by John Blaine
Rick tapped Dick on the shoulder and continued down, Dick and Scotty beside him. He payed out line until he felt the 150-foot loop, then stopped. Scotty hung the spare tank in the loop by passing the regulator through it. Dick Antell gripped the line to hold himself in position. Rick looked up. He could just barely see Jan as a dim silhouette. She couldn’t see Dick, but she would be able to hear his summons if he banged on his tank.
Rick and Scotty followed the anchor line into the depths. It was silent, except for the sigh of the regulator and the sound of bubbles as the boys breathed, and it was getting darker. Rick knew their eyes were adjusting to the diminishing light, but it would still be pretty dim at 200 feet.
Scotty tapped him on the arm and pointed. Rick turned his head and saw the tower of the drill rig, a latticework of steel from which pipe was suspended when the drill was operating. The tower was canted about 15 feet from the vertical at the top. That meant the entire rig was at a slight angle on the ocean floor.
As they continued down, Rick saw the deck of the big rig, a geometric blackness in the darkening water.
They swam down to it, reversed themselves, and stood on the deck. It was always a thrill to Rick to land on a structure under the sea, and he felt it now. This was the huge object they had watched in the eye of the hurricane. He looked at the luminous dial of his watch and noted the time, then at the depth gauge.
They were a couple of feet short of the 200-foot mark.
The anchor was hooked under racked sections of drill pipe. He freed it and moved it into a clear space so it could be hauled up without catching, then untied the buoy line from his belt and secured it to the pipe rack. He was vaguely aware of a distant sound, like the purr of a motor.Must be company overhead.
They’d have to keep eyes open on the way up if another boat was in the vicinity.
With Scotty at his side, he began swimming toward the looming bulk of a deckhouse at one side of the platform, then stopped suddenly. There was a sharp clang, then a series of them! One of the three divers above was banging for attention!
Rick and Scotty shot upward, following the buoy line. They could move rapidly to where Dick Antell was waiting, then they’d have to slow down. Rick peered upward through the blue-green gloom. Were the girls all right? Which one was banging? He didn’t think it was Dick. The sound wasn’t loud enough.
They reached the pilot, and Rick clapped him on the shoulder and jerked his thumb upward. Dick nodded and made his fins move. He shot upward, away from the two boys. Scotty disengaged the spare tank, and he and Rick followed more slowly.
Rick estimated quickly, looking at his watch. They hadn’t been down more than three minutes. Hurrying Page 32
a little more wouldn’t hurt if they were careful to exhale fully. He speeded up a bit and saw that Scotty was keeping pace.
What had happened? Ahead, he saw Dick reach Jan, saw the two of them move upward toward Barby.
It was his sister who had called for attention and help, then.
At that moment a flash in the water caught his eye from the corner of his mask. He whirled, and was in time to see the faint gleam of light on chrome. Their outboard motor, whirling because a big piece of wood was still attached to it, revolved downward into the depths. The board was the scow’s transom.
Rick stared upward, not believing it. Their boat had been wrecked!
CHAPTER VIII
Hit-and-Run?
Dick and the girls were waiting at the 50-foot level when the boys arrived. Rick looked into his sister’s face mask anxiously. She winked, realizing that he was worried, took his hand in hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He breathed more easily.
At Rick’s signal, the five swam up to the 20-foot level, first decompression stop for the boys. While Rick timed the one-minute wait, Barby made gestures. One of her gloved hands represented the scow.
The other hand became a boat that smashed into the scow, backed off, veered, then kept going. Barby held both hands out, palms up, in the query signal. She shrugged expressively.
A boat had run down their scow, and Barby couldn’t understand why. Rick shook his head. He didn’t understand, either. Granted that the scow was low in the water, the diver’s flag was clearly visible.
The minute up, the group moved to the 10-foot level where the boys had to wait for another four minutes to complete their decompression. Rick wished he could talk with his friends. It would help to pass the long minutes if they could discuss what had happened. Underwater communications devices did exist, but he had never added them to the Spindrift diving gear. He had never felt the need before. Now he began to wonder if the expense, extra trouble, and extra weight might not be worth it.
