The Bermuda Shipwreck

by Eric Murphy

  Will and Harley had to flatten themselves so their tanks didn’t snag on the top of the hull’s ragged opening. A bit of light showed through a hole about thirty yards past them. It wasn’t enough to see by, so they pulled underwater flashlights from the net bag and turned them on. The two beams crossed like spotlights.

  When Will hovered over the skeleton he made a little “Oh” that popped the respirator out of his mouth. Harley snagged it and gave it back to him. Will slipped it back in and, to avoid inhaling water, activated the purge valve. His heart had skipped a beat when he’d lost access to air, so he made sure he stayed calm.

  Harley questioned him with the “Okay?” sign. He responded by arcing an arm up and touching his head with his fingers for emphasis before pointing out what had startled him.

  Harley fluttered closer and saw the hole in the front of the skull. She carefully vacuumed sand on the far side of the skeleton. Something clumped through the hose and banged its way up — possibly the bullet that had pierced the skeleton’s skull, thought Will.

  As they were fanning the sand with their marker boards, the pump stopped and they felt the tug rope jerk twice. Drury wanted them to come up.

  Harley attached a thin, braided line of nylon rope to the box they’d pulled from the wreck. From the net bag she pulled out and unrolled a flotation bag, which she inflated by putting the emergency regulator in it and activating her purge valve button. It wasn’t big enough to float the box on its own but it did make it a lot easier to bring it up.

  Drury was in the Zodiac when they surfaced by the flotation ball. He saw the inflated bag, smiled excitedly and tossed them a line, which Harley secured to the box before he started hauling it over.

  When it was abreast of the Zodiac, Will and Harley kicked their fins and pushed from below while Drury hoisted it from above till they wrestled the box into the bottom of the boat. He took their fins, helped them negotiate the ladder, then helped them shed their BCD’s and tanks. They moved the steel box into the sailboat’s large cockpit where they sat panting and dripping while Drury dashed below to fetch a crowbar.

  He tried to pry the padlock open with the crowbar, but it didn’t yield. He slipped the crowbar in place and slammed his foot down on it. The lock snapped open. It still took some prying before the rust weld cracked open to reveal it was empty — except for a single coin and a bullet that had no cartridge attached to it.

  It was hard to say who was most disappointed. After a moment, Will rolled the bullet in his hand and asked, “Why did you signal for us to come up?”

  Drury reached for a tray sitting on the pilothouse top and retrieved two round discs tarnished from their time in the sea.

  “These came up through the vacuum. They’re the same as this coin from the box. You see any more of these down there?” he asked, his eyes wide with expectation.

  “Uh, well, no. We had just found the box when you signaled for us to come up.” Will slipped the bullet into the net bag beside the gold necklace.

  “Damn,” he said, peering out toward the diving line float as if he might see something Will and Harley had missed.

  “Okay, well, get back down there and get the rest of those coins, the wooden box I mean, okay?” His tone was softer, as if he was asking a friend instead of making them dive at gunpoint. Drury picked up a couple of shell casings from where they’d landed in the cockpit and dumped them into a plastic yogurt container that was filling up from his target practise.

  “What is that, a coin of some kind?” asked Harley.

  “Yes. It’s a double eagle.”

  Drury answered their shrug by saying, “It was worth twenty dollars in its day. There should be … well, a bunch of them down there, so let’s get back at it,” he said, hurrying to switch their tanks.

  “And today? How much is it worth today?” pressed Will.

  “Uh, well, it depends, you know, on a lot o’ things,” Drury answered evasively. He left them to make their way to the Zodiac and back into their diving gear. He activated his cellphone and skipped along the side of the pilothouse to the massive aluminum mast.

  The wind carried bits of his telephone conversation back to them. “It’s me … They’ve found it … Well, okay, not all of it … some double eagles. Wasn’t that what you thought he’d been paid with? Uh, dunno. Let me look …”

  Drury pulled the coin from his pocket and scratched at it with his thumb before resuming his conversation.

