Po Thang had just secured himself at least three trips ashore a day.
Unfortunately for my dog, we had a veterinarian on board. When I told Chino I had to take Po Thang ashore more often, he insisted on subjecting the poor pooch to the indignity of taking both a stool and urine specimen, and then declared people food off limits.
To make it up to my pup, I smuggled food from the dining room and gave it to him in bites every time he brought us a coin. We soon had a large stash of silver, but Po Thang actually got an upset stomach. Life imitates lies.
We were also keeping a close watch on Kazoo and Moto, whose daily late afternoon dive trips were as predictable as Rosa's dinner bell. They left at four, and were always back for the bell at six thirty. I calculated the speed of the panga, time elapsed, and everything we knew, but they could still cover a large area.
It was time to send in Jana Hari.
We were waiting for them when they came back, and gave them a hand with their gear. Jan, even though there was a slight breeze cooling the air, wore the tiniest bikini she had and was flaunting her wares in their faces. They pulled off the wet suits, and handed them to me without a single glance in my direction.
I sluiced the suits with fresh water, squirting some into Po Thang's mouth in a game he loved. So, between Jan vamping for our divers, and Po Thang racing around barking, there was enough pandemonium for me to do my job.
The next afternoon, Jan and I left before Kazoo and Moto did, and were hidden out of sight, waiting for the men to pass on their way out of the bay. Jan had a waterproof chart, and I brought the GPS tracker sent by Craig, my vet friend in Arizona, and meant for Po Thang.
"You think it'll work?" Jan asked as I fiddled with the remote.
"Dunno. That chip was meant to be implanted right under the skin, and I stuck it into the thickest part of the dive suit."
"Moto's got a tracker on his crotch?"
"Yep."
"Eeeeew. Thank goodness it ain't a crotch cam."
"Oh, I don't—here they come!"
I turned on the tracker, and got a jumble of numbers until a ping sounded and it steadied out.
"We gonna tail 'em?"
"Not unless we have to. The range on this thing is five miles, so if the battery peters out, so to speak, before they stop, we'll have to do the whole thing again tomorrow, from farther out."
Po Thang looked their way and whined. "Can it, Po Thang, they can't hear you."
"He's miffed because we didn't head directly for his beach."
"He'll get over it."
After a few minutes the panga slowed, then finally stopped, still within range of the tracker. "Okay, Jan, I think they're there. Write down these coordinates."
She did, then we plotted it on the chart. Just as we thought, they were off a beach not too far outside the entrance, and to the south. "Bingo."
I shut down the tracker unit, which also deactivated the chip. We wanted to do this several days in a row before making our own foray to the site, just to be sure they were going to the same area each day, and I didn't know how long the chip's activation period was.
We returned to Nao de Chino before dinner and deposited ten more coins to our stash. We hadn't gotten back to Granny Yee's house yet to retrieve the vase and the rest of the coins, but that day was coming soon, as her last email said she was disappointed in those Texas men; they were all old and sick.
Turns out something was missed in translation. Grans Yee thought the VA was a single's bar teaming with eligible hombres.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Jan and I pulled up Google Earth, zeroed in on the GPS coordinates we took down that afternoon, and found out Kazoo and Moto stopped their panga fifty or so feet offshore, just outside a cove on the Pacific side of Isla Margarita. Our chart showed the depth at around forty feet.
"Abalone?"
I nodded. "Looks like the right territory. They live on rocks."
"We gonna go out there?"
"Is there a cow in Texas?"
On Sunday, while Chino and the other Mexicans went off to church, Jan and I bided our time on Po Thang's beach, keeping an eye out for the Japanese divers to return from their dive.
Po Thang was running out of coins to fetch, but his shell pile was growing quite large.
Jan raised the binoculars. "Let the games begin."
We hugged shore, keeping Nao de Chino between us and the guys' panga, raced out the entrance and toward the GPS coordinates. We'd tracked them twice more, and they always went to the same place, so now we wanted to see what they were doing.
