The seventy-five foot marker flashed by him as he kicked wildly. The plane’s floats were clearly visible as well as the ocean's surface. Jack could feel the signs of a faint once more as his lungs strained against bursting. He could see his tank now, clearly, as if he could reach out and touch it. Focusing on the regulator, he could feel himself slowing down.
It was going to be close. Just feet from the tank he struggled to keep himself from breathing in the ocean water. One slip and his lungs would instantly fill. The darkness of the oncoming blackout filled his vision and he squinted to sharpen what little sight he had left.
Eyes focusing on the dangling tank, he counted the feet left before contact: five feet, four feet... his strength was nearly gone. He could barely keep his hand extended above him. Three feet, two feet, he could kick no longer. One foot away, Jacks eyes were closed. He was blacking out.
He crashed into the tank as he floated higher. His eyes sluggishly opened long enough to see the regulator. Reaching out, he used his remaining strength to grab it and place it in his mouth. Disoriented, it took him a moment to breathe.
Instinct took over. Jack gasped a long inhalation. Still drifting higher, he felt the regulator being tugged from his mouth. He grabbed the rubber hose connecting the regulator to the tank and held on. Breathing new life into his body, his strength began to return, as did his mental faculties. He took long breaths of air, as if he breathed for the first time in his life.
This was Jack's second time near death in ten minutes. Pulling himself back down to the tank's level, he held onto the anchor line to stabilize his depth while he gained his composure. He looked at his watch and noted the time: ten-o-four. Twisting the bezel on his watch, he set the timing mark to one hour, forty-five minutes longer than the required time to decompress.
Under normal conditions, Jack would decompress at his depth for fifteen minutes, then head for the surface, but these were not normal circumstances. He had stayed down longer and ascended faster than the maximum safe requirements. He had subjected his body beyond the tolerable limits for pressure at depth and as a result, adsorbed a greater amount of nitrogen bubbles into his system. He had no idea what damage, if any, would result from his over exposure, but felt decompressing longer was his only hope in neutralizing the over exposed condition.
Suspended weightless in his featureless world, Jack felt the rush of success. He had cheated death twice and discovered an urn of undetermined value, and although he was facing possible complications from decompression sickness, he rationalized that the trade off of painful joints would be worth the satisfaction of accomplishment.
Floating weightless, fifteen feet below the surface, time seemed to drag on forever. Checking his watch every so often, the minutes felt like hours and he whiled away the time by planning for his next dive. If all went well, he had hoped to be back the following day to continue his search for the golden pyramid.
Jack's plan was simple: he would leave a buoy attached to the anchor line, creating an easy marker for the next day’s dive. He would land, attach his plane to the anchor and dive, following the line back down to the ocean's floor where he would swim in the opposite direction of the dive he just completed.
Jack checked his time: eleven-o-four—time to ascend. With a quick kick of his fins, he floated to the surface. Breaking through to the world above, he felt like he had spent an eternity underwater. Immediately, he was hit in the face with a small wave. In the two hours that he was submerged, the winds had picked up and the surface waves had increased to an undesirable height.
“Huh, I didn't see this one coming. This should make for an interesting takeoff,” he speculated.
With a couple of strokes, he tested out his joints checking for any signs of decompression sickness.
“Man, I feel great. I think I'm going to be alright. Unbelievable!” he exclaimed, loudly.
He then kicked his fins, swam to the floats of the plane, and began to remove his equipment. With his tank and weight belt resting in the netting below the plane, he could now move more freely and he climbed up onto the floats.
Looking out, Jack realized something was missing: the hoist bag and urn. Thinking they might have drifted off, he scanned the area around him. Seeing nothing but water for miles around him, he realized his treasure was conspicuously gone.
“Dammit, don't tell me the bag collapsed and sunk back to the bottom,” he yelled out loud. “Freakin great - just great. That's all I need. Just one more thing to search for tomorrow.”
He thought about the extra work he'd have to include in the following day's dive and lamented over the disappointment.
“Of all the rotten luck. Well, I guess it could be a lot worse. At least that huge white bag will be easy to spot under the water,” he said, reconsidering.
He dried off his equipment and loaded it into the plane. He then pulled out his inflatable buoy, blew it up and attached it to the anchor line. With nothing left to do, he unhooked the plane from the anchor line and got in.
Jack searched through his previous way points on his GPS's and located the airport at Turks and Caicos Island. He selected it and waited for the displays to update. Moments later, the two devices displayed his new destination and heading.
He turned his attention to the outside of the plane. Looking out the windscreen, he noticed something unexpected. In the short time that he unhooked from the anchor, he had drifted quite a ways from the buoy.
“Huh, the currents are stronger than I thought,” he said with surprise. “Man, that buoy's got to be at least twenty-five feet away.”
He thought for a moment, then continued, “Wow, it's a good thing I used that towline down there. I never would have found my way back to the second tank in time.”
The discovery of the fast moving currents made Jack realize how lucky he was to be alive... and just how important good planning was to his survival. He made a mental note of his lessons learned and got under way.
“Ok, two eighty degrees and forty-five minutes away,” He said. “Civilization here I come. I could sure use a good lunch and a cold beer.”
