Finally, after agonising and terrifying hours of waiting, Trevor came back down into the cabin. “Midnight. Time to go. Come up and cast off for me Doug,” he ordered.
“What’s the weather?” Doug asked as he stood up.
“Radio says the wind is dropping, only twenty knots and likely to drop even more by daybreak,” Trevor answered.
That was a relief to Andrew, but only of a secondary kind. Fear of what his fate might be was now so strong he was on the edge of a complete breakdown. Only by an effort of will did he manage to keep himself in check. He lay back and tried to appear calm. But through his mind swirled and squirmed all the ghastly and ghoulish terrors of dying, mingled with bitter and sincere regrets at not having lived, at never having loved a woman, of not achieving his life’s ambitions.
The engine rumbled into life, an obviously bigger and more powerful engine than the one that powered the old Moa Mermaid. Faintly heard calls and a rocking, sliding sensation told Andrew they were under way, had left the jetty.
‘Dad will never find us now,’ Andrew thought bitterly.
With that he began to mentally prepare himself for the worst. He did not believe that the two men would let them live. But even then his mind kept searching desperately for some way to escape. Surreptitiously he struggled with his bonds, having to be very careful as one of the villains, usually Muriel, was always there watching them.
The launch began to increase speed and to pitch. Waves began to thump against the hull, telling Andrew that they were now out of the marina and in the bay. Soon after that the launch began to roll as well as pitch and he was able to picture the dark shape of Flagstaff Hill close to port. When the launch began to drive headfirst into large waves he knew they had rounded Dalrymple Point and were out in the North Channel, heading out to sea.
Another fear now came to grip him with fingers of cold sweat- that of drowning. The launch began to pitch and yaw so much he felt sure that, if he had not been tied in, he would be tossed out of the bunk. It was no good now imagining heroic ways to escape from a capsized launch. Trussed up as he was, and lashed to the bunk, there would be no possible hope of escape before he had to take that fateful breath of water.
The fear, and the hammering, went on for hour after hour. It was so relentless that Andrew became exhausted and sick. Mental images of dying, of his body rotting, or of it being torn to shreds and nibbled by fish, made him so ill he began to pant in terror. His mind began to close down and he dropped into short periods of exhausted sleep.
To add to his distress Muriel lay down on the bunk opposite and Doug came and lay with her. They did not actually do anything but just seeing it made Andrew imagine what they might have done. It caused more spurts of impotent rage and jealousy. The only heartening thing was that Muriel did not seem happy and was obviously not enjoying the situation either.
Dawn came at last. The launch slowed and the pitching eased. That got Andrew trying to think clearly again. ‘We must be back at Echo Reef,’ he decided. ‘But what happens now?’ He could not imagine what they were to do, nor how the villains could possibly let them go.
The launch slowed even more and the motion eased so much that Andrew felt sure that they were now in the lee of the reef. That raised another quandary- should he help the villains to find the wreck?
Trevor appeared and called Doug and Muriel up on deck. They were gone for about twenty minutes and there was obviously some sort of heated discussion about their next course of action. Muriel and Doug both came back down and produced knives. Doug held his under Andrew’s nose and said, “No stupid tricks. Any trouble and I’ll mutilate your sister. Just go up to the cabin.”
To Andrew’s surprise Doug undid all the ropes. For a time Andrew could not move. The muscles were too cramped and the pain of returning circulation too intense. Carmen was the same. It was fifteen minutes before they could crawl up the companionway to the cabin. The three villains were waiting for them. Trevor stood in the aft doorway and had a sawn off, double-barrelled shotgun in his hands. Muriel and Doug sat on one side of the table and Doug indicated that the pair should sit opposite them.
Doug then said, “You are going to show us where the wreck is.”
“We will, if you promise to let us go,” Andrew answered.
“That’s a deal,” Doug answered, his eyes flicking briefly to Trevor.