The cove had no beach, just straight, intimidating rock walls on three sides. And even though it was a calm day, the surge inside the cove was pretty scary. We anchored offshore, suited up, and tied Po Thang on a short leash when I spotted a couple of sea lions. Last thing I needed was him splashing around with sea lions and being mistaken for one by a shark. Shark? I couldn't dwell on that for long if I wanted to keep a clean dive suit.
"Ya know, Hetta, of all the harebrained things we've done, this one has to take the cake. Forty feet, by ourselves, in the Pacific Ocean?"
"We've done it several times now."
"Inside the bay, in calm water." As if to make her point, the surge made the panga swap ends and hit the end of the anchor line with a snap, jerking us smartly.
"Maybe it'll be calmer underwater?" Sure, and I've got this bridge….
"I doubt it. Let's make a deal. We both wear safety tethers attached to the anchor line." She gave the line a tug and declared us soundly hooked.
"Deal. No matter what, we can't be more than fifteen feet from the anchor line so we can pull ourselves back to it, at least. Our rebreathers are good for two hours, and if we have to we can come up fast, no problem at this depth. Got the underwater camera?"
"Yep, and the doggie cam is on. This way our relatives can have one last look at us going over the side so they can play the video for all our friends at our celebration of life?"
"Don't be ridiculous. We don't have any other friends," I declared and rolled backward into the water before I lost my nerve.
The surge terrified me. I held onto the anchor line like my life depended on it, which it probably did. Churned by the heaving currents, the water was murky, further upping my fear factor. I almost called off the dive, but Jan went by me and I couldn't let her go alone.
We went down fast, which was fine with me. As long as I concentrated on that line, making sure my hands were firmly attached, I felt somewhat secure. As we went deeper, the surge lessened some but was still way over my comfort level. However, I knew if all else failed I had enough in my auxiliary tank to make it back safely to the surface.
And while I recognized all this stuff on an intellectual level, my brain evidently wasn't relaying the information to my heart, which was in overdrive trying to escape my chest. I was burning air at what was probably ten times the normal rate.
Jan stopped suddenly and I ran into her, almost dislodging my grip on the anchor line. She turned, wide-eyed, or at least I think so, what with that big mask and all.
"What?" I hooted. I didn't really hoot, but I knew that's what it sounded like.
She hooted back and pointed at the pile of rocks rising from the sand bottom. I expected to see something large and toothy, but realized I was looking at what resembled a ship's hull.
And no wonder we were anchored so well, as our anchor line disappeared into a large open gash in the wreck, and was rubbing against what looked like a jagged piece of metal. So far the line was still intact, but I didn't know for how long.
I tapped Jan and jerked my thumb toward the surface and she gave me the a-okay sign, her thumb and index finger forming a circle. We had to get back to our panga, like yesterday, before that line severed. We were in the process of over-handing ourselves to the surface as fast as we could when the line jerked violently in our hands, then went suddenly slack.
Jan lost her grip, but managed to grab one of my fins. We dangle
d together for a moment or two before she realized her tether was still attached to the line and used it to regrip our lifeline.
By the time we reached the surface and pulled ourselves over the gunwale and into the panga, we were totally exhausted from both fear and being buffeted around by the surge. Po Thang was barking fiercely, and when I looked up I saw we were swiftly drifting toward a rock outcropping, and the breakers pounding it.
Without taking time to remove my breathing apparatus, I started the outboard and motored straight out to sea.
It was at least fifteen minutes before my heart settled down, and Jan and I could laugh at having cheated death once again.
"Looked it right in the face," I brayed.
"Speaking of faces, your's is uncommonly white."
"That's because any color I had in my body drained into my wet suit."
"You two lost another anchor?" Chino said at dinner that evening.
"Lost is such a harsh word."
Chino grinned at me. "What word would you use to describe cutting two anchor lines in less than two months?"
"Uh, temporarily misplaced?" One thing for sure, both anchors were incriminating evidence that we were somewhere we were not supposed to be. "You can dock my pay."