When the four minutes were up, he gave the thumbs-up signal that meant to go on up to the surface. The five emerged into the air almost at once. Rick let his mouthpiece fall away and called, “Inflate vests.” He pulled the cord on his and the vest swelled instantly. “Drop weight belts, too,” he added. “It’s a long swim to shore, and there’s no point in hauling extra weight.”
Five hands pulled quick-release buckles, and weight belts dropped into the depths. Rick gritted his teeth. He hated to lose equipment, even though it was made to be expendable. The belts and weights could be replaced for a few dollars each, but it was the principle of the thing. Someone else’s stupidity, carelessness, or viciousness had upset the dive plan. He hoped the person responsible could be found, but he wasn’t optimistic.
“Grab the life cushions and jackets,” he called to Barby and Jan. They were nearest the jackets and cushions that had floated free when the boat was splintered. There was a fairly substantial piece of bow Page 33
floating nearby, but it was mostly boards that remained.
Jan retrieved the two orange jackets and tossed one to Scotty. Barby collected cushions. There had been four in the scow-floatable types filled with kapok. She passed them out to Dick Antell and Rick and kept two.
“We’ll form a line and stay abreast,” Rick said.“Jan and Barby, if you find yourselves tiring, we’ll take your tanks and tow them. If you get really tired, we’ll tow you, too.”
Jan replied, a shade too sweetly, “Thank you, Rick. And if you get tired, either Barby or I will tow your tanks for you. If necessary, we’ll tow you.”
“But be sure and call for help before you’re a dead weight,” Barby added. “It will be easier for us if you can help a little.”
Dick Antell chuckled. “And that cuts you down to size, Rick. I’ll bet those two mermaids can follow anywhere you lead.”
“No bet,” Rick returned. “I know they can. I was only trying to be gallant.”
“At the moment it’s more important to be buoyant,” Jan said, giving him her impish grin.“So lead on, my gallant buoyant.”
“One more pun out of you and I’ll feed you to the starfish,” Rick threatened.
Scotty spoke up. “Speaking of feeding, we’d better keep an eye out for fins. Fins no funs, especially whenfins marks sharks.”
“Clowns,” Rick said with anguish. “Two miles at sea and surrounded by clowns.” But he knew he couldn’t possibly be surrounded by better companions. All of them were upset at the loss of the scow, although by tacit consent they were waiting until they were ashore to talk it over. But none was the least bit panicky, or afraid of the long swim. With only the life vests, they would have used snorkels and masks, but the cushions and life preservers gave them ample buoyancy and it was only a matter of settling down for the long pull. “Let’s go,” he said.
The line moved through the water shoreward, each resting chest and arms on cushion or preserver, using only legs for propulsion. The waves weren’t high, and it was easy going. Rick was on the extreme left, with Jan next to him. Next to Jan was Barby, then Scotty, with Dick Antell on the right flank.
Barby, with two cushions and the least weight in the group, was highest out of the water. Suddenly she raised up as far as she could, then called, “Hold it! Never mind swimm
ing. Here comes the Spindrift cavalry.”
In a moment Rick saw it, too. Speeding toward them was the largest Spindrift boat.
The divers held position, floating in comparative comfort until the boat reached them. Roger Pryor put the swimming ladder over the side, then caught the cushions and life jackets that were tossed to him.
Hartson Brant was at the boat controls.
Barby and Jan went up the ladder, followed by Dick and Scotty. Rick was last up. He dropped mask, fins, and snorkel on a boat seat and slid out of his harness, then walked to his father’s side.
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“Did you see what happened?” he asked. The others were gathering around to hear the answer, too.
“No, son.I looked out now and then, and I could see the flag, then suddenly the flag wasn’t there any more when I took another look. I got the glasses, and I could see a bit of debris, then you all surfaced.