Andrew glanced at Carmen and she nodded. She looked pale and exhausted, with dark shadows under her eyes. He said, “We left a small buoy, an orange fishing float. It is on the south side of the reef.”
“That’s where we are now,” Trevor answered. “The wind is still coming from the North East.” He pointed first at Andrew and then forward. “You go out on the foredeck and show me the way. Doug, you keep the girl covered. Muriel Baby, you go and start getting that diving gear ready. We want to get this done and be out of here as quick as we can.”
Not seeing any other practical option Andrew made his way up through a small door onto the foredeck. This had a small rubber boat secured on it. Up behind him in the steering position appeared Trevor, still holding the shotgun. Andrew moved to the bows and gripped the stainless steel railings there. Shielding his eyes against the glare of the rising sun he looked around. What he saw dismayed him.
The area where they were was relatively calm water but beyond that was a boiling waste of foam. That, he decided, was the sea breaking on the reef in opposition to the normal currents. Further off he could just detect a curving line of surf which he thought must be the far side of the reef. Out to either side was a vast area of big waves, grey to the eye and all rolling south westwards. But how far around the reef were they? Without the fixed reference point of the anchored launches Andrew was not sure. Anxious to appear co-operative he looked carefully in all directions. Then, just by chance, he glimpsed the orange float. It was only a fleeting glimpse as the launch rose on a wave at the same time as the float, but it was enough. He pointed and yelled.
Ten cold minutes later the launch was holding its position with its bows only a few metres from the float. A problem of seamanship then presented itself to Trevor:- how to anchor in water that was too deep. The dark shadow of the coral was visible only about 30 metres ahead off the port bow and the current was obviously running across it. Andrew stood and watched unsympathetically.
‘If he gets this wrong we will end up on the reef and that will be the end of us,’ he thought. To his eyes the small rubber boat had no chance of surviving long in those seas.
In the end Trevor shook his head and looked baffled. Then he leaned over and yelled, “Tell Doug to take your sister out on to the aft deck. You go there as well.”
Andrew did as he was told. He had briefly contemplated tossing the rubber boat over the side but common sense stopped any attempt. By the time he unlashed it Trevor would have shot him, or Doug arrived. And he did not think he would live long in the churning maelstrom that foamed on the reef. ‘And I couldn’t leave Carmen,’ he thought unhappily.
On the aft deck the two groups faced each other. An angry Trevor stood above them at the rear of the steering position. He looked down and faced Andrew and Carmen, the shotgun still held ready. “How deep is the water on this side of the reef?” he asked.
“At least thirty or forty metres,” Andrew answered. “The edge of the reef drops almost sheer. The front half of the wreck is stuck in a gully and the stern is resting on a sort of ledge. After that it drops out of sight.”
“Yeah, it looks deep,” Trevor said. He turned and juggled the throttles to keep the launch in position clear of the reef, then turned back to Doug. “We can’t risk anchoring. I will have to keep the boat under way while you go down for the gold.”
“Gold! What gold?” Carmen cried in astonishment.
“The gold that was on the ship when it went down,” Trevor answered.
Andrew had heard this with equal surprise. Now he gave a harsh laugh and said, “There won’t be any gold. Muriel’s grandad took it all w
hen he murdered our grandfather.”
Muriel looked shocked and Andrew thought she was going to faint. Then she snarled and spat back, “He did not! You are just making that up and being horrible!”
Trevor gave her an angry and calculating look and then said to Doug, “Your little girlfriend hasn’t been telling us the whole truth Dougy Boy. There had better be some gold or you can start looking for another girlfriend.”
It took a moment for the implication of that to sink in. Andrew was shocked by the sheer callousness of it and he saw Muriel blanch and lick her lips. She shook her head. “There is gold. It is in a strong room.”
“Trevor turned to Andrew. “Did you find any gold?”
“No. But there is a strong room. We couldn’t get into it. That’s why we needed tools.”
