Rogue Wave

by Christopher Cartwright

  Tom hung his towel over the railing after resurfacing after making two dives. “Okay, I didn’t see anything to suggest that was man made.”

  “I never said I thought it was man made,” Sam replied. “No, the Bimini Road has been extensively studied by archeologists and recreational divers alike. There’s no doubt in my mind it was a natural, albeit strange rock formation.”

  “But you still think it was used to create rogue waves?”

  “I believe the ancient people who used this area to steal from shipswrecks noticed long ago the naturally unusual occurrence of waves as they passed through it.”

  “But we’ve been here for several hours now. I haven’t seen any rogue waves forming.”

  “No, but have a think about the kind of conditions might just do so.”

  “It would need larger swell. And coming from the north.”

  “And if that were the case, very few divers, either recreational or professional, would want to be anywhere near that wall. Even if it wasn’t creating rogue waves.”

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  The GPS course plotter placed the Maria Helena twenty miles due west of the Bimini Road. Superimposed on the digital map were three markings which represented the precise location of each of the cargo ships when they were struck by the rogue wave.

  Sam put his left hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “This is the place. Take us to a crawl and prepare to commence a circular search of the seabed.”

  Matthew carefully eased off the twin throttles. “Copy that.”

  The engine vibrations, felt through the steel flooring beneath their feet, ceased and the high pitched roar of the twin diesel engines settled to a dull murmur. Through the large windows on the bridge Sam could see the dark blue water reached the horizon in every direction. The swell was almost entirely flat.

  “It’s hard to believe that a place like this has recently sunk two massive cargo ships, caused another one enough damage to render her useful only as scrap metal, and obliterate the Mirabelle – a winner of the Roaring Forties Extreme Circumnavigation!” Sam said.

  Next to him, Matthew studied the long range radar and weather reports. The man was meticulous when it came to safety. His eyes then darted from one horizon to the next as though he were expecting a rogue wave to reach them at any moment.

  “You okay?” Sam asked.

  “Sure,” Matthew replied. “I don’t believe all this rubbish about a rogue wave killing people, but there’s no denying the evidence that something caused these vessels to sink. Whatever was responsible may still be around – and I don’t want to take chances with the Maria Helena and my crew.”

  “I understand.” Sam knew that his skipper wasn’t prone to superstition. He was merely being careful. More importantly, Sam realized that Matthew was giving him a warning. “First sign of trouble and we’re out of here.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The portside door to the bridge opened. It was Veyron. “The Multibeam Echo Sounder has been deployed. We’re ready to begin the search.”

  Sam took two steps to the right where Elise studied the computer aided Digital Terrain Model, which had started to take the first waves of images to build a 3D model of the seabed. “Thank you Veyron.”

  The multibeam echo sounders, like other sonar systems, transmit sound energy and analyze the return signal that has bounced off the seafloor or other objects. Multibeam sonars emit sound waves from directly beneath a ship's hull to produce fan-shaped coverage of the seafloor. These systems measure and record the time for the acoustic signal to travel from the transmitter to the seafloor and back to the receiver. Multibeam sonars produce a “swath” of soundings to ensure full coverage of an area. The coverage area on the seafloor is dependent on the depth of the water, typically two to four times the water depth.

  “Okay Matthew, let’s commence the circular search.” Sam looked at Elise.

  Matthew slowly pushed the twin throttles forward. “Setting the GPS plotted center and commencing circular runs. Are you happy with five knots?”

  “Yes.”

  Sam studied the 3D imaging of the seabed. It was a new addition to their advanced system of underwater surveying equipment. He was impressed at the quality of the images of over a hundred and twenty feet below the surface.

  The seabed was mostly flat and sandy. The shipwreck graveyard that Sam had hoped for certainly wasn’t beneath their keel. If his theory was correct regarding the Antiqui Nautae, this area of seafloor should be riddled with sunken vessels.

  The science of discovery beneath the sea was as much an art as it was a testament to a person’s patience. The tedious prospect of working hours upon hours for days and days, staring at nothing but a blank seabed threatened Sam.

  It was nearly two hours before they found their first shipwreck.

  The monster rose from the seafloor in two, almost identical one hundred and forty-foot-long sections of the hull, in a grotesque image of destruction. Superimposed on the otherwise barren sandy ocean floor the image of the vessel could be seen with such clarity that the ship’s name could be read, indented into the side of the hull – The Argonaut.

  Sam took a deep breath. “She was a cargo ship, mostly carrying small digital imports from China. Lost three weeks ago. There was no call for assistance by its crew. She simply disappeared. There was a search, but no one had heard from her since leaving China.”

  Tom stared at the hull. It looked more like it had been hit by a torpedo. “Now we know what happened.”

  “All right, let’s GPS mark the final location of the Argonaut. Her owners will want to know what happened to her,” Sam said.

  “Do you want me to make another circuit so you can get a better look at her?” Matthew asked.

  “No thank you.” Sam made a note on his navigational chart of the precise location of the Argonaut. “Let’s continue with the search grid. If I’m right, we should find some much older ships down here.”

