‘Sandro, my computer says we are at seventy-three metres, not close to ninety metres as expected. What does yours say?’ asked Jack.
‘The same, seventy-three metres,’ replied Sandro. ‘It’s odd that the chart was inaccurate but we will have more bottom time. It means we will need to revise the ascent and decompression stops,’ he added.
Jack and Sandro had planned the search pattern last night. Sandro unclipped a large reel and released the large metal screw that was attached. It looked like a large corkscrew that he twisted into the sand and silt next to the weight and shot line. This would be the central point of the search.
‘What do you think, ten and fifteen metres?’ asked Jack.
‘That sounds about right. The viz is certainly not much more than fifteen metres so a spiral search with one of us at ten metres and the other at fifteen metres will give us good coverage of the site,’ replied Sandro.
Sandro pulled out the line from the reel and Jack grasped the knot that had been formed at ten metres. Sandro then pulled out more line until the fifteen metre knot came into view. It was then just a question of finning away until the line was taut, screwing another marker in the seabed at that point, and starting on the first spiral.
It didn’t take long to return to their marker, extend the search by another fifteen metres and repeat the process. They finned in the opposite direction so as not to wrap line around the weight and shot line. It wasn’t dark but they used their torches to scan the area before them. They were both keeping one eye on their dive computers as they hovered a few metres above the seabed.
Both Jack and Sandro knew this was a painstaking job, but a vital part of the process. They finned around and around, wider and wider, as they extended the search.
‘Sandro,’ said Jack. ‘We have had ten minutes of bottom time and have about the same left. Have you noticed how the current seems to be getting stronger?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ replied Sandro. ‘At first I thought it was just wearing the drysuit and towing all this kit around. All the extra kit makes it much harder but you are right, the current is increasing.’
‘The information on tidal flow through this area showed little or no current but I sense it’s getting stronger,’ said Jack.
‘We’ve completed the search of a whole section where one would expect the cruiser to be, but nothing is in sight. There is no sign of a boat hitting the seabed, no debris field, nothing,’ said Sandro. ‘The current is definitely increasing and if it gets stronger it’s going to be difficult, if not impossible, to maintain our search.’
Screwing another marker in the seabed Sandro announced,
‘I’m thinking of one more spiral and if we don’t spot the cruiser we start heading back up. We may have to come back tomorrow and reposition the shot line further down the possible track of the wreck to the bottom.’
They started to fin along the final band of their spiral search and it was noticeable how the current was increasing. They returned to the marker that Sandro had screwed into the sand and he began to reel in the line as they headed back towards the shot line. Sandro collected the markers he had screwed into the seabed.
‘What the hell!’ exclaimed Jack. ‘Look at this.’
A few metres ahead of them Jack could see the weight and shot line. The shot line should have been taut and held in place by the weight, but it was slack. They could both see it changing shape as it floated upwards as the current caught it.
‘I’ll send up a Surface Marker Buoy, an SMB,’ said Jack. ‘At least Gino will know where we are and that we are starting to come up,’ he added.
Jack squirted air from one of his spare tanks into the neck of the SMB and it shot to the surface like a missile. Jack simply held onto the reel and let the line play out until it hit the surface and the line went slack.
‘We will need to angle into the current as we ascend, otherwise we will surface miles away from the boat,’ explained Jack.
Keeping a careful eye on the rate of ascent gauge they slowly finned towards the surface and made their first decompression stop at forty metres. Grey was gradually becoming blue but with no reference point they had to concentrate on finning upwards and at an angle. Every few metres on their ascent they had to pause for a few minutes as they followed the decompression sequence. It was like flying on instruments but harder work! Their last stop was just a few metres from the surface but even though the viz was good they couldn’t see the hull of a cruiser.
Jack reeled in the last of the line as he made his way to the surface. The current had certainly seemed stronger as they got shallower and Jack felt he was battling against it. On the surface Jack could see a change in the water. The smooth surface was now rippled as though blown by the wind or driven by the tide.
They had surfaced together, inflated their drysuits and gently spun around in the water to search the immediate area. There was no sign of the boat!
‘The local almanac indicated there was little or no current in this area, but this is significant and it’s getting stronger and stronger all the time. Just look at the surface and we are about one hour into the change of tide. It’s starting to look like a rip-tide!’ observed Jack.
No sooner had he said it when he realised Sandro was being pulled away from him. Jack reached up to his chest and disconnected a short scuba strap. He threaded one end through a shackle on his jacket and clipped the other end to Sandro.
‘Well, if we end up in North Africa at least we will arrive together,’ he said in gallows humour.
‘I can’t understand how this could be so,’ said Sandro. ‘We checked the chart, the position at which the cruiser sank and had it confirmed by the harbour master. We checked the currents and depths. Jack, are you sure you tied the line to the buoy securely?’ asked Sandro.
‘Of course, that knot wouldn’t have come undone. The other thing is that they have GPS. They would soon spot if they were drifting off station. They would check the line was secure, and if not hover over the position where the weight was dropped.’
