Wreck of the Raptor

by Nicholas Harvey

  “But there’s no point pissing off the authorities,” he hurriedly blurted, trying to dig himself out of the boss’s wrath.

  “Exactly,” AJ said firmly. “They do grant me my operator’s licence you know.”

  Hazel laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t want to get you in any trouble.” She smirked mischievously. “But of course I wouldn’t tell if you wouldn’t.”

  Thomas couldn’t stop himself from chuckling and AJ just shook her head. But she smiled a little too.

  Chapter 19

  April 1974

  The final ember of the day’s sun left a hint of blue on the horizon line as darkness descended over the island. The lights from the restaurant faintly lit the water’s edge where the Caribbean Sea lapped softly against the rugged limestone known as ironshore. The waiter cleared their plates and left dessert menus on the table.

  “I couldn’t eat another thing, that was so good,” Isabella groaned happily.

  Whitey smiled. “Glad you enjoyed it. How about a coffee?”

  “That sounds perfect,” she replied and after thinking a moment added, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, where did you learn to speak Spanish so well?”

  He’d avoided too much discussion about himself over dinner by asking her about her journey ending up on the island, but he knew sooner or later he’d have to offer some explanation for his own lifestyle.

  “I’ve lived in Miami, at least partly, for about eight years and being in the Navy when I was a lad, I’d picked up bits of several languages; Spanish was one of them. In Miami you’d better speak Spanish if you want to get anything done.” He thought carefully a moment before continuing, weighing up how much to divulge. “I travel to South America with work quite a bit, so adding all that up I speak Spanish more than I speak English some weeks.”

  She listened intently and he knew there would be more questions coming.

  “What is it you do for work exactly? You said earlier you work for yourself, but doing what?”

  He paused to gather his thoughts. He found it hard to stay focused with her – he felt so comfortable in her presence it would be easy to talk all night – but he had to be careful, for both their sakes. “I’ve always traded commodities wherever I’ve been; whatever the local need is, I try and supply the need. So, it’s varied from liquor, to furniture, to services. For the past few years most of what I do is supply services to a company in Peru. They do business with people in other countries and they like to meet them in Miami, so I facilitate, or handle, those meetings for them.”

  He hoped that would suffice but she seemed even more interested and pressed on. “And you mentioned you were in Cayman on business – is that for the same people?”

  “It is. I’m setting up some banking for them here. Cayman is becoming a popular place for businesses to keep some of their money.”

  That seemed to appease her curiosity, and the waiter returning provided a welcome break. Whitey ordered them both coffees and took the opportunity to turn the conversation back to her.

  “Where is Mojácar? I’ve been through most of the Mediterranean, but I don’t know that town.”

  She chuckled. “That’s because it’s old and small. The nearest big town is Almería to the south and further north is Cartagena, but it’s known by some as a place for holidays. We have a few hotels along the beach, which is where I worked after I left school. But the old town is built up a steep mountainside that rises from the sea. You grow up with strong legs living in Mojácar.”

  He pondered her long, lean legs and the extremely short hot pants she was wearing, and lost his train of thought.

  “You seem to know the island quite well, I assume you’ve been here before?” she said, taking the chance to reverse the questions again.

  “A few times over the years,” he answered and then figured here was a subject he was safe expanding on and continued. “I first came here at the end of the war. I joined as soon as I was of age, which turned out to be at the very end. They sent me to Jamaica, where I served on a patrol boat that ran around these waters. We’d stop in at George Town and refuel before heading back.”

  “Patrolling in the Caribbean? I didn’t know there was any fighting here?” A slight furrow appeared on her forehead when she asked questions, her intensity and genuine interest clear to see. It made him feel warm inside; most of the women he tended to date would be glancing around the room while asking things they didn’t really care about it. He knew he invited that by dating girls that were fine with him leaving the next morning, or more often during the night, and those arrangements had suited his nomadic lifestyle. This felt good: to have a real conversation where they both cared about what was said.