  Matthew pushed the throttle halfway forward again. The Maria Helena picked up speed. “Copy that Sam.”

  By the end of daylight, the other two cargo vessels – the Tahila and the Arkansas – had been found, but no sign of any older shipwrecks were spotted.

  “That’s the end of the sunlight,” Matthew said. “We’ve covered a five-mile radius from the known location where the Tahila was struck. What do you want to do?”

  Sam studied the circular grid of area they’d surveyed. It was extensive. They’d covered a lot of ground. He then looked at the 3D mapping that Elise was working on. “We’ll continue through the night. Break into four hour shifts with teams of two. Right now all we have is my theory and the fact that something keeps sinking large cargo ships in the area. If we don’t work out what that is and stop it, shipping in the region is going to grind to a halt.”

  Tom looked at the navigational charts. “Where do you want to search? We’ve already covered any reasonable area close to the site of the rogue waves. What makes you so certain that we’ll find these 17th century shipwrecks?”

  “Because I just realized my calculations were so far off. The cargo ships were nearly three hundred feet long!”

  “Of course!” Veyron was the next to understand it. “At that size the ships would be dragged much further than the 17th century schooners and Man o’Wars.”

  “Meaning?” Tom asked.

  “The 17th century vessels will be further back towards the Bimini Road.”

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  The Maria Helena headed east again. The ground below became empty and the seabed devoid of all but natural sea life. It never ceased to amaze Sam that below the vast ocean laid an empty and monotonous world. Few changes in the sandy bottom were seen over a number of miles.

  And then the Swath began to highlight a manmade object. It was much smaller than the previous ones, almost as though most of it was already buried. Perhaps by four centuries of sand and debris.

  Then another one came into view.

  Fol
lowed by a third and fourth.

  “My God!” Matthew said reverently.

  “Gentlemen, I think we’ve just come across the hunting ground of the Antiqui Nautae.”

  A fifth shipwreck came into view. This one appeared much larger than the previous ships in the area. “Veyron, can we increase the clarity of that image?” Sam asked.

  Veyron ran tapped the keyboard and a grey wave crossed the monitor screen, increasing its clarity. By the third attempt the image became clear. “What do you think about that?”

  Tom sighed as the image came into clear view.

  In front of him stood the perfect outline of a British Man-O-War.

  “We’re going to need evidence of their age. If they were before the 17th century, then my theory holds true. If they’re more recent than that, then we’re back to believing in some sort of natural phenomena.” Sam grinned. “Do you guys want to keep watching the video, or shall we go dive the real thing?”

  Chapter Thirty

  The Maria Helena dropped her anchor in a hundred and forty feet of water. Now ten miles to the west of the Bimini Road she settled in the calm water and her anchor chain became lax in the still water. Below her keel were the watery graves of as many as a two dozen 17th century sailing ships.

  Today, the swell appeared almost nonexistent. The barometer read high. There was almost no wind whatsoever. Sam studied a series of synoptic charts. “It hardly seems like the sort of place where one expects to get killed by a rogue wave.”

  “No one ever expects to be killed by a rogue wave,” Matthew was quick to point out. “On that matter, if you are so certain that the Bimini Road is somehow inexplicably causing these events, is It wise that I anchor the Maria Helena here?”

  “I’ve left a series of data dots along the Bimini Road. If something happens and a rogue wave begins to form it will send an urgent message. Elise is currently keeping track of the data coming in and will notify you immediately.”

  “A lot of good that will do for us. We’re at anchor now. How long do you expect it to take me to up anchor and escape?” Matthew paused. Swallowed. “On that matter, where do you expect me to escape to?”

  “It’s likely to take as much as four minutes for the wave to reach us here,” Sam replied. “And my recommendation would be to head due south. It’s the fastest direction out of harm’s way.”

  Chapter Thirty One

  Sam stood at the side of the moon pool examining his full face dive mask. Built into the Maria Helena’s hull the moon pool looked more like something out of an old James Bond movie. Aside from looking cool, it served a much more useful purpose. It allowed their two submarines to be housed in a protective location, while having easy access to launch. A hyperbaric chamber stood in the aft section of the room – a solemn and constant reminder of the risks faced with deep sea diving.

  Veyron entered the room. His notepad at his side with dive calculations. “The seabed is approximately 140 feet below us. With twin tanks you should have a bottom time of forty minutes. I've left a pair of single tanks on the guideline at ten feet.” His eyes darted between both men. “But don’t let me catch you overstaying your visit. They’re there for safety, not so you can have those extra few minutes to enjoy the dive.”

  “Understood.” Both Sam and Tom murmured together. They were professional divers. Each one knew their own limit down to the last breath of air. Sometimes they had pushed that limit out of necessity, but neither would intentionally plan to do so.

  With twin dive tanks connected by a titanium manifold in front of him, Tom returned to setting up for the dive. “I bet I’ll find evidence of their age before you do.”

  “Oh yeah,” Sam replied. A confident and wry smile curling at his lips. “What are you betting?”

  Tom paused. “I’ll bet you a week’s vacation leave.”