"You aren't getting paid."
"See, problem solved."
He shook his head and laughed, as did others at the table. Well, almost all the others; Kazoo and Moto's inscrutable faces twitched slightly right at the lip line.
We discussed Monday morning's maintenance schedule and I asked everyone to leave a list of supplies they thought we might need. I added five new anchors to the list.
Back in my cabin after dinner, Jan and I went once again on a cyber hunt, this time for shipwrecks in the area. Several were listed, but none where we found this one. Or rather, Kazoo and Moto found it.
Fortified with wine, we got up the nerve to watch what we knew would be both fascinating and frightening video of the afternoon's dive.
Before I hit PLAY, I told Jan, "You do know that watching this isn't going to do much in the way of getting a good night's sleep, doncha? That was, without a doubt, my very last dive. Ever!"
"Hey, I'm with you. I'm cleanin' out that suit and putting it in moth balls."
We clinked glasses and I hit the PLAY button.
First thing I noticed was the time, with seconds and minutes in the top left corner of what looked like nothing but a big blue blur. Then Jan's head loomed into the view finder as she grabbed the white anchor line. The sound was what one would expect underwater, except for what was probably me hyperventilating in the background.
Just watching this rerun of the dive tied my stomach in knots. "We're gonna need more wine," I groaned.
Po Thang, who had pushed his head between us, seemed to be watching the video, and gave a woof which probably meant, "See, I knew you idiots should have taken me along."
Jan fetched a new bottle and returned just as the wreck appeared. I froze the frame, slowed it, and we watched as the hull grew larger with each freeze frame. It was much clearer in the video than I remembered in real time, but in my fright, my eyes might have glazed over.
"Look at that," Jan exclaimed. "It's broke almost in half."
"I'd say. What kind of ship do you think it is? Looks to me like that hull is steel."
"I agree, just kind of the way the edges are jagged. I'm surprised there isn't more stuff growing on it. Must be that surge keeps it cleaned off or something."
"Or maybe it's been buried in the sand, and a storm uncovered it?"
I advanced the video a few frames, hoping we'd filmed more before all hell broke loose. Or more like we broke loose.
I stopped it again and pointed at the screen. "See that tower laying sideways? I get a feeling this was a fishing boat of some kind."
Jan squinted. "I think you're right. That looks like what they call a tuna tower. From up there they can spot schools of tuna."
"Okay, I'm gonna let it roll. Get ready to hang onto your tummy."
As we expected, everything went wonky when that line let go. The next clear identifiable shot was of my swim fin, and butt.
"Ya know, Hetta, that suit doesn't do much for your rear."
"Hey! Things look much larger underwater."
Early the next morning I loaded Po Thang's doggie cam videos into the computer, mainly for amusement. Watching me and Jan being stupid is always good for a chuckle.
What I saw, however, was anything but amusing. I found Jan working in Chino's office and dragged her back to my cabin.
"You are not effing going to believe this."
"What?"
"You'll see."
I replayed the doggie cam footage, which was pretty ho-hum, except for the two of us rolling out of the panga. I thought we looked pretty professional. Po Thang must have decided on a nap, because for the next ten minutes, which I fast forwarded through, the camera captured nothing but floorboards and paws.
The image suddenly rocked as Po Thang sprang to his feet, and lunged for the top of a gunwale. He couldn't get his head completely over the side because of the way he was tied, but it didn't matter; a large fin was clearly visible, circling the boat.
His barks grew more frenzied as he fought against his restraints, but luckily they held. Then, as the boat rocked violently, Jan and I surfaced like two watermelon seeds spit out by old man Neptune, and we launched ourselves over the side, and into the panga. The camera zeroed in on me as I flopped in, evidently saw we were drifting quickly into the rocks, started the outboard, and threw it into reverse.
And clearly behind us, was that fin. The camera jumped as I turned the boat, put it into forward gear and opened up the throttle.