Roger and I ran for the boat. What did happen?”
“Barb was top safety man,” Rick said. “She’s the only one who saw anything, I guess. What did you see, Sis?”
“As I told you with gestures under the water, a boat came along, ran into the scow, backed off, and kept going. That’s the whole story.Except that I had to duck the outboard when it sank.”
“How big a boat was it?” her father asked.
Barby thought it over. “I’d say half as long again as the scow. That would make it about a 25-footer. It had twin screws. I could see the twin wakes, but I can’t be sure if it was an outboard or inboard.”
“Type of hull?”Rick inquired.
“I couldn’t tell, Rick, except that it was a single hull, not a catamaran or aBoston whaler type. It left a smooth wake.”
“No one could have missed seeing the diver’s flag,” Scotty stated.
“You mean, no one who was looking,” Roger Pryor corrected. “How many times have you seen careless pleasure-boaters who didn’t pay the slightest attention to where they were going?”
“I’ve dodged a few,” Scotty admitted.
“Do you think it was deliberate?” Jan asked.
Hartson Brant shook his head. “We haven’t sufficient data to make a judgment, Jan. But if deliberate, who stood to gain? Anyone who recognized a diver’s flag would have known that crashing the boat would only mean inconvenience and hard work getting ashore. The divers wouldn’t be harmed, and would have life vests, and if necessary they could drop equipment. I think we’d have to know motive before we can conclude that it was deliberate.”
Rick had to agree with his father’s estimate of the situation. He knew from personal experience that the waters were crowded with pleasure boatmen who hadn’t the faintest idea of seamanship or rules of the road, and he knew that too few people recognized a diver’s flag. It was only that he had learned to suspect coincidences, and a boat running down the only other boat in sight was stretching coincidence pretty far. Still, who had anything to gain?
“We’ll call it hit-and-run,” he observed.
Jan’s dark eyes met his. She had an uncanny and sometimes uncomfortable knack of following his thought processes accurately. “Only you’ll add a mental question mark,” she stated.
He grinned at her. “I guess I will,” he admitted.“Hit-and-run, question mark.”
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CHAPTER IX
Dive Two
Rick was all for making another dive on the following day, but Dick Antell had other plans. Dick and the two boys were stowing gear when Rick said, “I’ll run over to the Dive Shop at Whiteside and pick up some new weight belts, then we can go back tomorrow. Only this time we’ll take the big boat. If any ocean hot-rodder slams into that one, he’ll wreck himself-as well as us.”
“I’m working on a different idea,” Antell said. “Listen, Rick and Scotty. After diving with you and the girls today I’m convinced that you know what you’re doing. And Barby and Janare as cool a pair in an emergency as I’ve ever seen. Most girls would have automatically gone into shock with their boat gone, and plenty would have had the screaming meemies . But they assessed the situation, relaxed, and even joked about it.”
“They’re plenty good under fire,” Scotty agreed.
“Okay. So I suggest we make a prolonged dive and really go over that wreck, and we can take the girls with us. If we’re properly outfitted, we won’t need safety men at the upper levels. We can station Jan and Barby alternately at the 100-foot level. By making them safety men, we’ll be sure they get a little rest. I know they have plenty of stamina, but extended time on the bottom is hard work and there’s no need to put them through it.”
“Sounds good,” Rick said with interest. “How do we do this?”
“I’m not sure yet. It depends on what equipment I can beg or borrow. I’m going back to the home office in the morning, and stay overnight inPhiladelphia . But I’ll be back in plenty of time for a dive the next day, weather permitting. Just leave it to me.”
Rick and Scotty had learned that Dick had graduated to submersible pilot from being chief diver for Seafaring Industries. They were very happy to leave all plans to such an expert.
The sonoscope installation had reached a point where Hartson Brant had to do most of the work, with Roger Pryor assisting so that he could follow all details. Once the submersible was back in operation again, Pryor would be responsible for sonoscope maintenance, and he was anxious to learn all that he could.