  “The Germans brought their U-boats through here a lot and would attack shipping coming up from South America to supply the US.” Whitey leaned forward and talked more quietly. “We chased one not far from Grand one day, never caught him, but about a week or so later we picked up three Germans in a rotting dinghy in the middle of the ocean. Two were already dead from lack of water but one lived for a few hours.” After all these years he still felt the need to be secretive about the incident. Although he was sure it didn’t matter anymore, he’d been told to never speak of it, and rarely did.

  “Were they from the U-boat you’d seen? How did it sink?” Her eyes were wide with curiosity.

  “Same U-boat apparently, but we didn’t sink it. Never found out what happened to it. Poor Jerry died before we reached port, and the only one to talk to him was Arthur Bailey. Great bloke he was, Bailey, he taught me everything on that patrol boat. I was the new kid arriving as everything was winding down, and most of the guys just gave me a hard time, but Arthur treated me like one of the crew. Good bloke. Anyway, after the war, I stayed in touch with a local I’d met on the island and we became good friends over the years. I’d stop by whenever I could, which was once every three to five years, sometimes longer. It’s Ainsley’s car I borrowed for tonight.”

  She grinned. “I was born the year after the war ended.” Her face was full of mischief.

  He laughed. “That bother you? We’re a few years apart?” He held his breath waiting on her answer, a point that had to be raised at some time.

  “No,” she said firmly. “I’ve enjoyed this, but I wonder when will I see you again? Once every four years won’t really work for me.”

  He smiled and took her hand, this time keeping hold of her warm, soft touch. “I’ll be coming back to the island every month for a few days, maybe a week, each time. Now I have a good reason to make the trips longer.”

  She melted him with her intense green eyes, her whole face beaming.

  “I can work with that.”

  Chapter 20

  November 2019

  Thomas and AJ finished washing down her boat, tied alongside Reg’s West Bay jetty that he let her share. The sun was losing its intensity as the late afternoon was giving way to early evening, and a few scattered clouds offered some welcome shade. AJ was happy to release the lines and let Thomas take the Newton out to its overnight mooring, a hundred yards offshore in the sandy flats. It was always a long but rewarding day when they dived the U-1026, and she gladly accepted a Strongbow cider from Reg who joined her at the end of the pier.

  “Another good day in the books, my dear,” he said as they sat down and hung their legs over the side.

  AJ squinted, looking into the sun at her boat idling out. “Yup, appreciate the help as always. Good group today, makes it more fun when you don’t have to stop people trying to kill themselves in the open ocean.”

  Reg chuckled in a low rumble. “True enough. Our boy Carlos do okay on your RIB boat today?”

  “Sounded like it went fine. He only had five since Hazel came with us. He said north was a little lumpy, but not bad,” she answered, before taking a swig of the cold cider.

  “It should get flatter over the next few days,” Reg said quietly. “I’ll probably move two boats north tomorrow night if it does.”


  AJ nodded. “I should take mine around too, probably safe to switch them now.”

  When the north side settled down for the summer they dived outside the North Sound more often, and ran their classes and discover Scuba trips off Seven Mile Beach, on the west. Mermaid Divers operated one boat at a time, seeing as it was only Thomas and AJ, unless they borrowed people from Reg, like today, so she would swap her boat’s locations and do her classes in the afternoons. She mulled over the logistics of trading her boats, which meant driving them around the west end of the island.

  “Thomas and I can do the switch; he drives the van over to the yacht club, I take the spare key with me, and drive it back once I take the Newton around. Works out pretty good.”

  That would put the RIB boat, her smaller rigid inflatable boat, which was fast and manoeuvrable, on the west. It was the ideal boat to take to the wreck of the Raptor, especially as they’d have to grapple the wreck with a hook to moor the boat. Or leave the boat live, trolling around until they came up. She shook her head. She couldn’t believe she was even contemplating diving the damn thing.

  “When was the last time you dived the Raptor, Reg?”

  He looked at her with a frown. “What hare-brained scheme you coming up with now?”

