by John Blaine
Barby looked at her reproachfully. “How can you say such a thing, when we almost were?”
“But we almost weren’t,” Jan said. “I mean, we didn’t even come close to getting eaten. The boys wouldn’t have allowed it.” She looked at Rick. “The first time I saw you grab that shark by the nose and push him away I almost dropped my mouthpiece. Where on earth did you learn that trick?”
Rick explained about the movie. “I’d never tried it before,” he admitted, “and I’d rather not make a career of it, but it certainly works. At least it works on sharks that have an attack pattern like the blues.”
“What did happen?” Mrs. Brant asked. “Was it really serious, Rick?”
“It could have been, Mom, but the chunks of fish or meat that the tugboat was using weren’t dropped directly over us. Most of the sharks stayed with the boat. Only a few got interested in us.”
“Wouldn’t it have been better to hit the sharks on the nose, rather than just steering them away?” Barby asked.
Dick Antell answered.“No, Barby. I know that many people think a shark’s nose is sensitive, but it isn’t.
No one can hit hard enough underwater to hurt a shark.”
“At first I wondered why Rick didn’t use the powerhead,” Barby said. “Then I realized. He had only one shot. It was pretty exciting,” she finished.
Jan nodded. “It certainly was. When I first saw how many sharks there were, I wondered if we would make it, but I grew more confident when I saw how the boys handled them. All three of them pushed the sharks aside. But weren’t they the most beautiful animals you’ve ever seen?”
“They are beautiful, Jan,” Hartson Brant agreed. “They’re beautiful as only an animal perfectly adapted to its environment can be. They must have adapted very early, too, because the sharks haven’t changed very much in millions of years. In a sense, they’re living fossils.”
“Pretty active fossils,” Scotty remembered.
“A little too active,” Rick agreed.
Roger Pryor changed the subject. He pointed out to sea.“Looks as though your shark-fishing friend is getting down to business.”
The tugboat had continued its shark fishing. Rick could imagine the concentration of big blues under the boat. He wondered if the blues had been joined by other species, and was glad that no hammerheads or makos had been in the pack.Neither species had the same attack pattern with its slow-building tempo, and neither had the long pointed nose that fit a diver’s hand so conveniently. With hammerheads, makos, Page 50
whites, tigers, or grays the story might have had a less satisfactory ending.
Now the shark fishing apparently was over. The tugboat crew was doing something at the very stern.
Rick borrowed the glasses from his father, and focused on the tug. They were putting over a big grapnel.
He watched as it splashed into the water, pulling a heavy hawser after it.
“That doesn’t look much like a buoy anchor,” he observed. He handed the glasses to Scotty, who took a look and handed them to Antell.
When enough line had been payed out to reach bottom, the tugboat moved slowly ahead. The big hawser continued to feed over the stern block for a moment, then stopped. The tug continued to move.
Rick was watching as the big boat was pulled up short, as though the captain had somehow applied brakes.
“What’s he doing?” Pryor exclaimed.
“Testing the drill rig’s buoyancy,” Barby offered. “Isn’t that what he said?”
“Funny way to do it,” Scotty muttered. “He must have caught that grapnel on the wreck.”
The tug’s stern settled in the water. Even without the glasses, which Hartson Brant was using, Rick could see the plume of water thrown up by the boat’s churning screws. He aligned his vision by using the corner post of the porch, and saw that the tug was slowly moving ahead.
“He’s moving the drill rig!” Rick exclaimed.
Apparently the tugboat had overcome the rig’s inertia, and was moving ahead a shade faster.
All eyes on the porch were now intent on the tug. They watched as the boat forged ahead, stern down, white foam churning the sea to milky froth. “Letting out morehawser ,” Hartson Brant reported.
The tug continued to move. Rick watched, speechless. He knew what the tugboat skipper was doing.
Testing buoyancy was the excuse he would use. He would say that the rig had been more buoyant than he had expected, and so he had miscalculated the effect of his pull. He would be terribly chagrined, but everyone would understand how easily mistakes could happen when one is attempting to prepare for salvage.
