AJ looked down into the rear of the hold that was now clear to them as she descended again. A door, dead centre of the hold in the stern wall, was wedged open a few feet. She stared at it for a moment and noticed Hazel followed her gaze. They both checked their dive computers. AJ’s read 110’ and sixteen minutes’ dive time, eight minutes’ no-deco time remaining. They still had to return to the line at over a hundred feet and the current gave them no option to go shallower to do that. They needed to start back. She looked over at Reg, who must have been thinking the same as he pointed to the bow. She nodded and noticed Thomas had seen the exchange. She looked back for Hazel. She was below AJ and still looking down at the door in the hold. AJ tapped her tank with a stainless steel carabiner she carried for signalling. Hazel looked up immediately, kicked up to join the group and they started back across the hold together.
Once they reached the line, AJ waited by the anchor until the other three started up the rope. As they reached thirty feet, they began the two stages of planned safety stops. AJ peered up at the other divers. She felt lucky to share this experience with a close group of friends. They were all looking back down at the wreck while they hung like laundry in a strong wind and she hoped they all felt as satisfied and grateful as she did.
Chapter 37
June 1974
Whitey stabbed at the underside of the marine oil filter with a large screwdriver, punching a series of holes in the perforated metal base. He then took a large pair of diagonal cutter pliers and used them as shears to snip away more of the tin. Eventually he was left with an opening all around the threaded centre tube and was able to gouge out the paper filter element leaving a hollow void in the cylinder. Ainsley looked on, wondering what his friend was up to.
“So, why are you makin’ a big mess of that filter thingy?” he finally asked.
Whitey continued to snip and bend the jagged edges until he could safely reach inside the cylinder without cutting himself.
“Hand me the key, the safety deposit key,” he asked, ignoring the question for the moment.
Ainsley handed him the odd-looking key Whitey had left with him and made sure he’d brought along.
“Got a rag somewhere?” Whitey asked and received a blank stare back. He reached over to the cabinet under the console where the tools had been and rummaged around for a moment. Sure enough, there were a couple of dirty rags the previous owner had left. Whitey wrapped the key in one of the rags and stuffed the rag inside the filter body.
“That’s why,” he said.
“Oh,” Ainsley responded, still sounding confused. “And now what?”
Whitey looked up at him, squinting against the bright afternoon sun. “I put it back.”
“Oh.” Ainsley wagged a finger at his friend. “I get it, so the key will be hidden on the sunken ship down there?”
“Boat,” Whitey corrected.
“Boat?” Ainsley asked.
“Boat,” Whitey confirmed. “A ship is much bigger, the Raptor is a boat. Or was a boat when she floated, now she’s the wreck of a boat.”
“But isn’t it a shipwreck, not a boat-wreck?” Ainsley countered.
Whitey laughed. “Got me there, but while it was afloat, it was a boat.”
Ainsley looked thoughtful, “So what’s it like?”
“The wreck?” Whitey asked.
“All of it.” Ainsley pointed over the side of the boat.
“It’s beautiful, brother.” Whitey smiled. “Even the wreck, it’s like this magnificent mechanical beast lying still down there.” He became more animated, his enthusiasm welling as he spoke, “The life down there, there’s so much life. From tiny little shrimps and blennies, to the big stuff like the rays and the sharks.”
Ainsley was transfixed until he heard ‘shark’. “No way man, I ain’t getting in the water anywhere near a damn shark.”
Whitey laughed. “They ain’t interested in you, you’re not their food. Sharks are beautiful, man, powerful and intelligent; I love seeing them.”
“What if you’re bleeding? Don’t they go crazy over a drop of blood?” Ainsley asked, grimacing.
“I wouldn’t get in the water if I was leaking badly, but they won’t attack you if you have a scratch on your finger. Like I said they don’t see you as food. Mostly they stay away. If you see one, he was heading somewhere and you crossed paths, or he was curious what all the noise was. Divers make a lot of noise compared to fish.”
