“It’s as easy as that mate,” he looked at his friend and smiled warmly. “Stay thirty to fifty feet behind my bubbles. Remember they’ll disappear for a bit when I’m inside the wreck, so again, just idle in place until you see them again, and Bob’s your uncle, I’ll be back up before you know it.”
Ainsley passed Whitey his fins and whispered, “Be careful man, but please hurry back, I don’t like this guy.”
Whitey put a hand on Ainsley’s shoulder while he slipped the Voits on his feet. “Be back in ten or fifteen minutes, don’t worry about a thing, my friend, Whitey’s gonna sort all this out.”
“Get on with it!” Gabriel shouted from his seat.
Whitey pulled his mask down over his eyes, glanced at Ainsley’s terrified face one more time, gave his friend a wink, and stepped off the back of the boat into the water.
Chapter 64
November 2019
AJ pulled herself down the anchor line, hand over hand, as the wreck of the Raptor came into view. They’d snagged the railing on the port side, but she could see as she descended that it was on the heavily corroded top rail. In fact, the top rail either side of the one they’d caught was rusted through and incomplete, just stubs of rotten steel protruding from either side of the posts. There was no way to move the hook with the strain of the current constantly pulling, so all she could do was pray the railing would hold for the next ten minutes or so.
As they had done in the past, she left the line halfway down, around fifty feet, and drifted while descending to the rear of the cargo hold. Schools of fish parted and swirled away from her as she glided in, careful not to drop the tools, and in short order she arrived at the base of the cabins. Without pausing, AJ continued down to the open door, and for the third time in a few days she entered the Raptor’s engine room. One hundred and thirty feet below the surface.
Her torch beam sprayed around the dark, shadowy engine room. She shimmied on top of the engine’s valve cover and tried pulling herself across without dropping either her light or the tools. Without a free hand to use, she squirmed around helplessly and finally dropped back off the motor to regroup. AJ realised she was breathing heavier than normal, even for the extreme depth, and her heart rate was pounding. She needed to relax and think this through: she couldn’t help herself, or Hazel, if she let herself become flustered and allowed nerves to get the better of her. She took a few long, easy, calming breaths, felt her heart rate slow, and some of the anxiety dissipated with it. Okay, fins, she thought and reached down to slip both fins off, leaving them just inside the door. Next, she shone the light over the motor to get her bearings, then switched it off and clipped it back onto her BCD. Blind in the almost pitch black, she slid back on top of the diesel engine, and used her free hand to pull herself over towards the port side where she knew the filter resided. When she ran into a blockade of cables and lines, she retrieved the light and turned it back on. Two feet in front of her a pair of big eyes stared back and she recoiled, banging her head on something hard overhead. Her mask was knocked askew and immediately flooded, returning her to illuminated blindness, and she clamoured to get her mask resealed. Her right hand smashed into more lines and she dropped the tools as her left hand reached the mask and she fumbled to get it righted. Purging the water from the mask, by exhaling through her nose while cracking the seal at the top of the mask, she finally regained her vision and fortunately still had the torch dangling from its tether around her wrist.
“I’m gonna grill that damn grouper,” she thought to herself, once more breathing deeply to get her heart rate in check. The eyes had gone somewhere else, likely even more frightened than she had been. AJ shone the beam down and spotted the tools; they were on the floor, not far from where she needed to be to work on the filter. She slid over the edge of the motor and pulled her legs tightly under her until she was squatting in the cramped space, pinned in by various components in a waft of silt and debris. She considered checking her dive computer but decided not to waste the precious seconds. What did it matter? Go into deco? Run out of breathing gas? Nothing mattered except getting into the filter. All other scenarios meant death, the cause of her demise just varied. She reached for the saw and lined it up across the middle of the cylinder of the filter. Her knees were awkwardly in her way and she tried to shift to give herself a better angle. She pushed the saw across the surface and pulled it back while applying downward pressure. The blade slid helplessly around without gaining purchase enough to start cutting. She looked around for a spot to place the light to free up her other hand. Not seeing anything workable she lined the saw back up then dropped the torch to hang from its tether and blindly placed her left hand around the filter next to the saw blade as a guide. She carefully drew back then pushed forward hard on the saw handle and felt the blade shaving metal from the filter. She worked the saw back and forth and could feel the teeth stripping grains of the old metal away until it snagged on something and hung up. AJ gathered her light back up and shone it on the filter to see what the problem was. The blade had caught a cloth of some sort and shreds of fabric poked through the saw cut that was now a quarter of the way through the cylinder.