Trevor nodded. “We heard that. And we saw the tools those blacks got. We went and got a set.” He pointed to a canvas satchel on the deck near a line-up of diving gear. He then said, “Describe this strong room to me, and what we need to do to break in.”
Andrew did, mentioning the steps, companionways and the appearance of the steel door. When he finished Trevor surprised him even more by saying, “Right then, you lot get down there and break in, and start hoisting the gold up.”
“Us?” Carmen asked in surprise.
“Yes, you. The more of you at work the quicker the job should be done. I don’t want to hang around here too long. Now get into those diving suits and get over the side.”
There followed twenty minutes of preparation. As though in a kind of numb trance Andrew pulled on a wet suit and found fins and face mask to fit, then made up a weight belt. As he fitted a BCD he whispered to Carmen, “That guy is going to leave us in the sea.”
Carmen nodded. “I think so too,” she said.
Doug glanced at them and snapped, “Stop talking and get ready. Use those regulators.”
Andrew did as he was told. He noted that the satchel of tools was secured to a long rope and that both Muriel and Doug strapped on knives. “Do we get a torch?” Andrew asked.
“Yes. I gather it is dark inside the wreck,” Doug answered.
“It is, and there is a lot of fine sediment,” Carmen cautioned. “Visibility quickly drops to nothing when it gets stirred up.”
During all this Trevor had been keeping the boat near the orange float by using the engine and rudder. He also spent a lot of time scanning the sea and sky to the south. That gave Andrew a faint glimmer of hope. ‘He is worried that Dad might guess where we are and follow,’ he thought.
But that was no help, more a source of anxiety. It did not stop Trevor from snarling at them to get a move on. Doug picked up his speargun and gestured over the stern. A door in the transom was unbolted and lowered to make a very convenient dive platform.
Doug pointed at the sea and gestured with the speargun. “In you go. You two lead the way, and no funny business. Any trouble and I use this.”
Andrew’s mind had already been busy plotting possible escapes when they were down in the wreck. Now he just nodded, did a final check of his gear, picked up the satchel of tools, and then stepped over the stern. Only as he splashed in did he think of sharks and such like but he was already so terrified that he just pushed any thought of them aside.
The usual shocks followed:- the cold water, the strength of the current, the weight of the tools, the scary depth of the water. Andrew struggled to maintain a position near the orange float while he took off his facemask to spit in it and rinse it. By then Carmen was beside him and Muriel had jumped in. Doug followed.
Having no other plan and no option, and actually driven by intense curiosity to look in the strong room himself, Andrew dived. Using one hand to slide down the buoy rope and the other to release air from his BCD, he slowly descended. For the first couple of metres the surface turbulence interrupted his vision but then he clearly saw the wreck. The rope led straight down to it. The wreck looked exactly like it had on the previous dive and that gave him some reassurance.
Within half a minute he was down at the level of the door to the saloon companionway. Here he paused and looked up. Carmen was almost down and Muriel and Doug were following. The black silhouette of the launch was tossing about on the rippling surface. The second rope hung in a wide curve. For a few seconds Andrew was almost paralysed by fear, thinking that he would never get back onto that launch.
‘Trevor said he would feed us to the fishes,’ he told himself. ‘He is going to kill us, or leave us here to die.’
Then Carmen settled beside him and gestured to go in. Andrew swallowed and thought he was going to be sick in his regulator. With an effort he controlled his stomach and propelled himself into the doorway. The second rope and the satchel both snagged but he hauled them free and swam around the steps inside. Once he had pulled in more slack on the second rope he looked down into the gloomy interior. That chilled him even more. He suspected that Doug might have orders to kill both him and Carmen there and leave their bodies but he could think of no sensible plan to avert that.
After several deep breaths Andrew swam down the companionway to the passageway outside the strong room door. Anxiously he swung the beam of his torch along the passageway, wondering if he could hide in the purser’s cabin, or in the engine room. But the thought of Doug hunting him down with the speargun, or fighting him with the knife, was too much. Instead Andrew turned his attention back to the strong room door.