  “Looks like 1860, so that’s the right time period, right? Oh, and there was a big metal case … Well, I guess it could have been a crew member’s money box. But I can’t see the initials P.B. … Dunno for sure, now do I? … Well they’re going to dive again so if you want to … Sure. See you then.” He switched off the cellphone.

  Weighed down by their fresh tanks and weight belt, Will and Harley shuffled to the edge of the Zodiac, sat on the bumper and rolled back into the ocean. The water was warm but Will was glad for the wetsuit’s insulation. Repeated dives tired them out and even warm water started to feel cold.

  Halfway to the dive line, Harley spat out her snorkel. “Stay focused and stay alert. We may have to get ourselves out of this jam.”

  They both looked to the nearest shore, close to a mile away. Trying to get to it would make them easy targets for somebody chasing them in a Zodiac and with a gun.

  They exchanged okay signs, then slowly descended along the dive rope.

  Two tugs on the vacuum line got the compressor humming. As if realizing they were going to have to rely on each other, they each took hold of one side of the big hose and resumed vacuuming near the skeleton.

  They uncovered what looked to be a muzzle-loading pistol, misshapen by the years below the sea. Will wondered if it was the weapon that had killed the man lying there. At least, Will assumed it was a man and not a woman who had been shot in the head, because seafaring at the time of muzzle-loading weapons was more of a man’s trade than a woman’s.

  What they uncovered were day-to-day effects of the crew: bottles, broken or chipped plates, cups and such. They did not see any more coins. But they did find a wooden box with brass fittings on it. Salt water had fused the hinges closed. Because it had been under so much sand, it wasn’t covered in coral. As the light played on its surface, Will thought he made out the letters P.B., the initials Drury had told them to look for. Had they found the jackpot?

  They heard the whir of an approaching boat. Will and Harley looked at each other before peering out of the gash in the hull, wondering if it might be someone who would rescue them. They swam out of the hull to see the boat above them tie up in the sailboat’s lee just ahead of the Zodiac. The vacuum stopped and Drury called them up with two tugs. They dragged the box out so Harley could inflate the flotation bladder and float it to the surface.

  Drury helped hoist their find into the bottom of the Zodiac, pumping his right fist with excitement. The man who had just arrived hovered near them to see what they’d found.

  Drury slipped back down to the Zodiac and pried open the wooden box with the crowbar. “Empty,” he snarled to the newcomer, who shook his head.

  Harley whispered, “That’s Bennett.” The man walked toward them, cellphone stuck to his ear. He was of medium height, with pale gray eyes. The breeze tugged a few strands of hair away to reveal a bald spot at the back of his head.

  They heard another boat approaching.

  “Okay you two,” said Drury, “go below to the front cabin and wait there for a bit.”

  They slipped down the hatchway. As they made their way forward, past her berth, Harley pulled a drawer open and scooped up some things she then clutched to her stomach. They could hear Bennett walking overhead toward the pilothouse.

  “Close the cabin door,” said Drury as they heard a boat approach.

  Harley closed the door to Will’s cabin. Then she emptied Will’s toiletries from a plastic bag and jammed her passport and wallet into it. She waved for Will to hand his passport and wallet over. She dou
ble-knotted the tail end of the bag before slipping it into a ziplock bag, then wedged it all into her wetsuit jacket under her armpit. Will did the same with the net bag containing the bullet and gold necklace.

  “We may have to make a break for it,” she whispered, as she craned to get a look through the small porthole at the boat whose motor slowed to within about thirty feet of the stern’s starboard side. Will strained to listen to the voices but could only hear seawater dripping from their wetsuits onto the teak floorboards.

  “Now, that’s weird,” she said, waving Will over to have a look.

  The high-bowed Boston Whaler that approached had a strange-looking person at the helm. Despite the warmth of the Bermudian sun they wore long sleeves and long pants, and a wide-brimmed hat that prevented Will from seeing any of the person’s features. The shirt’s light material rippled in the breeze. But what chilled Will to the bone was the fact that the person’s hands and face were covered in gauze just like in his dream.

  The solo passenger at the helm was not a big person, but because they were seated, it was hard to tell how tall they were. And they would likely remain seated: at the side of the steering console was a wheelchair, folded and secured with rubber cords.