  She laughed. “Not my scheme. Hazel’s all fired up to take a look at it, and Thomas wants to see it before it slides over.”

  Reg took a sip of his cider and thought a moment. “I haven’t been on it since tropical storm Nate moved it the last time. Arse end is hanging way over the wall now apparently. Next big storm and it’s gone.”

  “I’m surprised it didn’t go over in Nate, that blow was worse than most hurricanes on the west. To break the chains holding the Kittiwake and roll it on its side, the swells and surge had to have been huge.” She shook her head, remembering the storm and the surprising amount of damage it caused.

  “I dived it a few times before Hurricane Ivan. Before my time here it was much farther up the reef,” Reg recalled. “Then Hurricane Allen in ’80 slid it deeper, and Michelle rolled it a bit I believe, in 2001. Then Ivan shoved it down so the stern was about at the wall. I dived it then a few times, but you pretty much stayed around the superstructure because of the depth. Paloma in ’08 stood it back upright, and Nate was the one that put it hanging over like it is now.”

  “Paloma wasn’t that bad, was it? Didn’t it miss Grand and hit Brac a lot worse? That was two years before I got here,” AJ asked.

  “Yeah, that’s when the DOE here said no more diving on the Raptor. If Paloma could move it around, then it’s too unstable.” Reg looked over at her. “Besides, it’s the current out there that’s as much an issue as the depth. That’s why tech training for deep stuff is done on the Carrie Lee, or over the wall farther west. Couple of blokes have got themselves killed getting lost inside the cabins, but more have vanished getting blown off the wreck. Started in the mid-seventies, I think, not long after it went down. Some guys and their boat went missing, never seen again.”

  “Jeez,” AJ whispered.

  “You thinking of taking clients there?” Reg asked.

  “No, no. Well, I guess, Hazel would be considered a client, but maybe just me, her, and Thomas. Take someone else, maybe Carlos, to stay on the boat,” AJ replied cautiously. She’d about convinced herself to go, but now she had doubts again. Her curiosity was driving her towards it, especially as the only dive she’d been on the wreck before was cut short when another diver had trouble. She also felt a strong urge to please Hazel and a little pressure to keep up with her enthusiasm to seek adventure.

  “I’ll go with you,” Reg surprised her by saying.

  “Seriously?” she asked in shock.

  He grinned. “I’ve learnt by now that you’ll bloody well do it whether I’m there or not so I might as well try and keep you from doing something completely mad down there.”

  She gave him a playful shove. “You big knucklehead.”

  Chapter 21

  April 1974

  Ainsley drove slowly towards the airport and pulled over to the side of the road short of the small terminal building to where Whitey directed from the passenger seat. Whitey turned down the car stereo and quietened David Bowie singing ‘Rebel Rebel’ as they came to a stop. He reached over to the back seat and grabbed the Zero Halliburton briefcase he’d arrived with. It was considerably lighter now. Popping the latches, he retrieved a brown, unmarked envelope and handed it to Ainsley.

  “Here, this is your cut for handling the logistics on the island,” he said softly. “I appreciate your help, mate.”

  Ainsley looked surprised and carefully opened the folded end of the envelope and whistled when he looked inside.

  “Damn Whitey, this is a lot of cash! This is more than I make in my best month hustling weed,” he enthused, less softly.

  Whitey leaned over and lowered Ainsley’s hands holding a wad of cash. “Keep your voice down, mate.”

  A few travellers were walking into the terminal building but otherwise the only ears nearby belonged to the stray chickens that clucked and pecked around the roadside.

  “That’s ten grand, you’ll get the same every time I bring a case full over. All I need is the police escort, for you to ride me around a bit, and we’re gonna need your brother’s boat one time each visit from now on.”

  Ainsley grinned. “Seriously? Ten grand for doing that each time? No problem, man. Come back as often as you like.” He nudged Whitey’s arm and laughed. “Every week would be great, man.”

