by K. T. Tomb
“Let’s do this,” Franco said.
Lisa and Harper stepped forward to lift the first diving suit from the transparent storage case. Franco stripped out of his street clothes, leaving him in the diving undergarments which they had changed into about an hour before while preparing for the dive. He pulled on the wet suit next. The thick elastic fabric pulled next to his skin, the sensation made him think of the thousands of times he had suited up for a dive up to this point. The Titanic had been a dream from the early days. What diver hasn’t wanted to see the famous ship of dreams? Franco thought to himself. His heart began to race as Lisa pulled the zipper tight to his body. Harper followed her lead, placing the oxygen tanks on Franco’s shoulders.
“This is where it gets interesting,” Harper said. “The TLV gel will begin to fill up after the face plate is lowered. Your instinct will be to hold your breath, but despite this, it is recommended to try to inhale as the gel covers your mouth and nose. You will experience a little bit of discomfort, but the sooner you transition, the easier it is in the long run.”
For the next twenty minutes, Lisa and Harper checked attachments, tested the tubing, locked zipper tags.
“You know what I think?” Nick said. “I think the captain’s gone batty.”
“What are you talking about?” Lisa asked.
“I think he’s been on the sea too long. It’s gone to his brain. Happens all the time, you know. Even on the Titanic. Reports say that the lookout crew in the crow’s nest didn’t see the iceberg until it was right in front of the ship. They had enough range to see at least a half an hour of distance ahead of them, giving them plenty of time to avoid any collision. Eyewitness accounts say it was a clear night, unusually bright that fateful day, April 15, 1912.”
“Oh, come on,” Lisa said. “A vessel that size would take some serious time to turn.”
“Not what you might think,” Harper said. “The ship was surprisingly maneuverable. They began to turn as soon as they saw the iceberg. Ironically, if they hadn’t turned... I mean, if they had hit the ‘berg head on, they would have had a much better chance of staying afloat, of surviving.”
“What do you mean?” Harper said as he tightened a strap on the oxygen tank.
“Well, when the ship turned, they thought they would miss the ‘berg because they turned as sharp as they could. But in doing so, they exposed the side of the ship. There was a jagged shard protruding from the iceberg underneath the water’s surface. That thing ripped into her like a can opener into a tin can!”
“That’s enough!” Franco snapped.
“They said she couldn’t be sunk,” Nick continued. “Called her the unsinkable ship, you know. It had been designed to take on water, to experience a breach of the hull, even to break apart into three pieces. But being hit along the side like that... no one could have predicted that. The kind of hit that took the Titanic down was a freak accident in every sense of the word. That kind of side impact iceberg hit hadn’t happened like that before or since in all of recorded maritime history.”
“What’s your point?” Franco said.
“No point, really,” Nick said. “I just find it fascinating. The ship is waiting for us.”
He reached his arms forward waiting for the Lisa and Nick to lift the suit out for him to step into.
“There are those who might think the captain could be on to something though. There’s also the theory about the curse.”
“Curse, really.” Harper interjected. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those types.”
“Doesn’t really matter what type I am,” Nick said. “The theory exists.”
Harper rolled his eyes and continued to adjust the suit. Lisa remained focused on her task as well, keeping her vision forward, seemingly ignoring the conversation.
Nick continued.
“They say the curse came from an ancient mummy that had been smuggled aboard in the cargo hold underneath a car. The owner of the mummy had already experienced a whole bunch of misfortune. Supposedly the owner had already tried to ship the sarcophagus twice before. Get this! Aboard the Empress of Ireland, then again on the Lusitania. He didn’t want to declare the item to the ship, so he strapped it to the underside of a Model T!”
“The Empress of Ireland and the Lusitania both sank,” Franco said.
“Yes, they did, my friend.” Nick concluded with a knowing nod. “Yes, they did.”
“As much as I’m enjoying all the chit chat,” Lisa interrupted while standing and brushing her hands together. “It’s time for the pre-dive instructions.”