  The Boston Whaler hovered about ten yards away. The visitor produced a cellphone and Will heard another cellphone on Wavelength ring. Bennett answered. A moment later the conversation ended. The Boston Whaler spun around. Its twin outboard motors churned a white-foam wake, raising the bow clear of the turquoise water as it headed back for shore.

  Will and Harley cocked an ear toward the pilothouse. They heard footfalls as Drury and Bennett trundled into the galley that occupied the middle section of the motorsailer just outside their cabin. There was an awkward pause.

  “So, what did he say?” asked Drury, his voice muffled by the closed door.

  Bennett sighed. “He says,” he paused to sigh again, “he says he wants us to make it look like an accident.”

  Chapter Four

  The Escape

  Zodiac: An open boat with a large, inflatable bumper around its periphery.

  Will and Harley froze, and exchanged a look. Harley slid the little deadbolt in place on the cabin door, but Will had no doubt that it would yield to Drury’s big shoulders. He stood on one side of the V-shaped berth and as quietly as possible unscrewed the wing nut that secured the hatch cover, pulled the adjusting rod off the nut and pushed the hatch cover open till it rested on the deck.

  “What does he mean by ‘an accident?’” asked Drury. “You mean, like a diving accident, or something like that?”

  “Keep your voice down,” hissed Bennett.

  “This is crazy. We weren’t supposed to do anything to them except get the boat back. Don’t know about you, but I didn’t sign on to kill nobody.”

  Bennett sighed again. “Well, what do we do with them? Can’t let ’em go now till we know if those double eagles are down there. Then, I don’t know, keep ’em quiet till we get away, right?”

  “What if those letters of yours were wrong? I mean, the box is empty right?”

  “The letters aren’t wrong,” said Bennett. “We found the boat. Maybe Papineau took the coins off before she sank. Just gotta find ’em is all.”

  Getting through the hatchway in a wetsuit wasn’t easy. But with a boost from Harley he cleared his shoulders and on her next push, Will was able to propel himself through, the wetsuit absorbing the smack of his bum against the deck. He cocked an ear but, not hearing anybody hurrying to get above deck, he reached down and pulled her out of the hatch.

  They tiptoed on top of the cabin so as not to be seen through the portholes.

  Bennett broke the silence below. “Okay, tell you what, let’s get them to do one more dive. I’ll go with them and we’ll see if we can’t find all of it and then we’ll make a decision about what to do, okay? It’s easy for him to say, ‘make it look like an accident,’ but we’re the ones who’ll have to get our hands dirty. I mean, damn, I approached him to find gold, not kill anybody, especially not kids.”

  Drury called out, “Okay you two, you can come out now.”

  Will and Harley stepped into the cockpit behind the pilothouse. They heard Drury rattling the locked door to the cabin and say, “Bloody idiots, watch yourselves or you’ll catch it.” Drury kicked the cabin door open.

  “Where the hell are they?” screamed Bennett. He and Drury both spun to look to the pilothouse just as Will slammed that door shut and wedged an empty tank between the door and the step to the cockpit.

  They heard cursing and footfalls moving to the door, which Bennett and Drury rattled and banged as the cousins scampered down into the Zodiac.

  Suddenly, a shot was fired through the galley’s porthole. The bullet pinged off one of the aluminum shafts holding the Bimini in place. They ducked and looked back. Unable to aim at them through the porthole, Drury again battered the cockpit door.

  The keys weren’t in the Zodiac nor in the Boston Whaler Bennett had arrived in. They’d have to swim for it. But Drury and Bennett did have the keys and, judging by the splintering sounds coming from below, they’d be at them momentarily. As Harley skipped down the ladder to the Zodiac, Will smacked the yogurt container, sending the shell casings flying into the cockpit.

  The cousins hurried into their diving gear. Will slipped a rigging knife from the Zodiac’s console into his vest pocket. He looked up as the cockpit door yielded with a spectacular crash of shattering wood, followed by powerful kicks as Drury cleared enough of a path to reach the tank. It clanked as it was tossed out of the way.