It didn’t take magnification to witness the final effect of the captain’s action. The stern went down sharply until it was almost awash, then a figure moved on the stern, swinging something in its hands. The stern popped upward so violently that the wildly turning screws came completely clear and the big tug slewed, then settled to its normal trim.
Hartson Brant lowered the glasses, his face stern.
“That was an ax, wasn’t it?” Scotty asked.
“Yes. Could you all see what happened?”
Rick summed it up for all of them. “He hooked onto the rig and towed it into Tansey’s Trench. When the rig was really moving downward he had the hawser chopped free to keep the tug from being pulled Page 51
down with it.”
“So now it’s beyond reach of divers with too much curiosity,” Scotty said. “The secret is now in about 200 fathoms of water, where we can’t get at it!”
CHAPTER XIV
The Bug Hunt
Scotty manned the echo sounder, with Barby, Jan, and Dick Antell looking over his shoulder while Rick maneuvered the boat. Because the little echo sounder was not effective at more than about 500 feet, Rick had little hope that they would be able to discern the return from the drill rig. But it cost nothing to try, and so the five divers had paused on their way to a purely recreational dive to see what could be found.
The sounder showed the trench clearly, so it was not necessary for someone ashore to give them position readings. Instead, Rick simply ran back and forth along the trench’s contours as shown on the sounder, hunting for an irregularity that would indicate the rig’s location.
“Got something,” Scotty said suddenly. “Turn and try again, Rick. It’s hard to tell, but I think the blur wavered a little just then.”
Instead of a sharp blip, the distance to the bottom was producing a signal like a green blob on the scope.
Rick turned the boat in its own length by reversing one engine, then started back again. In a moment Scotty called, “I think that’s it. What do you think, Dick?”
“I think you’re right, but let’s try one more run. Move a little bit to windward, Rick.About a boat length.”
Rick turned the boat again and made another run. This time Jan and Barby grew excited.
“It was much sharper,” Barby cried out.
“That must be the wreck!” Jan exclaimed.
Dick Antell nodded. “It has to be. The steel deck gave a much sharper return than the soft bottom. It’s a better surface for the echo to bounce from.”
“But not hard enough to give a precise reading,” Scotty told Rick. “The best I could do was to read something between 1200 and 1400 feet. Split the difference and say the wreck is at 1300. Not quite at the very bottom of the trench, but pretty close.”
“Call it 216 fathoms,” Rick said. “Or call it 2016. It makes little difference. We’ll never see it again unless . . .” He looked at Antell.
The pilot grinned. “Wish I could say that we could use the Sea Horse, guys and lasses. But it costs Page 52
money to operate that thing, and the Seafaring Industries’ stockholders insist on our making a profit.”
“Selfish of them,” Scotty commented.
“Aye.But that’s how it is. What say, dive master? Shall we go bug hunting?”
“That we will.”Rick spun the wheel and put the boat on c
ourse to the south.
With the big tanks available and very little of their gas mixture used, it had seemed a shame not to do some more diving. So Rick had proposed a lobster dive. There were a number of good spots in the area, including two wrecks not far from Spindrift in fairly shallow water. The wrecks were just beyond Smugglers’ Reef, where the boys had once solved a mystery. The ships had piled up on the reef, then had been swept into deeper water by storms. They lay now in about 60 feet, not far from the end of the long reef where an automatic navigation light had been placed.
The others joined him at the conning position as he headed for the diving spot.
“Any sharks around?” Barby inquired.
“Pretty unlikely,” Scotty replied. “There’s nothing to attract them. Maybe one is cruising in the vicinity, but we don’t worry about one.”
They had brought a plastic-foam cooler with them. Jan opened it and handed around canned soft drinks.
Rick accepted a Coke and pulled the top tab loose. He took a long drink. It was hot in the wet suit, but they had agreed it was easier to suit up in the gear room than to struggle into suits on the boat.