That left the boys at loose ends on the day following the hit-and-run accident. They went into Whiteside and bought new belts and weights, then Rick began the search for a suitable boat to replace the big scow. It wasn’t easy, because the big, old wooden boats that were so stable and comfortable just were not being made any more. He gave up as dinnertime approached. The hunt for a replacement would have to continue elsewhere. There was nothing suitable near Whiteside.
When Rick and Scotty picked up Dick Antell at Whiteside Landing the following morning, the submersible pilot carried with him an unusual load in the back of the station wagon. There were five tanks, with harnesses, heavy aluminum bottles larger in diameter than normal tanks.
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“What are they?” Rick demanded.
“Navy Nineties,” Antell replied.“Blown up to 5000 psi .”
Rick pursed his lips in a whistle. The standard scuba tanks contained a little over 70 cubic feet of air compressed to a maximum of 2400 pounds per square inch. These contained 90 cubic feet at more than double the pressure.
“That’s a lot of air,” Scotty commented.
“Ah, but it isn’t air. It’s a balanced mixture of oxygen, nitrogen, and helium. I wasn’t sure the tanks would be available. That’s why I wasn’t more specific. But they were in the shop with no dives planned, so I borrowed five and charged them to maximum. We can have an hour on the bottom if we need it, with no danger of nitrogen narcosis and only about ten minutes’ total decompression time on the way up.
We won’t even need to decompress unless we’re down more than fifteen minutes.”
“That’s great!” Rick exclaimed. “Let’s get going. I’m anxious to try it.”
At the dock they transferred the tanks into the large boat. Then Dick opened a box he had carried and said, “Here’s something else.” He lifted out a small, odd-shaped rubber device. “The skirt is designed to fit over the mouth. You’ll recognize this leaf-shaped gadget as a one-way duckbill valve. The white piece on the front is a membrane. To use it, you take a breath, remove the mouthpiece, hold this tightly over your mouth, blow the water out through the valve, and then talk.Simple words, few Y sounds . They’re good at about 200 feet. The question is, can the girls take mouthpieces out and use them?”
“Sure,” Rick assured him. “We’ve practiced buddy-breathing and the other techniques, and they’re not afraid to get away from the air supply. These are great, Dick. Can they be bought?”
“Not yet. They’re experimental models. I brought one for each of us.”
“Le
t’s get busy,” Scotty begged. “I want to get underwater and try this gear.”
The girls were waiting at the lab. They had put the proper number of two- and four-pound weights on the new belts and were in swimsuits, ready to dress for the dive. After suits were on, each diver took his own gear, with Rick carrying another diver’s flag and the powerhead, while Scotty lugged the spare tank.
In a half-hour they were over the wreck.
Rick had put the regulators on the big tanks, but had been noncommittal about the diving plan. No one had mentioned to the girls that the Navy Nineties contained a special gas mixture. Rick waited until Scotty had put the swimming ladder over the side and lashed it in place, then he called his sister.
“Barb, check this regulator, please.” He handed it to her and opened the tank valve.
Barby took the mouthpiece between her lips and breathed two or three times, then removed it and said,
“It’sfine, Rick.” Only the sound didn’t come out quite as she expected. Instead, her voice sounded like that of a plaintive chipmunk, high, reedy, and a little breathless.
The girl’s blue eyes opened wide and her face registered shock. Then, as Rick, Scotty, and Dick doubled up with laughter, she said angrily, “I don’t know what’s so funny!” Again, her voice was high and thin.
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Jan, who had been staring in amazement, began to laugh, too. “Exhale, Barb,” she urged. “Get rid of the lungful from the tank. It’s helium.”
Barby blew out violently, then tried her voice gingerly. It was back to normal. She glared at her brother.
“You might have warned me. No, I guess you mightn’t. It wouldn’t have been any fun if I’d known, would it?” Then Barby began to laugh, too.
Human vocal cords function under normal gas pressure of 20 percent oxygen and 80 percent nitrogen.