Jack reached down and turned the key to the “on” position. Looking around he called out “Clear,” then laughed at the lack of sense in this exercise. Fifty miles out at sea, there would be little chance of anyone walking around outside his plane, let alone close enough for him to warn about a spinning propeller on start up.
He switched the key to the start position and listened to the engine roar to life. Immediately, he began to advance. With the wave height averaging close to two feet, Jack decided to take off parallel to the troughs in the waves. Stepping on the rudder, he slowly rotated the plane around.
Lining up with the waves, he advanced the throttle slowly while the plane began to pick up speed. As the plane stabilized in the series of troughs, he advanced the throttle to full. The plane gained momentum quickly as the waves rolled under it from left to right. he pulled back on the stick, keeping the nose of the plane high to aid in plowing through the water.
Within seconds, the plane stopped rocking as he felt the floats leave the surface. He lowered the nose and flew several feet above the water to gain speed. Once his airspeed reached fifty knots, he pulled back on the stick and entered a climb.
Jack watched the water fall away as he gained altitude. Circling around to line up on his heading, he looked down at the buoy, now a tiny speck in the water and realized how insignificant he was in that vast ocean below.
Climbing to five hundred feet, he leveled off for a moment to check his gauges and readjust himself in his seat. Keeping an eye on the ocean below, he spotted something momentarily in the water. Instantly, he knew exactly what it was.
“Holy Shit,” he shouted, excitedly. “That's my hoist bag.”
Jack immediately pulled the power and threw the plane into a diving turn, as he set up for another water landing. Keeping an eye on the bag, he circled back around and lined up on a heading to intersect it after landing. He t
hen extended all his flaps and lowered the water rudder as he lost altitude rapidly.
Within minutes, Jack had lost nearly all his altitude and was now flying just above the water, heading straight for the bag. As the waves rolled past the plane, he tightened his seatbelt in preparation for a rough landing.
Reducing the power, the plane began to settle into the oncoming waves, with the tips of the floats plowing through each wall of water. With each contact of the waves, he would time the hit with a raising of the nose to compensate for the water grabbing the floats and pulling them under. As the plane slowed with each contact, it sunk further and deeper into the water, until the porpoising ceased and the plane began to skim along the surface.
Jack steered the plane along the top of the water with the rudders and turned off the engine as he neared his treasure. Reducing speed rapidly, he opened his door to create extra wind resistance, slowing his approach even further.
Just feet in front of the plane, the large white hoist bag inched closer. Jack got out of the plane and stood on the float. Tying a small cord to the wing strut, he waited for the plane to pass by the bag. Floating several feet away, too far to reach, the bag began to drift past the plane. He took a deep breath and leaped into the water, several feet from bag. With the cord in tow, he began to swim. Within a couple of strokes, he grabbed the bag and checked its cargo—the urn was still attached.
"Yesss," Jack called out, excitedly.
Suddenly, the cord became taught in his hand and it spun him around. With the rope wrapped around his palm a few times and still holding onto the hoist bag with the other, the planes forward momentum began to pull Jack and his treasure along in the water. Jack strained to swim against the plane, causing it to slow to a stop. With the hoist bag in tow, he slowly swam back to the plane.
Taking extra care not to lose his precious cargo, Jack slowly brought the urn up onto the net suspended between the two floats. Although the weight of the ancient artifact was heavy, it was not nearly as heavy as all the equipment he had previously resting on the net before the dive. The urn sat perfectly suspended above the water by at least a foot.
Climbing back into the plane, he pulled out a large canvas duffle bag used for hauling his scuba equipment. Very carefully, he slipped the large opening over the rock and barnacle encrusted urn. Closing it up, he then used a length of cord and secured the duffle bag firmly to the net and landing struts. He gave the net a good shake, ensuring nothing would come loose, then folded up his hoist bag, and stowed it in the rear of the plane.
"Man, I wonder how old that thing is?" he pondered, staring at it in the netting.
He thought about the possibilities for a moment, then hopped into the plane and prepared for takeoff.
Just like before, he started the engine, lined the plane up with the furrows between the waves and advanced the power. A few short, but rocky moments later, he was airborne and climbing back to his original heading.
The flight back to Turks and Caicos Island was uneventful. Flying at an altitude of three thousand feet, the air was smooth and the visibility clear for miles. Within a half hour of lift off, Jack began to see the first signs of life: commercial fishing vessels heading home after their morning’s run. He brought out his binoculars. Far out on the horizon he could see the barely visible edges of land as it rested on top of the water.
Fifteen minutes later, he could see pleasure boats enjoying the perfect sunny weather as they motored between sandbar sized islands. Looking down, he noticed a group of boaters relaxing on one of the tiny mounds of sand, enjoying their own private island spot. The sight of this reminded him of the time he landed on one himself, on his previous trip back from Peru. He smiled as he passed overhead and envied the memory they were building.
Jack flew over an open bay, then crossed over into land. In minutes, he would be down, safe once more, basking in the satisfaction that he had escaped death and was alive to tell about it. As he turned and looked out over the sea, his satisfaction was short lived knowing that tomorrow he would once again be putting himself in harm’s way.