“Don’t sharks ever travel in packs?” Jan asked, sipping her drink.
“They gather when there’s food,” Dick Antell answered, “but mostly they hunt alone.”
“And we never worry about loan sharks,” Rick said solemnly, “unless we have to borrow money from one.”
The other four groaned in unison. Jan said sternly, “Never complain about my puns again!”
“I’m sorry,” Rick said contritely. “I’m hot, and I’m cross, and hot cross puns aren’t very tasty.”
The four stared at him in mock horror. That one was too bad even to groan at, their expressions said.
Then Barby giggled and they all laughed.
Dick Antell said philosophically, “Anyway, in a few more days I’ll be able to go down into the lovely, cold, darkness, safe from this kind of thing.”
“Is it really cold and dark?” Barby asked.
Antell nodded. “You wouldn’t want to dive from the Sea Horse. We work in temperatures that are often near the freezing point of fresh water, and it’s always dark. We have to use lights. And there’s always that feeling that something is watching you just outside the cone of light from the big lamps we use.
The divers keep looking over their shoulders.”
“They keep remembering what happened to Willy Wooster,” Scotty said sadly.
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Barby looked at him. “What happened to Willy Wooster, whoever he was?”
“He disagreed with something that ate him,” Scotty said.
It took Barby a moment to reverse that into the cliche about “eating something that disagreed with him,”
then with a yell she jumped forward and pushed Scotty down onto the bench at the cockpit railing. She held her drink over his head threateningly. “Take it back!”
“I apologize,” Scotty said meekly.
“There must be something in the air at Spindrift,” Antell said, chuckling. “Don’t you know puns are supposed to be the lowest form of humor?”
“Punctual puns puncture pundits,” Jan observed.
Rick slowed the boat. “We’re nearly on station, praise be. I couldn’t stand any more of this.Scotty, how about dropping the anchor?”
“On my way,” Scotty said. He climbed out on the bow, lowered the patent anchor and secured it, then waited until Rick backed the boat to make sure it would hold. When he returned to the cockpit he looked closely at Rick, then grinned. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it? Having the wreck out of reach?”
Rick returned the grin. “Who says it’s out of reach?”
“Meaning?”
“I’ve been thinking. We still have the Submobile cable, and we have lights. Also, I have a camera case that could be pressurized to withstand the depth. At least we can take a series of pictures.”
Dick Antell shook his head. “You’d be photographing blind, Rick. You might get something, but chances are you wouldn’t.”
“I know,” Rick agreed. “But it’s better than doing nothing. We owe Captain Biggs a small debt, and not only for the sharks. Odds are he either wrecked our scow or arranged for it. It’s just too much coincidence-more than I can swallow. So I’m going to keep plugging until something gives.Preferably Biggs and company.”
Barby told Dick, “He’ll do it, too.”
“He and Scotty won’t give up,” Jan agreed. “Captain Biggs didn’t know how much trouble he was buying when he took on this pair.”
And there the matter rested. The five got into their gear and went into the water. The wrecks below made an excellent shelter for lobster, and within an hour they had collected a baker’s dozen. The smallest was just over legal size, but the largest weighed eighteen pounds and there were several over four pounds. There was a tear in Scotty’s suit sleeve from a lobster’s cutting claw, and both Rick and Jan nursed bruised hands. The lobsters had to be taken alive-and they objected.
Rick gave four long blasts on the boat horn as they rounded Spindrift. They were met at the dock by Rick’s parents and Roger Pryor. Dr. and Mrs. Miller joined the group and announced that they had Page 54
invited themselves to the lobster dinner in order to see their daughter. Rick grinned. It was true that Jan spent much more time at the Brants than she did at home, even though home was only a few dozen yards away. He thoroughly approved of the arrangement, and he knew the Millers didn’t really mind.
The lobsters were dumped from the catch bags into two big washtubs. Jan dextrously scooped out a nice five- pounderand showed it to her parents. “My very first lobster,” she announced. “I caught it while Rick held the bag.”