Ainsley nodded. “Maybe one day I’ll try this diving thing. But no sharks and I don’t think I want to go near a wreck. That seems creepy. Gives me the willies knowing there’s a big ship right under us.”
“Boat.”
“Ship, boat, pedalo, I don’t give a shit man,” Ainsley complained. “I ain’t getting in the water with nothing weird down there.”
Whitey shook his head and gave up. “Got any grease?”
“Huh?” Ainsley gave him another blank look.
Whitey went back to the same cabinet and rummaged to no avail. He opened the little cabin door and squeezed himself through the opening. Looking around there wasn’t much in the tiny vee berth. Most of it was taken up with the two converging benches that became a bed when a padded panel was dropped in the gap between them. To his left was a small cabinet that looked like it was intended to be a wardrobe. He swung the door open with little expectation. A few old wire hangers swung from a rail, otherwise it was empty. He leaned in and lifted the left bench top to reveal a handful of brand-new life vests that appeared to have never left that spot. Dropping it back down he lifted the right bench and saw mainly an open space. Stuffed in the front corner was a cardboard box and Whitey shuffled over to inspect it. A can of WD-40, two tin cans of engine oil, unopened, and one small tub of marine shaft grease. Perfect, he thought, Ainsley comes through again. He laughed to himself as he extricated himself from the bow cabin with grease in hand.
Ainsley pointed at the tub. “Yeah man, course I got grease, gotta have grease on a boat, everyone knows that.”
Whitey grinned at him and slapped the tub into his hand, “Hang onto that while I get geared back up.” He stood up and stretched after being cramped for the past few minutes. “And grab the crowbar for me.”
“The crowbar? What the hell you need a crowbar for down there?” Ainsley asked without moving.
“I’m gonna beat Davy Jones on the noggin with it. Just get the bloody thing.” Whitey turned back and grinned. “Better say goodbye to it too, cos it ain’t coming back up.”
Chapter 38
November 2019
AJ listened intently as the other divers keenly talked about the wreck from their own perspectives. She noticed Carlos doing the same and could tell he was wishing he was diving instead of babysitting the boat.
“The angle she’s sitting at makes the dive so strange,” Thomas observed between bites of fresh mango from the cooler. “You think you’re staying level but you’re going deeper, quickly; it’s a little disorientating, like diving the Kittiwake now it’s tipped over.”
Reg agreed, “Could get you in trouble too, difference between a hundred feet and one twenty in gas consumption is huge. Easy to run out of time on this dive. It’s a similar depth to the U-1026 but the profile is different, or maybe we’re just more familiar with the sub.”
“I’d like to see what’s behind that door,” Hazel said, looking at AJ.
Reg answered before AJ had a chance, “I knew you two were gonna start on about that bloody door.” He rolled his eyes but was smiling.
“Hey, wait a minute,” AJ protested, “I haven’t said a word about any door. You’re assuming I want to look too, and I haven’t said anything about it!”
“What door?” Carlos asked.
Reg pointed at AJ. “You telling me you’re not interested in what’s behind that door?”
AJ looked sheepish. “I didn’t say that either.”
They all laughed and amongst the noise Carlos asked again, “What’s this door?”
Thomas finally answered him. “The doors to the main structure are all seized shut by the growth, or locked, or corrosion, whatever, they won’t open, but at the bottom of the hold is a door that’s wedged open.”
“But it’s at over a hundred and thirty feet, maybe more,” Reg added, “and it’ll get deeper if you go inside.”
“We’re capped at 137’ on 29% Nitrox so if it’s deeper we just abort.” AJ shrugged her shoulders like it was no big deal, but she knew the depth limit was serious. The concentration of extra oxygen being crammed into their system became poisonous at the limit depth for each Nitrox mix and it was critical not to exceed that depth. She caught Reg’s eye. He grinned and shook his head.
“Watch your computer, girl,” he said gently and looked over at Carlos. “Wanna take a look, Carlos?”
Carlos jumped up. “Seriously Reg?”