AJ felt a wave of relief and joy surge through her at the sight of the rag. Maybe the old Frenchman’s story was at least true. She’d held a nagging concern in the back of her mind that everyone was chasing a crazy man’s imagined fairy tale and there was no key. The rag surely meant he was telling the truth. She moved the blade around the cylinder as best she could so it was cutting more surface area of the filter, hoping to avoid snagging the rag. It was slow and frustrating; every few strokes the cloth would snag again, and she’d have to pull the blade out and start over. After several minutes, she’d cut around three quarters of the cylinder and traded the saw for the big screwdriver. Pushing the shaft of the screwdriver through the cut, she tried prying the cylinder apart to open the gap. The sheet metal of the filter buckled where the screwdriver pushed against it and mangled around it rather than opening the gap. AJ bashed at the cylinder in frustration which dented the top down on the outer side of her saw cut. She shone the light and could see the rag inside. She bashed it a few more times until the handle slipped and her hand ripped across the jagged metal and she yelped into her regulator. Blood drifted in smoky grey wafts from the wound in her hand and she winced as the saltwater stung like hell. She drew a deep breath and bashed madly at the filter, ignoring the searing pain in her hand. Checking with her torch, she could see the twisted body of the filter had the rag now hanging out enough that she could pull it free. She yanked at it to wrench it clear of the sharp edges. The greasy rag floated free in her hand. She grabbed it with her other hand, checking for the key inside, the torch once again swinging from her wrist. Nothing. The rag was empty. This couldn’t be. Everything the old man had said had been true until now. Had someone else removed the key? Her hand throbbed and the weight of the failure folded over her like a heavy blanket smothering the life from her body. And Hazel’s. At this depth the nitrogen assaulting her system with every breath made her thinking heavy and confused. She fought the urge to panic as sheer disappointment and frustration threatened to overwhelm her.
She feebly retrieved the torch into her left hand and looked for where she’d dropped the screwdriver, scanning what she could see of the floor around her. When she shuffled to see better, she felt the weight of the tool move in her lap, cradled between her thighs and her stomach where she was doubled over. She looked down and saw the screwdriver lying in the folds of her wetsuit. Next to it was an odd-looking silver key.
Chapter 65
July 1974
As Whitey watched the cuddy cabin disappearing to the depths, his last words to Ainsley echoed around his head. “Don’t worry about a thing my friend, Whitey’s gonna sort all this out.” Damn it, he thought, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. He kicked hard against the current and ascended as fast as he dared, trying to stay over the wreck as he went up. All the way to the surface h
e swore at himself for the mistakes and foolish decisions he’d made that had led to this point. This point, at which he was now sure, he’d got Ainsley, his best friend, killed. How things had gone down he could only surmise, but his best guess was that Gabriel had decided to deal with one man rather than two, and had shot Ainsley on the boat. Probably also shot a hole in the fibreglass hull which would have splintered and sunk the SportCraft. He knew he’d never know, but as his head broke the surface, what he did know was he was adrift, a long way from shore without a single boat in sight.
He could hear a voice and he scanned the water around him as the gentle swell rose and fell. A hundred yards west of him he spotted arms flailing and water splashing. Gabriel Cavero was spluttering and thrashing but Whitey could just make out a few words.
“Help me! Whitey! Keep… money... it all, save..! You know I can’t..!”