Franco and Nick stood in the dive suits; gray, fitted wet suits fortified with specialized pressure-sensitive material. Bright orange trim traced alongside their forms which would allow them better visual with each other once under the surface. The cumbersome tanks on their backs looked heavy, but they knew would become manageable once they submerged. Their heads remained uncovered for the moment while they prepared for the pre-dive.
“The next step is to engage the TLV,” Harper explained. “Are there any questions before we begin?”
Franco spoke.
“How do the comm links work? How do we speak to each other if we are fully immersed in liquid?”
“Good question,” Harper said. “The helmet is fitted with a few sensor devices that will adhere to your neck with a light adhesive. Just speak as you would normally and the vibrations will transmit the communication to the other diver’s receiver. They will hear what you say relayed by the computer chip implanted in every suit. That is also the way you communicate with me here on deck. We’ll test the systems after we initiate the TLV.”
Franco nodded.
“I’m ready,” he said.
He glanced over at Nick, who was muttering something in Russian. Probably a pre-dive prayer as he had been known to do in the past. Franco took this as a good sign. When Nick was feeling religious, he also avoided using. Lisa sat down at the comm station and watched the screens showing the divers’ vital signs. Harper nodded to the divers. Nick and Franco lifted the dome shaped devices over their heads and waited while Harper checked the seal at their neckline. He attached their comm link devices, pressing the small sensor to the skin below the men’s throats. He checked the ventilation and then gave Lisa the thumbs up. The divers both gave another thumbs up to indicate readiness for the TLV process. Harper approached Franco first; he guided Franco to the edge of the ship next to the dive platform. Franco placed his hands on the edge of the rail and waited. Harper threw the switch on the back of the diver’s tank.
The transparent face plate inches in front of Franco allowed him a view of the blue surface of the ocean. He tried to focus on this expanse, willing his mind to ignore the liquid sound of the TLV gel beginning to fill his helmet. The cold against his skin did little to calm the tickle of panic gnawing at his lower spine. He took a breath, instinctively lifting his face as the gel filled past his chin.
Here it comes, he thought to himself. He had done this before, of course, but that did not make the experience any less unpleasant. The gel covered his nose, but had not yet reached his eyes; he remained focused on the distant haze of the horizon. Within seconds the transparent gel covered his eyes, which Franco closed upon contact. For an eternal moment, he allowed the feel of the gel on his face to consume him with a feeling of claustrophobia, knowing this would not be the worst of it. He counted inside his head. One. Two. Three. Opened his mouth and took a breath. Instantly, his body attempted to reject the feeling of drowning. He willed his hands to remain still, clutching the metal rail of the ship as the seconds passed. He wanted to scream and claw at the device around his head, but he remained still. He exhaled a bubble as the air left his lungs, being replaced with the liquid. He took another breath. This time he felt the oxygen enter his system and his normality began to regulate.
He opened his eyes. The presence of the transparent gel did not inhibit his vision in any way and his view of the horizon remained clear. He turned his head sl
ightly and gave the thumbs up to Harper and Lisa.
“Heart rate, normal.” Lisa said, acknowledging the thumbs up.
“Testing comm link,” Harper said.
“Comm link response, okay to go,” Franco’s voice emitted from the speaker of the console as he spoke his reply.
“Diver, okay to go?” Harper said, watching Franco.
“Okay to go,” Franco replied. “I am okay to go.”
Harper gave the signal and Franco flipped off the diving platform into the ocean. Immediately he felt the equilibrium of the sea embrace him. He submerged under the water and resurfaced, allowing himself to become oriented to the buoyant feeling of the water. He waited while, up on deck, Nick went through the same transformation that he had just undergone. The sky radiated a pale blue with the sun high overhead. The surface of the ocean had been calm, but small swelling waves lifted Franco up and down alongside the ship. Several moments passed before Nick flipped off of the platform next to him. Franco watched the face of his friend. Nick’s eyes looked wide and trembling. He glanced from side to side wildly.