  Whitey smiled at his friend’s easy-going style and infectious humour. “It’ll be once a month or so, but I’ll call you and give you a few days’ warning each time. Sorry to call in the middle of the night but it’s the only time I know you’ll be home to answer.” Whitey laughed. “One day the island will catch up with the world and get an answering service you can use.”

  “What’s an answering service do?” Ainsley asked innocently.

  “They answer your phone for you and take messages,” Whitey replied, even more amused.

  Ainsley looked perplexed. “So someone sits around my house and answers my phone when I’m not there? I don’t want no one in my house when I ain’t there, man.”

  Whitey roared with laughter and several nearby chickens made the cardinal sin of running across the road away from the noise. “They’re not in your house you plonker, they’re in an office, your calls get directed there when you’re not home.”

  “We’re way beyond that man,” Ainsley waved a hand in the air. “We got rid of the operator with the telephone switchboard years ago, man, we’re cutting edge here brother, cutting edge.”

  Whitey shook his head and gave up.

  “You know,” Ainsley turned serious, “you don’t need a police escort from the airport. There’s no one here on the island that’ll try and rob you man. I’m the biggest criminal here and I just sell some weed and a few imported goods under the radar. Worst that ever happens here is the odd family disagreement that might end up in a fist fight; nobody gonna touch a tourist, believe me.”

  Whitey sat back into his seat and looked at his friend. “How long we known each other?”

  Ainsley took a moment. “A long time, brother – what, 1945? That’s nearly thirty years man.”

  “That’s right, thirty years. And since the day we met you’ve always steered me right. We started back in ’45 trading a few boxes of smokes, and you’ve always taken care of me whenever I’ve showed up on the island every five or ten years since. Well, now I can take care of you a little bit.” Whitey held up a finger. “But, you gotta know, this group I’m working for don’t bugger about. That’s why I’m taking out a little insurance.”

  Ainsley looked confused. “How do you mean?”

  “They’re South American, Peruvian in fact, and it’s different down there, it’s like the wild bloody west. They buy the police and the officials, so they’ll let them do what they want. They got ’em all on the payroll, that’s how
it works. If I went back and said it don’t cost me nothin’ to work the system here, they wouldn’t believe me. So, I pay you to facilitate, and they don’t need to know you don’t have to pay off the coppers, do they?”

  Ainsley nodded slowly. “Okay man, I get it. But why the boat?”

  “That’s the insurance part.” Whitey grinned. “These blokes are paranoid as all hell; they trust you like family, then next minute they get suspicious you’re screwing ’em, and you’ve got a bullet in the back of your noggin, no questions, no discussions, no explanations. Ruthless buggers.” He took a deep breath as he thought about it, and he noticed Ainsley looked a little scared. “Anyway, my insurance is, I’m hiding the safety deposit key. That way they can’t just whack me if they decide I’m not on their side, or they won’t get their money back. Daft buggers are still worried about the banks here, so they said get a safety deposit box instead, at least to start with. So that’s what I did. Except I got two. One is in my name and theirs, one is in my name only. Only thing in the joint one is a note saying ‘See Whitey for the other box key’.”

  “Wow man,” Ainsley mumbled, astonished.

  Whitey handed him an oddly cut silver key. “Keep this safe. When I get back, I’ll deposit the next round of cash, and then you and me are taking a boat ride. I’ve found the perfect place to hide that key. Believe me, these buggers can’t even swim, so the bottom of the ocean is the perfect place to hide the key. The pool they put in at their mansion in Peru has a shallow end and an only slightly deeper end; none of it’s more than four feet deep. They walk around in the water on a hot day. So, to get the real key, they’ll need me, and need me alive.”

  Ainsley timidly took the key like it was a burning hot poker. “When you back?”

  “Don’t worry brother, keep that key safe for a few weeks, then it’ll be out of your hands and hidden in the spot I’ve found, safe as houses.” Whitey slapped him on the arm and pointed to the terminal building ahead. “Come on then, I gotta plane to catch.”