Whitey had only a few seconds to decide what his next move should be. Drift on the surface and hope a boat would spot him before he was too far from the island, or dive back down and try to make shore underwater. Not for a single moment did he consider helping Gabriel. If he was closer, he wouldn’t have helped him, or held him under. Whitey hoped the man took a long, terrifying time to drown. Ainsley was the best friend Whitey had ever had, a beautiful soul that had never hurt anyone. Whitey’s rage was torn between himself for getting them into this mess that cost Ainsley his precious life, and Gabriel, for being the man who pulled the trigger. He really hoped it took a while for that piece of shit to finally go under.
He put the regulator back in his mouth and ducked under the water, finning as hard as he could towards the wreck, hoping he could stay over it. He had plenty of air left in his tank as the dive had been brief, but shore was a long way off. If he could hug the bottom, he’d hide from the worst of the current, but that meant deeper where he’d use more of his air. He used Navy tables as a guide for the safe dive time at different depths, but they were on the boat heading to the bottom, and it wouldn’t matter at this point anyway. He was in a race that involved the distance to shore, versus air in his tank, handicapped by the current he fought.
Whitey reached the lee of the superstructure at 70’ and quickly tried to recover his breathing after the effort. He moved to the port side, which was slightly more sheltered, but knew he had to go deeper to stay in the cover of the wreck, once he cleared the cabins. He kicked down to the railing and pulled himself along the side of the Raptor. When he came to the hold, he looked down at the doorway to the engine room and stopped. He wanted to return the key to the filter. He couldn’t decide why on earth he’d want, or need, to do that, but something inside him was urging him to do so. Knowing he was probably burning through the air that may save his life and get him to shore, he kicked swiftly down to the doorway.
When Whitey finished and squeezed back out the door, he looked at his pressure gauge. He’d now used two thirds of his air supply and was no closer to the safety of the beach. He felt a calm wash over him as he finned across the hold to the bow, staying just inside the hold and clear of the current. His fate was sealed now, there was no way he could reach the safety of shore with the air left in his tank – it was probably half a mile away. That was okay, he decided. He’d created this catastrophe that had taken his best friend’s life, it didn’t seem right for him to be the only survivor. When he ran out of air, he’d simply let the current take him and he’d be pulled off the island to join Ainsley. Until that moment he’d keep heading towards the shore; it gave him something to focus on.
His mind drifted to Isabella as he cleared the bow and dropped back down to the steeply sloping sea floor. Finally, he’d found his soulmate, and now she’d be left wondering what ever happened to him. The pain he’d put her through, the not knowing what had happened and why he disappeared. He’d managed to hurt everyone he cared about. As Whitey thought about the previous night, he reached the shallower reef where the slope lessened at forty feet. He could feel her still in his arms. The beautiful evening they’d shared at Smith’s Cove. Watching her drift to sleep in his arms at the Royal Palms. Waking to the morning sun lighting her pretty face while she continued sleeping, her long black hair falling around her pillow. He wanted to wake her, to hear her words, to see her green eyes shine, to hold her close one more time. He’d quietly left her that morning, peacefully sleeping, and asked the front desk to call the room at 8.30am so she wouldn’t be late for work. He wished now he’d woken her. He’d give anything for one more minute with the woman. To explain how sorry he was for screwing everything up. To tell her he loved her. For the first time in his life he felt that, and now he was leaving this world without telling her.
Whitey felt his breath become heavier through his regulator and on the next inhalation the diaphragm clunked closed; no more air came. He closed his eyes and relaxed his body, letting the current lift him gently and pull him away from the reef. Away from the shore. Away from life. Probably best, he thought, not to have told her. Would only have added to the burden he was leaving her with.