“I don’t like this,” Nick said. “These waves are weird. We shouldn’t dive today.”
“Calm down, Nick,” Harper’s voice transmitted to both of them through the comm link. “Focus on the dive, and I’ll focus on the payout. By the end of the day, we are all going to be very rich men.”
Franco reached over in the water to Nick and put his hands around his shoulders.
“Nick, listen to me. You are one of the best divers I’ve ever worked with, if not the best. This dive will be the biggest of our lives so far. Think about what they told you in rehab. One day at a time, right?”
Nick took a breath.
“One day at a time.”
“Harper is right,” Franco continued. “By the end of the day, we are all going to be very, very rich.”
Harper’s voice came over the comm link.
“Lisa says his heart rate is still slightly elevated. Do we need to abort?”
Franco shook his head, with his hands still steadying Nick.
“No, Harper, we are okay to go. Aren’t we, Nick? Okay to go.”
Nick nodded at last.
“Okay to go.”
With one final glance to the horizon, and then back at each other, the two men finally plunged beneath the blue gray surface of the sea, leaving Harper and Lisa on board manning the communication station. Side by side, they flipped in the water and turned to kick away from the ship toward the dark depths awaiting them below.
Chapter Three
April 12th, 1912
The RMS Titanic, room 108
The rhythmic lulling of the Titanic awakened Darya.
She stretched and turned, feeling the cool cotton sheets against her skin in the large canopy bed of their first class cabin. Stephan smiled at her as he stepped out of the washroom with his shaving towel hanging loosely around his neck. Darya watched the man across the room; his sun-kissed blond hair hung just to his shoulders. The tight-fitting undershirt he wore accentuated the muscular build that he had acquired from a life of hard work. His tan arms involuntarily flexed as he tossed the towel aside and approached her lying in the bed. The two days they had spent on the Titanic had been tantamount to a honeymoon. They had not spent more than a moment apart and had spent little time enjoying much more than each other’s company and the view of the room.
“Darling,” Stephan said, settling along the edge of the bed to speak to Darya. “Do you think you will regret it, running away with me? If you had married Igor, you could have continued to live a life of aristocracy and carried on your family’s legacy.”
Darya laughed, propping her chin on her hands.
“If I were to marry Igor, I would have intentionally begun to drink, stop horseback riding or any other sort of exercise and let my looks and my waistline go as quickly as possible. He does not deserve a beautiful wife, so I would have done whatever I had to and become slovenly and no longer beautiful.”
“That, my dear, would take some doing,” Stephan said with a laugh.
“Besides,” Darya said, her mood softening. “I don’t love Igor. I love you.”
“I love you too, Dasha,” Stephan said. “Till the end of my life.”
“Till the end of my life,” Darya echoed.
Stephan got up and pulled the blankets off of her.
“Now get up, lazy bones! We’ve been stuck in this hovel since we set foot on the ship. Let’s get out and get some air on deck.”
***
June 17, 2014
Latitude 41° 43’ 57” North, longitude 49° 56’ 49” West
Nick and Franco descended into the depths. They had both fallen into a slow rhythm of straight body kicks to propel them through the dark water. The sunlight from the surface had dissipated the deeper they swam causing their surroundings to become increasingly dark. Shadows and illusions swirled around the two divers. Occasionally a sea creature, an eel or a school of fish would swim by, undulating their fins in the deep currents. The underwater particles reflected in the headlamps gave the appearance of falling forward through space.
“Let’s go over it again,” Nick said in the gloomy darkness.
“Room 108,” Franco replied, welcoming the conversation to alleviate the eerie atmosphere. “We are looking for a small ornate chest and a pouch of diamonds, once owned by one Darya Nikita.”
“Are the diamonds the pay off?” Nick asked. “Is he black market? What’s the story?”