Jan pointed to the monitor. "Say, did we just nick that shark with our prop?"
"I don't know, but one thing for sure, we spoiled his whole day."
We went on deck and inspected the prop for bits of shark, and while we were there Fabio came outside. "What's wrong?"
"Uh, nothing, just checking the prop. You know, safety first." I gave him a salute.
He leaned over and ran his finger along the prop. "Looks to me like you hit something."
"I certainly hope to hell I did."
Jan dissolved into giggles. Fabio looked confused and left.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Instead of bilge duty that Monday morning following the sunken ship adventure, Fabio assigned me to replace the prop on our 60hp Johnson and, for good measure, made me inspect all the other pangas and outboards. My penance for dinging a shark.
Jan and I had a new plan for snooping, one that did not involve large predators, wild rides on anchor lines, or, hopefully, butt shots.
Two hours before Kazoo and Moto took off for their daily late afternoon outing—and we knew when that was, for the Japanese are nothing if not punctual—we zipped down to the south bay for a hike across Magdalena Island.
Jan and I had climbed around on this island before, when we were spying on Lujàn and uncovered his plot for baby whale in a can. Hmmm, am I detecting a pattern here?
Anyhow, it wasn't all that hard of a trek that time, even though the volcanic gravel in places is treacherous. Thanks to Google Earth, we knew it was only about two miles across the part of the island we wanted to traverse, but that's as the crow flies. In Baja, you have to follow arroyo bottoms, or hope for four-legged animal paths. At least we had the GPS, and the shipwreck's coordinates, so if we got lost, we could at least work our way back in the right direction.
We also took Po Thang, who is great at finding paths, probably because they have marvelous smells such as coyote piss, rabbit poop, and the occasional rattlesnake skin. I always hope he doesn't find the whole rattler. Chino gave him snake aversion training back at the fish camp, but he hadn't been put to the test in real life.
I strapped on his doggie cam harness and his backpack, which by now alerted him he was destined to be tethered to the boat instead of allowed to jump into the water the
minute we neared shore. He took it without too much grumbling because he also knew for sure he was going with us.
Jan and I took small backpacks, so between the three of us we had over a gallon of water, cellphones that might or might not work, our own camcorder, binoculars, dog treats, people treats, sunscreen, bug repellent, a couple of printouts from Google Earth, more dog treats, more people treats, and everything we'd need, except maybe a handy 9mm. Snakes, ya know.
Because we meandered all over hell and back, once again leaving little yellow plastic markers so our return would be much faster, the trip took over two hours. Kazoo and Moto were already anchored at the wreck, and underwater, by the time we arrived, so we set up camp, gave Po Thang water and treats, and looked for the best place to watch them without plunging to our deaths over a bluff.
Jan had the binoculars and I was manning the camcorder as we waited for them to surface. We were stretched out on some very uncomfortable, sharp-edged lava gravel, a hundred or so feet up on a bluff, so we didn't have the best view, but then again, they couldn't see us when they came up. We couldn't linger overly long waiting for them to surface though, because even if it remained light until after almost eight we'd be missed by six-thirty, for sure. I figured on the trip back we could cut our walking time in half by following our markers.
At last, as I was counting the minutes, Jan gave my foot a light kick. "They're ready for their close-up, Ms. DeMille."
I leaned over the bluff, zeroed in on the divers as they swam for their panga, and hit RECORD. I couldn't see all that well because of the distance, but I knew the camera would do a better job on replay. The men heaved nets into their panga, followed them, brought up the anchor, and motored away.
Not one single stinking shark nosed around them. They owed me.
We made it back to the boat in the nick of time for dinner, but not in time to grab a shower. We were covered in dust, as was Po Thang, so we rinsed off the best we could on deck and hurried down to chow. Everyone was already at the table, and we dug in, but I noticed our Japanese pals were giving Jan and me strange looks all during the meal. They didn't talk much unless directly addressed, but that was their norm.
Just Needs Killin Page 18