‘Unless there’s another explanation,’ offered Sandro. ‘What if we are nowhere near where we think we are? Did you check the GPS before we got into the water? I certainly didn’t.’
‘What are you thinking?’ asked Jack with apprehension in his tone.
‘What if the amiable Gino motored somewhere else? What if he allowed us to enter the water where there was no wreck of a cruiser below? What if we are not in a benign stretch of water but in some passage that flushes water between the island? Probably a place sane people avoid?’
A cold shiver spread over Jack’s body.
‘I didn’t mention it at the time but when I dropped the shot line I reckon there was plenty of line left. It was more like seventy or eighty metres rather than ninety. On the search pattern we were finning at seventy-three metres!’ said Jack.
‘Will was drowned, we are blown up and could have died like the skipper and his young mate. Do you think someone is trying to get rid of us?’ Sandro asked.
‘It could all be bad luck and coincidence, but we have a problem. This drysuit will keep us reasonably warm for a while but not for ever. If we are in the water for a long time we are going to get cold. There should be no problem keeping afloat since we are clipped to all these tanks but in the dark, we are invisible. The white helmet is OK but will look like a white cap along with all the others,’ said Jack. ‘OK, if it’s a simple error, then Gino and the boat will be looking for us along the track of the current. If it is something else we better get organised.’
Jack reached into one of his drysuit pockets and pulled out a small square of orange plastic sheet. He opened the sheet, folded it in half and with his diving knife cut it into two pieces. He gave one to Sandro.
‘An instructor once told me a story about a diver that drifted miles from his dive boat. Apparently, he had an orange Sainsbury’s supermarket bag in a pocket. He made it into a hat, stuck it on his head, and it was the orange bag that the sea
rchers saw first. We can stretch this stuff over our helmets to increase our chance of being seen. If Gino or someone doesn’t arrive in the next few hours we are going to get cold!’ he added.
Sandro glanced at his dive computer to check the seawater temperature.
‘The surface water is at twenty-two degrees centigrade,’ he said. ‘I’ve been in much colder water, but not for hours!’ he added.
After the initial shock of surfacing to find they were alone, they began regular scans of the horizon, hoping that any moment the cruiser would appear. But it didn’t.
‘We are really clicking along in this current,’ said Sandro. ‘It’s almost like a riptide and we aren’t into the fastest part of the tide yet. With another couple of hours at this speed of drift we could be miles into the Adriatic!’
They had dropped into silence as the hours passed and nothing could be seen on the horizon. It started to get dark.
‘In this twilight we are not going to be seen. I suggest that we use one of the torches to illuminate the SMB, five minutes on, five minutes off. Both are fairly well charged and once it’s dark the orange SMB should be seen for miles.’
It only took a few minutes to strap the torch to the SMB so that the light was pointing almost directly up the tube. Checking the time to switch the torch off and then back on gave them something to do. They also forced themselves to keep talking about anything that would keep then alert. They talked about the voyage back to Liverpool and the task of reviewing the tenders that Lesley was assembling for them. They talked about getting an update from Dan Harvey about progress with the American and Spanish authorities contesting their salvage claim.
Jack knew that hour by hour their bodies were getting colder and closing down. His feet and toes were now so cold he couldn’t feel them. He had inflated his drysuit with air in an attempt to improve its insulation properties but he was struggling to switch the torch on and off because his fingers were getting cold.
Jack forced the conversation. He even spoke of his growing attraction to Penny and wondered where it may lead. It was only when Sandro failed to respond to a question that he realised Sandro had gone to sleep. Jack reached across and shook him by the shoulders, shouting at him. He mumbled something in Italian.
‘Sandro, Sandro, wake up. You mustn’t go to sleep now,’ he shouted.
‘I’m cold,’ replied Sandro in a murmur that Jack could hardly hear.
Chapter 27
Divers missing
They should have been back hours ago and Kev was getting concerned. He had rechecked the charts, the times of the tide and guessed that they would have put in either one long dive or two short dives between late morning and late afternoon. At ninety metres they would only have seventeen minutes’ bottom time and one and a quarter hours’ total dive time. The current was negligible and nothing to worry about. ‘So, where are you?’ he asked himself?
At the risk of being call a fuss-arse Kev swiped his phone and called the mobile number on the card Gino had given Sandro. The automatic message told him the number had not been recognised. He dialled it again with the same result. Although it was now past office hours he dialled the number of the haulage company. The same automatic message said the number had not been recognised! Kev closed the phone and walked over to the laptop, booted it up and typed in the website address from the card. The web site was unavailable. Kev grabbed his jacket and walked quickly to the engine room – Shaun and Patrick were still there.
‘Shaun, Patrick, something isn’t right,’ announced Kev. ‘Jack and Sandro should have been back hours ago. I’ve tried to phone the numbers from the business card they were given. None of them are recognized! I tried to get onto their website and, guess what, that’s not available either. I’m going to ask Marco if he will give me a lift to the company address in case I can find someone to talk to,’ he added as he turned to walk away. ‘I’ll give you a ring as soon as I know anything,’ he shouted as he disappeared along the deck.