“Oddly enough, no,” Franco continued. “Darya Nikita was Leo Matvei’s great aunt; that’s the man who commissioned the dive. Apparently, he wants the diamonds back to give to his granddaughter.”
“What?” Nick said. “He wants us to risk our lives collecting this parcel for him. Diamonds, even! The very currency of the black market, which have been retrieved from the most famous ship’s wreckage known to humanity, and he wants to give them to his granddaughter? Couldn’t he just have bought her a pony like every other rich grandfather?”
Franco laughed. Through the comm link, it sounded like a staccato echo.
“It’s nothing like that. Matvei explained to me that the diamonds were once part of his family’s legacy; a dowry given to the husband of the eldest daughter upon her marriage, a tradition on the maternal side. Each generation was to add their own diamond before passing the dowry to the next daughter. The diamonds were stolen by Darya Nikita. She was engaged to Igor Davidovich by her father’s insistence. According to the family lore, she ran away with a young peasant against her parent’s wishes. The last record of her is that she boarded the Titanic with the jewels. Of course, no one truly knows what happened next. She went down with the ship, and the diamonds went with her. But we do know that she stayed in Room 108, which is where we are headed once we find the wreckage.”
“Wow,” Nick said. “That’s intense.”
A large shadow passed through their head lamps causing them both to flinch.
“Did you see that?” Nick said.
“Of course,” Franco replied, keeping his voice steady.
“What was it?” Nick said.
His voice had risen with a slight timbre of anxiety.
“We are in the ocean,” Franco replied. “Going on a deep sea dive. It’s probably just a school of fish. If we don’t bother them, they won’t bother us. Stay focused Nick. I need you calm. I can’t do this dive alone. You know that.”
“I know, man,” Nick said. “I know. I just don’t feel good about it.”
Nick lapsed into a Russian prayer, muttering through the comm link. Franco did not mind this as long as it kept his partner quiet and focused.
“How are we doing, Harper?” Franco said, speaking to the station back on the support vessel.
“Not bad,” Harper replied. “About forty minutes in. Just over an hour and you should have visual on the target.”
“Acknowledged,” Franco said. “Hear that Nick? We’re about halfway down. This is
just a walk in the park.”
“Right,” Nick said. “A walk in the park.”
***
April 12, 1912
The RMS Titanic, First Class Deck
The sun shone down on the smooth wooden deck of the large ship where the couple walked arm in arm; Darya with a small white parasol balanced lightly on her shoulder as she smiled up at Stephan. Every once in a while, they would receive a curious glance from another passenger, as Stephan’s plain, working class clothing made him stand out from the others. As the couple only seemed to have eyes for each other, no one seemed to give them anything more than a passing glance. Darya had to admit that the sea air felt quite refreshing after spending the first few days mostly indoors. Her hair was tucked up into a loose bun, small tendrils of curls dancing in the light ocean breeze. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“This is beautiful, Stephan.” she said.
“Da,” he replied lapsing into the Russian language they were both fluent in since childhood. “You are the one who is beautiful, Dasha.”
A man nearby leaning against the rail, tall and well dressed, with a small mustache, turned toward them with a smile.
“Good afternoon, friend,” he said to Stephan, speaking with an obvious Russian lilt to his words. “I don’t mean to intrude, but it is rare to hear the language of my home country. Where are you from, good sir?”
Stephan glanced at Darya, who immediately stepped forward, pulling herself to full height. “What business do you have questioning my escort?”
The man raised his hands in apology and bowed his head to her.
“Of course, Madam, my apologies. The language simply caught me off guard. I meant no disrespect.”
Darya looked the tall stranger over. He had a friendliness to him which caused her to relax a bit despite her initial reaction. She still felt a residual concern that they had been followed, though she knew no one could have come onto the Titanic after them. She knew this in her mind, but her heart still palpitated at the idea that their freedom might be threatened, that they may be found out. The man extended his hand to her.