  Will and Harley looked up just as Drury’s head and gun appeared above the cockpit’s coaming. Drury screamed as he skidded on the brass casings. When his feet flew out from under him, he accidentally squeezed off a skyward shot just before his head smacked varnished wood.

  “Drury, Drury, wake up. Are you okay, Drury? For God’s sake,” barked Bennett. His head popped up to look at them, his right hand covered in Drury’s blood. A bloody-faced Drury staggered to his feet and gawked at them with unfocused eyes.

  Harley untied the Zodiac’s stern line but before Will could untie the bow line, Drury let off another shot that whizzed over their heads and through the blue Bimini cover. Will pulled two tanks free to roll around on the bottom of the rocking boat.

  Harley jammed extra lead weights into their respective BCDs, then, each holding a spare tank, they toppled back into the ocean. Two bullets zipped through the water above them.

  As the second bullet lost speed and tumbled to the ocean floor, Will swam to the Boston Whaler’s bow and surfaced. He grabbed the bow line with his left hand, slashing at it with the knife in his right. On the third stroke it yielded and he fell back into the water. Before he could cut the stern line Drury had pulled the Boston Whaler close to the Zodiac while Bennett scanned for the two runaways.

  A howl filled the air as Drury hopped around the Zodiac on one foot, his face contorted in pain.

  “The tank. The damn tank broke my toe. Holy crap it hurts.”

  Will surged forward with a kick of his flippers. His left hand broke the surface, clamped the Boston Whaler’s stern line and cut it with two quick knife swipes.

  Above him, Bennett leaped from the Zodiac to the drifting Boston Whaler and cleated it to the stern. It wouldn’t take them long to secure the two boats and resume their chase.

  Will swam over to Wavelength’s anchor line and let himself sink from sight. He stopped at a big shackle pin and used his knife’s marlinspike to unwind the wire that secured it. He then placed the tip of the marlinspike into the eyehole of the pin, and gave it a jerk.

  As soon as the pin came loose, the nylon line in Will’s left hand jerked him upward and he banged his head on the boat’s keel. He fought to stay conscious as he closed the knife and pocketed it.

  Will let more air out of his BCD, watching the rope of bubbles floating up and giving away to anybody looking where he was and where they were headed.<
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  He felt a tug at his flipper and looked down to see Harley’s concerned face. Will pointed to his head, banged his right fist into his left palm and pointed to Wavelength’s keel so she’d understand.

  They looked up as the Zodiac’s motor roared to life, then reversed as their captors tried to keep the big sailboat from the nearby reef, which kept them too busy to chase or shoot their fleeing prisoners. Harley gestured for the knife and used it to cut a length of the dive line, which she used to tie the two spare air tanks together. This way she could pull them along with just one hand. With a headache settling in, Will didn’t argue about dragging his own spare tank.

  Because bubbles would betray their location, she led Will to the gash in the wreck. With the flashlights from the net bag, Harley steered them over the skeleton toward the distant pool of light.

  The swim took them over and around protrusions that occasionally clanged against the spare tanks in the wreck’s tight quarters. Will’s dull headache robbed him of focus so he struggled to stay alert.

  The light at the far end of the tunnel came from another long tear in the steel hull. It was likely that the boat had wedged itself between two reefs, carving openings on both sides, which meant that water had probably flooded in so fast that most of the crew had had little time to get away. He waited for Harley to go through first and saw the vessel’s twin screws. So this boat, whatever it was, couldn’t be that old, because sail or a paddlewheel hadn’t powered it.

  Harley pushed her spare tanks ahead and sank low enough to get through sideways, this gash not being quite as wide as the one on the other side. She waved Will over. He was almost through when he felt a sharp pain as the hull’s ragged edge slashed through the neoprene and released a cloud of blood from his left forearm.

  He wondered why he didn’t feel more pain. Perhaps the shock or maybe the salt water had numbed him. He clamped his right hand over the cut and squeezed it. Harley signaled for him to hold it there. She pulled the rigging knife out, cut her own neoprene sleeve, and peeled it off. She got him to push his arm through the sleeve and she held it in place. She cut a length of the nylon rope to snug up the extra sleeve to stop the bleeding.