wrecks. I’ll be visiting here frequently, and I’d like to dive some wrecks,” Whitey asked nonchalantly.
“Well, as you probably know we’re known for our reefs here, but we’ve got some ace wrecks as well.” He turned and pointed out the double doors open to the water. “Got two right out here mate: the Balboa and the Cali are real shallow, blown apart so they’re scattered wreckage but ripper dives.” He grabbed a map of the island and laid it on the countertop. “If you’re up for more of an adventure there’s a new wreck just went down over the winter.” He pointed to a spot off the north-west corner of the island. “Here, it’s a cargo ship, over a hundred feet long, sitting at a depth of eighty feet or so.”
Whitey looked at the spot on the map. “That sounds interesting, gotta be pretty popular, a new wreck like that?”
The man shook his head. “Not really. Like I said, you gotta be up for an adventure, currents are strong where it’s sitting near the drop-off. We’ll only take hardcore guys out there. What’s your experience level?”
Whitey smiled politely. “Navy, some salvage work, bunch of diving in the South Pacific and Australia. I’d be fine.”
Wreck of the Raptor Page 3