Reg laughed and stroked his beard. “Yeah, I’ll watch the boat. But don’t follow these two daredevils through the deep door, someone’s gotta have some no-deco time left to bail them out.” He looked over at Thomas. “I’m leaving you in charge Thomas – don’t let the girls do anything too crazy, alright?”
Thomas laughed. “No sir, mister Reg, I’ll keep a watch on them, no problem.” He looked over at his boss who was frowning back at him and he laughed again. “Don’t be givin’ me the stink eye there, Boss, I got my orders straight from the Big Boss man.”
AJ couldn’t keep a straight face and cracked up. “Glad you’ll have our backs, Thomas.” She looked at her dive watch. “Been up forty minutes, let’s give it a full ninety minutes on the surface interval to off-gas as much as possible.”
They all relaxed a little more, knowing they had some time, except Carlos, who was like a dog with two tails he was so excited.
Reg looked around at the scattering of dive and pleasure boats all at least a half mile from them. “Think we should be hanging out all afternoon over the wreck? We’ll take a little grief if DOE sees us here.”
AJ looked around too. “I thought about moving away while we were up but seeing how we hit that railing I reckon we were pretty damn lucky to get it first try. Don’t really want to have to try again. Might spend all afternoon trying to snag it.”
Reg nodded. “True enough.” He settled back in his seat and pulled his wide-brimmed hat down to cover his eyes from the sun that was lowering as the afternoon wore on.
“We could tie a line off the wreck like you did on the U-boat,” Thomas suggested. “Float a buoy at fifteen feet we could mark on the GPS.”
“Ain’t planning on coming back here, lad,” Reg muttered from under his hat. “Enjoy the next dive: should be your last on the Raptor; ain’t no point pushing our luck with the lady.”
AJ agreed, “Yeah, this is really cool to get to see her before she shoves over, but I don’t see us coming out again.”
AJ looked over at Thomas, who nodded, and she shifted her gaze to Hazel, who smiled. “Really appreciate you guys letting me do this dive with you,” Hazel said softly. “This is really special.”
AJ beamed back. “Glad you pushed me to do it.”
“I owe you all dinner,” Hazel said to the group. “You need to let me pay you back, at least in food and drink.”
“Not sure you’ll be allowed to buy,” Reg said from beneath his brim, “but if you want to join us tonight, we’ll be at the Fox and Hare for dinner.” He lifted his hat up a little. “It is Friday, isn’t it?”
AJ laughed. “Hell if I know.”
Thomas helped out. “Yup, Friday it is. I only know cos it’s pay day.” He grinned at AJ.
“Depends on how you behave next dive,” she retorted with a laugh.
Thomas burst out laughing in his infectious way. “Ohhh, sorry Big Boss man, mister Reg, I gotta side back with the lovely Miss Bailey cos she signs my pay cheque these days.” Thomas waved a hand at AJ. “Go ahead and check that door out all you’d like, just make sure you come back up to sign my cheque and all.”
Hazel looked around the group. “Pretty funny, the islander, the one that’s not supposed to care about the time of day, is the only one who knows what day of the week it is.”
AJ looked over at her with a chuckle. “That’s the thing about Thomas, he’ll make you think he’s a laid-back Caymanian without a worry in the world, and then you figure out he’s the one really running this operation; don’t let him fool you.”
Thomas busted up again. “Ohh, that’s the real deal? I don’t think so, Boss!”
Carlos stared around the group. “It’s gotta be time to get back in by now?”
Chapter 39
June 1974
Whitey clambered over the short railing around the bow of the SportCraft and sat precariously on the edge of the boat at an awkward angle with his air tank skewing him against the railing. At least he was above the anchor line and didn’t have to swim like a floundering cat along the side of the boat. Ainsley stood next to him with a mesh bag containing the lantern, the filter with rag-wrapped key, the tub of grease and the crowbar. Whitey dropped into the water with a heavy splash and immediately grabbed the rope. Ainsley reached over and handed him down the mesh bag of goodies.
“My brother’s going to be mad at me for losing his crowbar,” he reiterated, again.