It looked exactly the same. As the others slid down beside him he knelt to carefully examine it. While he did this he noted that Doug had stayed up on the steps, the speargun at the ready. Already their finning was stirring up clouds of fine silt but it was being moved away by a current. Andrew noted a small area of dark discolouration at the side of the door and decided that was the place to attack.
Using a small but heavy hammer from the satchel he first banged the handle and worked it up and down to get it loose and moving freely. Carmen then took over working the lever of the handle back and forth to ease it even more. Andrew then inserted the blade of a chisel between the edge of the door and the steel bulkhead. His first blow was almost comical. He was so surprised at the amount of resistance in the water that he barely tapped the head of the chisel. But he quickly learned that short, fast taps were the way to do it. The point of the chisel began to work its way in.
Five minutes work right along that edge had the door open a few millimetres. By then Andrew was panting heavily. He stopped to get his breath back and checked his air pressure. 150 psi. Plenty left. He went back to work. Keeping the chisel point just in he got Carmen to push the door closed, then hammered again. This time the chisel went in enough to open the door almost a centimetre.
‘The hinges must have been well greased and there hasn’t been much rust down here in the darkness and colder water,’ he surmised. There was certainly almost no coral and only a bit of slime. Now he placed the chisel and hammer back in the satchel and took out a short crowbar with a slightly curved end. The narrow end he slid into the gap. Then he braced his feet against the bulkhead and heaved.
At first nothing happed but then the door suddenly moved a few centimetres. Rather than keep heaving he pushed the door shut again. Carmen saw what he intended and helped him to work the door back and forth. Each time it became easier to move and opened a few more centimetres. Andrew had feared that the job might be beyond their tools but now saw that a bit more work would soon have the door open.
Once again Andrew slid the crowbar in and braced his feet against the bulkhead. Carmen helped and they both strained together. The door suddenly gave way, pulling right out to half open. This made it possible to enter the compartment and Andrew paused to place the tools down in the satchel. With his heart hammering with excitement and his breath coming in rasping gasps he shone his torch inside.
At first he could see nothing but blurred outlines. Then, as he moved his torch beam back and forth, the shape of the compartment became apparent. It was about 3 metres
by 4, the bulkhead to the left angling in as the underwater form of the hull narrowed towards the stern. A swirl of sediment made it hard to see so Andrew carefully eased himself inside the strong room. Muriel slid down and edged in behind him, causing him to move even further into the room. A third torch beam shone in: Carmen’s. She leaned in through the doorway.
Andrew now noted that the whole deck was a mass of fine silt and his finning was stirring it up. He also saw that the room was almost empty, with just a peculiar spherical object against the far bulkhead and a few sharp angles which might once have been a trunk or box showing in the lower corner. But then his torch beam picked up a long, thin shape near him. Bending down he picked it up and discovered it was a badly perished rubber hose. The thing had gone almost petrified over time and was stiff and rigid. One end was near him and Muriel shone her torch on it, revealing a straight cut.
By then a ghastly suspicion had been forming in Andrew’s mind. He followed the hose along with his torch beam, then gasped in shock at what it revealed. As he pulled the hose up it stirred up a fine mist of silt but it led straight to the spherical shape lying against the far bulkhead. Andrew now recognized the large, round object to be an old-fashioned, brass diver’s helmet. Then he noted that it was attached to a flat looking canvas suit all covered in sediment. The suit had mostly rotted but showing through a hole was a whitish, stick like thing.
Andrew stared in horror and gasped in shock. ‘Grandad!’ he thought, appalled at the realization that the white thing was a leg bone.
Gasping with emotion he turned to look at Muriel. He saw Muriel’s face register shock and stunned horror before she turned to meet his eyes. Anger and grim satisfaction at being so ghoulishly vindicated made him point accusingly. Muriel eyes seemed to blaze.
Davey Jones's Locker Page 42