  Sam calculated the weight required to maintain neutral buoyancy and then attached the belt firmly at his hips. “My father owns the company. I can have leave whenever I like!”

  “Sure you can.” His voice was sarcastic. “When was the last time you actually took a vacation?”

  Sam shrugged. “I enjoy my job.”

  “I do too, but I’ll take that week of leave off you at any rate. And just to settle the measure, I’ll throw in a beer at the end of this dive.”

  “It’s a deal.” Sam climbed the three steps and sat on the edge of the moon pool. “Are you ready to do this?”

  “Let’s go.”

  Sam placed his full-faced dive mask on and took a couple breaths to ensure that his regulator was working correctly. He then let himself fall forward and into the pool. Settling at the first marker, ten feet below the surface, he studied his dive computer.

  It read 300 bar in each of his tanks. This confirmed that they were full. He depressed his emergency octopus – the yellow regulator designed as a backup for a dive partner or if the primary becomes damaged. A large series of bubbles came out and made their way to the surface.

  “Everything’s working at my end. How you looking Tom?”

  “I’m good.”

  Sam kicked his fins a couple times and grabbed hold of the guide wire. Next to him were the twin tanks that Veyron had left them.

  “All right, let’s start our descent.”

  Chapter Thirty Two

  At a hundred and twenty feet Sam stopped their descent and stared at the mass grave of shipwrecks. He’d seen on the survey that there were at least a dozen ships within the area, but somehow it all appeared much more remarkable when you looked at it with your own eyes.

  “That’s quite a sight,” Tom said.

  Sam felt the hairs on his skin prickle in awe. It was a monument to just how weak mankind was in the ocean. “It sure is.”

  He scanned a number of them before deciding which one to swim towards. Some of them looked perfectly intact. The unique thing with saltwater is that it preserves wood. Despite lying there for more than four hundred years, some of the shipwrecks appeared as though they had only recently sunk.

  Some were on their side. A couple had their hulls broken in two – presumably when they were struck by a rogue wave. Others were half buried in sand. And then he spotted what he wanted.

  A British Man-O-War.

  She had sunk keel down and come to rest forever on top of a sandbar at a depth of 140 feet. The hull looked perfectly intact. All three masts remained upright, although her rigging had worn away long ago.

  “That one!” Sam pointed at her. “The British Man o’War. I have to see it. She looks impeccably intact.”

  They were staring at her starboard side.

  “I thought you might say that.”

  Sam had studied them extensively out of interest when he was at college. The Man o’War design developed by Sir John Hawkins, had three masts, each with three to four sails. The ship could be up to 180 feet long and could have up to 124 guns: four at the bow, eight at the stern, and 56 in each broadside. All these cannons required three gun decks to hold them, one more than any earlier ship. It had a maximum sailing speed of eight or nine knots.

  They swam toward it and descended another twenty feet. The ship was enormous. It was hard to believe that anything made of wood all those years ago could be so large and capable at sea. Sam slowly made a circle around the bow.

  A glance at the portside showed why she had sunk. A gaping hole of approximately twelve feet opened in her port bow. Sam pointed his powerful flashlight inside. A lone giant eel grinned back at him with razor sharp teeth, and then slithered away. “Shall we?”

  Tom placed his hand on the edge of the broken hull and pulled. The wood didn’t move an inch. Despite centuries laying at the bottom of the sea, her wood had maintained its strength. He then checked his own dive computer and replied, “Sure. We’ve got another twenty-five minutes at this depth. Let’s not go too far.”

  “Agreed.”

  Sam tied the end of his florescent guidewire spool to the entrance. And then entered the giant crack i
n the side of the hull – disappearing inside.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Sam followed the opening until it reached the second cannon bay. It was a shallow level, no more than four foot in height from floor to ceiling. The cannons were still there, as though they were still waiting to fire.

  He quickly passed the second cannon bay and dropped to the third. He swam quickly. He’d already chosen his destination.

  “Where are you headed so fast?” Tom asked.

  “The aft hold.”

  “What did they store in the aft hold?”

  “The ship’s gold.” Sam said it like a kid exploring buried treasure.

  “I thought you wanted to date the ship, not loot it?”

  “We can do both, can’t we?”

  He descended to the sixth floor. And followed it as far back as he could. A solid hatch barred their way. Sam looked around for something heavy. A single cannonball had rolled down into the room behind him. He turned around and reached for it. The increased weight wreaked havoc on his buoyancy, and he carefully adjusted his BCD to compensate.

  Sam returned to the hatch. He slowly swung the old cannonball at it. The hatch obliterated on impact.

  The silt had stirred and visibility was less than a couple feet. Sam entered the room feeling with his hands for any obstructions. They found something solid and he stopped to see what it was.

  “Tom, I found the treasure chest.”

  Tom swam in from behind him. “Thanks for kicking up all the silt.”

  There was no way he would be able to remove it. Sam had to open it. He shoved his dive knife into the side of the lock. It broke immediately. He then pried it open with his bare hands.

  Behind him, Tom shined his flashlight directly on the old treasure chest.

  It was empty.