“I’ll buy him another one. As I told you, twenty times already,” Whitey replied, taking the bag and making sure he had the top secured in his grip. “I don’t see how anyone can be so emotionally attached to a damn crowbar.”
Ainsley held his hands up. “You don’t know my brother, man.”
Whitey started to pull his mask down and paused for a second. “You sure it doesn’t have more to do with you never bringing back stuff you borrow. Is that it, Ainsley?”
The Caymanian looked down at him with his best insulted expression. Whitey laughed, finished pulling his mask over his face, popped his reg in his mouth and dropped under the surface.
The current hadn’t abated any and Whitey was pulled against the crook of his arm wrapped around the rope as he descended to the stern of the Raptor. He took a quick look at his pressure gauge which he realised he’d forgotten to do before leaving the boat. Fourteen hundred psi. He’d used more air than he’d anticipated getting back to the boat and chided himself for not switching tanks to be safe. For a second he contemplated going back up and changing his tank, but he was already halfway to the wreck and decided it would be a quick job to return the filter. In and out, slap some grease around, no problem.
He looked back down at the wreck looming large below him. It really was an impressive site. The fish had already fully embraced the addition to their reef and cruised the decks, hallways, and rooms as though they’d always lived there; which many of them had. Looking towards the bow angled upwards on the sloping sea floor, Whitey picked up the weaving movement of a solitary grey figure. He chuckled to himself, thinking of Ainsley: he couldn’t wait to tell him a shark was guarding the wreck this time.
Reaching the stern railing, which was more like a sheet metal low wall with drainage holes along its base, he glanced at the anchor to verify it was still well secured. One fluke was wedged through a drainage hole and with the strain the current was putting on the boat above no way was it coming loose. Whitey actually wondered if it would come free when they needed to leave. He pulled himself around the side of the cabin structure and wasted no time diving down to the door at the back of the hold. It was still wedged wide open where he’d left it. He fished the crowbar out and dropped it on the deck of the hold in front of the door then retrieved the lantern and shone the beam inside the engine room.
Kicking into the cramped space he moved quickly and efficiently to the top of the motor, wriggled into position and pulled the filter from the bag. Popping the lid off the grease tub he slathered the open side of the filter and exposed rag in large quantities of waterproof grease. Adding a little more to the mount threads and rubber seal around the outside edge he reached down and screwed the filter back i
n place, securing the safety deposit box key in the best hiding spot he could dream up. If someone stumbles across this, they deserve a couple of million dollars he thought. He picked up the strap wrench from the floor where he’d left it and threw it in the bag, deciding hand tight was good enough and should negate the need for the wrench next time. Whitey took a scoop full of grease from the tub and turned around, moving back to the door. He smeared grease on the door hinges and shoved as much as he could into the latch mechanism. Maybe he could stave off the corrosion for a while. He hoped he didn’t need to hide the key for long; if all went well, he’d be out of this mess within a month, two at most. He took one more look at the hinges and something barrelled into him from behind, shoving him against the door. He half turned as he caught himself and saw a large grey mass disappearing into the engine room. He swam back away from the doorway and took a few quick, deep breaths through his reg. Bugger me, he swore to himself, maybe Ainsley’s right about the bloody sharks.
Still inside the engine room was the filter wrench, his lantern, which he had left pointed at the filter, and the mesh bag. Peeking inside he could see flashes of grey as the reef shark circled the room, illuminated twice each lap by the open door and the lantern beam. He looked at his gauges. He was hanging around at 103 feet with 560 psi of air left. He needed to leave. If there’d been some training along the way on how to remove a shark from a room at a hundred feet under the sea, Whitey had missed it. He floated outside and stared at the predator cruising around the engine room like Jackie Stewart pacing the streets of Monaco. He was about to give up and leave when, as fast as he’d entered, the shark shot out the doorway, straight towards Whitey, who thought about leaping out the way, but the shark was in his face before he finished the thought. With a flash of razor teeth, the shark turned abruptly, inches from Whitey’s mask and swam away effortlessly, in complete disregard for the current that Whitey fought.
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