With a loud grumble from his stomach, Jack smiled as he ignored the negative and thought only of the positive: a cold beer and a sandwich.
Atlantis - Chapter 6
Moses Rankin sat behind the counter at the FBO (airport services) and watched through the window as Jack tied down his plane. Scratching the three-day stubble under his chin, he wondered aloud at Jack’s situation.
“Hmm. The vagrant’s back, I see,” He growled to himself. “How is it he can afford a fancy plane and not a hotel room? Damn priorities all screwed up.”
He examined Jack’s disheveled appearance and scoffed further.
“Must be one of those damn hippie-type kids, thinking he doesn’t need a shower or clean clothes,” he grumbled further. “Makes me sick to think of what he’s putting his parents through.”
As Jack made his way through the front door of the FBO, Moses sat up straight and pretended to be calculating business expenses with pencil and calculator.
Jack eyed the old man behind the counter and smiled. He had heard Moses the day before, happily complaining about people and life. Having run into people of Moses' temperament before, Jack knew the old man’s rough outer exterior was just a cover for a softer personality hiding beneath.
“Afternoon,” Jack greeted Moses, grinning ear to ear as he waited for the inevitable sarcastic rebuttal.
“What’s so damn good about it, junior?” Moses snapped back, never taking his eyes off his fictitious work.
“Well, the sun’s shining, the ocean’s warm and inviting, and I’m on a beautiful tropical island. I don’t think it gets much better than that,” Jack replied, knowing full well his comments would only inspire Moses to greater negativity.
Moses placed his pencil on the counter and removed his glasses. Looking up at Jack, he eyed him with disdain.
“I wouldn’t know about any of that sun and ocean crap. I work for a living and now that you’ve interrupted my calculations, I’m gonna have to start all over again,” he shot back.
“Well, I’m very sorry for your trouble. I was just being friendly,” Jack responded, still smiling, then added, “By the way, your calculator’s upside down.”
Moses spun the calculator around and tried to hide his embarrassment.
“Hmm, are you looking for something or are you just trying to irritate me?” he spat.
“Well, now that you asked, is there any place around here to get a shower?” Jack asked politely.
“What’s the matter with the shower at a hotel?” Moses snarled. “I’m sure you’ll find their beds more comfortable than a couch.”
Jack laughed at the old man’s sarcasm, then replied, “Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on moving in. I already have a hotel set up for this evening. I just thought it’d be nice to take a relaxing shower after this morning’s excitement.”
“And what excitement would that be? Did you finally find a job?” he shot back, now smirking at his own sarcasm.
Jack laughed and replied, “Already have one of those. No, actually I went diving today and ran out of air twice while under the water. Kinda scared me a bit.”
“Ran out air? Twice?” Moses blurted loudly. “I’ve always said, never trust those fancy guide services. They’re all a pack of morons. Why don’t they all get real jobs?”
“I wasn’t on one of those diving excursions. I was diving alone,” he replied
“Alone? What are you… a damn fool?” Moses shot back, with surprise.
“Probably,” Jack replied, feeling a bit of truth to his answer. “The problem is, the place I’m diving is fairly deep and fifty miles off shore. Most dive services won’t touch that kind of dive and the ones that will, charge a million dollars.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re diving deep, you’re diving far away, and you’re diving alone. Son, don’t you think it’s time to quit the drugs?” Moses asked, rhetorically. “What could possibl
y be so interesting that you risk your life for it?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe it,” Jack replied.
“That’s beside the point, but I’m bored and need some entertainment, so what gives? What’s the big secret?”
“Well, this may sound crazy, but I’m looking for treasure under the water,” he started.
Moses chuckled to himself, then replied, “Pirates and buried treasure… Son, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but those movies in Hollywood are just made up stories. They ain’t real.”
Jack smiled back, then began explaining his story. Skeptical at first, then gradually becoming intrigued, Moses listened intently as Jack relayed the details of his adventure.
“…and as I was flying back, there floating on the surface, was the urn. It hadn’t sunk to the bottom of the ocean after all. I made a quick landing and scooped it up,” he said, finishing his story.
“You have the urn now?” Moses asked, incredulously.
“It’s sitting under my plane as we speak,” Jack replied, proudly.
Moses stood abruptly and asked, “Mind if I have a look at it?”
“Your wish is my command,” he replied.
At the plane, Jack eased the urn out from the protective bag and rested it on the netting under the plane. Moses reached out and ran his hand over the barnacle encrusted curves, mesmerized by the sight of the ancient find.
“I’m betting this is a couple thousand years old,” Moses speculated, still examining the urn. “I wonder how much it’s worth.”
“I don’t know. It’s not in perfect condition so I’m guessing it’s not worth a whole lot,” Jack replied.
“I’m betting it’s worth a whole lot more than you think,” Moses returned.
He carefully laid the urn back down on the netting, staring at it as if in a trance. A moment later, he turned toward Jack and spoke.
“Son, I know an archeologist that lives on the island. He may not look like much, but he’s as good as they come, as far as I’m concerned anyway. Why don’t I make a call and see if he’s interested,” Moses offered.
Tomb of Atlantis Page 8