It didn’t take long to rouse Marco and for them to be on their way. Marco admitted that he didn’t know this new area of the town.
‘It’s all part of the new development,’ he explained. ‘The city creeps away from the coast as it gets bigger,’ he said.
Because Marco didn’t know the actual haulage company he typed the address into the sat nav and let it take them. It didn’t take long. They were on the right street and both looking for signs of a company when the sat nav announced, ‘You have reached your destination.’ This wasn’t an industrial area, it was residential. Marco pulled the pickup to a halt and got out. The address he had was in a large block of apartments! He strolled towards a woman who was walking towards him. She had a shopping bag in one hand and a small child in the other. He spoke to her at length before returning to the pickup.
‘The woman says she has lived here for three years and has never heard of the haulage company,’ he said. ‘I think it may be time to ask for help,’ he added. ‘I think we should head for the police station,’ Marco suggested.
‘Let’s go,’ replied Kev. ‘I will bring the others up to date and check Jack and Sandro haven’t arrived whilst we have been away.’
The small freighter was continuing to crisscross the Adriatic Sea from its home port in Bari. Like many small ships they stopped wherever there was freight to carry or goods to drop off. Ideally the dispatcher would create the optimum route but often this was disregarded if a suitably paying pickup or delivery was required. They had dropped off pallets of car tyres and lubricating oil in Zadar, Croatia and were expecting to continue south to Dubrovnik. However, a last minute request for a transfer of goods had them crossing the Adriatic towards Pescara in Italy.
That night one of the engine crew was sitting on deck having a cigarette before starting his watch. He liked a few minutes alone before descending into the noisy engine room. He could feel the heat from the cigarette tip on his fingers and was about to have one more puff before throwing it over the side. The glow off the port side caught his attention, unusual he thought. He stood and moved to the rail and tried to focus on the glow. There was definitely something out there in the water. For something to be drifting, and glowing, this far out at sea was very odd. He couldn’t just dismiss the sighting because he was too experienced a sailor to do that. Instead he made a note of the general position and moved quickly up to the bridge to tell the helmsman.
The helmsman was good. He could coax the old tub into a berth with only centimetres to spare fore and aft. He took a note of the GPS coordinates, rang through for the skipper and then flung the ship into reverse. He killed the lights to allow any ‘spotters’ to acquire their night vision and gradually reversed to the spot where the glow in the water had been seen. The glow was still there, midships, about two hundred metres away. Then, without warning, a torch beam was pointed straight at them and flicked from side to side. There was someone in the water.
The captain ordered the helmsman to draw closer and for a deckhand to get ready with the loading lights. They weren’t searchlights with a narrow beam but rather broad spread lights designed to cast an even light over the deck, cargo bay and surrounding area. The deckhand was poised to hit the lights and bathe the whole scene in light. There was definitely something in the water. It looked like an orange fluorescent tube sticking out… between two bobbing heads.
‘There are men in the water,’ shouted the captain. ‘Lower the walkway alongside the hull and make the hoist ready,’ he commanded.
The crew member who had made the first sighting was crouched, shoes just centimetres above the water, on the steps of the walkway.
‘It looks like two pilots,’ he shouted as he reached out to grab one of them. ‘It looks like one of them is still alive,’ he added.
As he grabbed one of them and pulled he realised that they were lashed together.
‘The clip,’ croaked Jack. ‘You will need to release this clip,’ he repeated as he tried to unclip the tether that had held him and San
dro together.
With difficulty the seaman hung on to the walkway rail and disconnected the scuba strap. There seemed to be clips and straps everywhere.
‘It looks like they crash-landed a plane or parachuted into the sea,’ he shouted to those on board. ‘I can’t see the parachute but there’re wearing some sort of back pack or survival gear and have oxygen tanks attached to them. There’s a metal plate on his back, between his clothes and lifejacket. It must be part of his seat; I’ll slip the hook through it and you can hoist him on board.’
It had taken only minutes between the initial sighting and hoisting the first body on board. The hoist started to drag the body out of the sea. Suspended by the hook the body looked relaxed with both arms dangling and head drooping forwards. Seawater ran off the body, down the legs, off the two tanks clipped to the backplate… and off the tips of the fins. Jack raised a hand to acknowledge that he was OK. It suddenly dawned on everyone watching that it wasn’t a pilot but a diver they had rescued. The skilled winchman whisked the body up and over the rail to the waiting men on deck. They may not be able to differentiate between a pilot and a diver but they knew how to respond to men who had been in the water for hours. Even as the second body was being recovered the men, with only a little help from Jack, were working out how to remove the helmet, unclip the various releases and undo the heavy zip of the drysuit. One of the deck hands had seen a drysuit before and explained how the person’s head would need to be pulled through the tight neck cuff before the whole suit could be taken off. Jack was recovering quickly and with their help pulled the neck cuff over his head and started to wriggle out of the suit. The men who were helping were surprised that the body was dry rather than wet. But they could feel the body was cold; his hands were freezing.
Missing Presumed Lost Page 16