Barby matched it with one of nearly equal size, her first.
“The girls caught on quickly,” Rick said. “There’s a knack to catching the beasts without them catching you.”
“A nice catch,” Hartson Brant approved. “Enough lobster there for a dozen people, even with Scotty eating double portions. Turn to, my brave bug hunters, and let’s prepare to cook these creatures.
Company’s coming for dinner.”
“Who?”Rick asked quickly.
Hartson Brant smiled.“An old friend, Rick. And one who’s interested in your wreck. Did you locate it by the way?”
“In about 1300 feet,” Rick replied.“Who’s coming, Dad?”
“Wait and see, Rick. You’ll be pleased, I promise.”
CHAPTER XV
The Investigator
Delicious food from the sea was a regular feature at the Brant home. Rick and Scotty were the principal suppliers, but some of the scientists also enjoyed going after sea game, and the girls were good spear-fishermen who had brought home their share of striped bass, bluefish, flounder, and Atlantic halibut. But this was the first time the boys had taken them on a lobster dive, and they were especially excited.
The outdoor barbecue at the edge of the orchard was set up for all kinds of cooking. Fish fillets were broiled, and clams and crabs were steamed. For the lobsters, two 20-gallon cans were reserved. While the boys got wood fires going, the girls collected rock-weed at the shore and placed a thick layer in the cans with a pail full of fresh seawater. When the fires were going well enough, the boys put the big cans in place over them. Lobsters, separated by size, were put in one can, covered with more seaweed, and the cover put on. The second can was loaded with two dozen ears of corn, fresh picked from the field behind the barn.
Rick and Scotty suddenly realized that the girls were missing, and at the same moment they heard the motor of the smallest boat.
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Hartson Brant came from the house as they started running for the dock. He waved them down.“Easy, boys. You’ll have to keep tending fires. Barby and Jan will be right back.”
“You sent them to get our visitor at the Landing instead of Scotty and me,” Rick accused.
“Yes, just to keep you in suspense
a few minutes longer.” The scientist smiled. “I’m trying to teach you patience, Rick. It isn’t easy.”
Scotty grinned. “Don’t be too optimistic, sir.”
“I’m not, Scotty. How’s the lobster coming?”
“About twenty minutes more,” Scotty replied. “They’re pretty big. The corn is on low heat, so it should be ready in about ten minutes. We can eat corn while we wait for the bugs.”
“Good. Your mother is nearly ready with the salad and drinks. Give her a hand with plates and utensils, Rick.”
The long picnic table was set and the corn removed from the fire by the time Rick heard the motorboat returning. He was busy transferring hot corn to a serving bowl and could not go to meet it, nor could Scotty, who was adding wood to the fire under the lobsters. But both kept one eye directed toward the dock, and presently they saw a familiar figure, flanked by Barby and Jan, walking toward them.
Rick let out a yell of delight. “Mike!”
Mike Curtis, whom the boys had met first during the Sea Gold adventure, shook hands all around. The big, blond investigator was a favorite at Spindrift. He sniffed appreciatively. “Talk about perfect timing!
When do we eat?”
“Right now,” Mrs. Brant said. “Sit down, Mike. We’re so glad to see you. Why, it’s been nearly a year!”
“Far too long,” the big detective agreed. He winked at Rick.
Rick grinned at his friend. So Mike was working on the case of the lost drill rig! There could be no other answer, because Hartson Brant had said Mike was “interested in your wreck.” Rick was about to burst with curiosity, but he held his questions. It wasn’t hospitable to bombard a guest with demands for information in the first moments of his arrival. He would have to be patient, whether he liked it or not.
The group gathered, and Mike was introduced to the Millers and Pryor and Antell, then all settled down to eat. By the time the corn had pretty much disappeared, along with creamy coleslaw and fresh-baked bread, the lobster was ready. Rick and Scotty used their divers’ knives to prepare the hot delicacies, and served all hands. Rick identified the girls’ first catches by marks on their claws, and placed the proper lobster in front of each.