Chapter 66
November 2019
AJ scrambled over the motor, leaving both tools behind, and lunged for her fins. Bowling through the doorway she pushed off the floor of the cargo hold and began ascending while she reached down and slipped one fin on, then the other. Angling towards the bow she kicked hard and set a trajectory for the anchor line, racing depth against current to reach it before being swept away. She clawed at the water with full sweeps of her arms and long-legged kicks; diving etiquette be damned – she needed speed. She glanced at her dive computer as her arm swept by and the flashing screen was enough to tell her she was in deco and needed to get shallower fast. Air wasn’t an issue, she knew she had plenty in the tank, it was the massive overdose of nitrogen molecules crammed into her tissues while she was at depth that threatened her life. Currently. She reached the line, still at 80’ and hauled herself up, pushing the very limit of a safe ascent. At 60’ she finally took a proper look at her dive computer that flashed an ‘up’ facing arrow with ‘30 feet’ over it. She did as directed, and didn’t pause until she levelled off at the target depth, where it began a three-minute countdown.
AJ checked inside her BCD pocket and felt the key; it was still where she’d stowed it. She calmed her breathing after the effort of hard swimming, and weighed her situation as she hung on the anchor line. The rope fluttered and whipped around under the strain of the raging current. If she popped up and presented the key, Junior was likely to shoot Hazel and force AJ to pilot him to shore, where she’d receive the same fate. If she said she didn’t have the key, he’d almost certainly do the same anyway. She wondered where Reg was and if he’d raised an alarm, or was coming out to see what they were up to. She looked up at the surface and could clearly see her RIB boat, alone in the water. Whatever he was doing, he wasn’t out here yet. The line tugged so hard in her hand she flailed around like a rag doll and was glad when it settled down so she could check her computer to make sure her depth wasn’t changing too much. It showed 25’ and she looked up and noticed the boat was farther ahead than it had been, she was trailing it, which explained her rising some in the water. But how could that be? She looked down and saw the grappling hook swinging freely at the bottom of the line, and the railing it had been attached to, now broken away from the post and disappearing behind her as the current took her, and the boat, away.
Her dive computer ticked off the last of the three-minute countdown and showed the ‘up’ arrow again and ‘15 feet’. The line was no longer taut against the wreck; it had only the weight of AJ and the hook below to keep it submerged, so it trailed the boat in a long arc. She pulled herself up the line to fifteen feet where her dive computer indicated she should remain for six minutes. AJ wondered what could possibly be taking place on the boat right now. Hazel would have realised the boat was adrift, and almost certainly would have seen the exhausted bubbles from AJ’s regulator making circular patterns on the surface. But she was sure Ju
nior was scared of the water and avoided boats whenever he could. His fancy yacht outfit probably came from a store at the airport in Miami when he connected to fly here from wherever he’s been hiding for over forty years. He undoubtedly wouldn’t believe Hazel as she’d try to explain that the hook must have come free, and that AJ was still in the water hanging on the line. He wouldn’t understand or care about ‘nitrogen loading’ or ‘off-gassing’, she just hoped he’d be curious enough to wait until AJ was back aboard to see if she had recovered the key. All this bought time, and time was what they needed for help to arrive. She checked her computer: four minutes left. How did this Junior guy, apparently the son of the man that went missing in 1974, know that Hazel was here? Or that she knew about the key? If his father went missing, how would his son know about the key? She could only assume the Frenchman must have told more people than just Hazel. Who the hell was this mysterious old man who held this secret for so long? AJ kneaded and rolled these thoughts around in her mind, trying to find an angle that added up and, more importantly, would help her talk their way out of this when she surfaced. Her computer was showing under a minute so it was almost time to surface. She could stay down longer but surely Junior was pulling his hair out in the boat and she was sure he’d panic and take it out on Hazel. The clock ran down and she eased up the line with what she felt was a lousy plan. With anything better evading her, she settled on lousy over the other terrible options, and surfaced quietly at the bow of the boat.
“You’re a liar, just like him!” Junior was screaming as AJ’s ears cleared the water. “Tell me where he is, or believe me, you’ll beg to die I’ll make you hurt so badly.”
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