Because if there was any method to Otto’s technique, I couldn’t see it.
The bottom was very, very silty, but occasionally there would be some sort of feature: a small weedy outcrop of rock, a colony of coral.
Otto seemed to concentrate solely on these, swimming from one to the next, running the Pulse Four over them.
But what about those areas between the features? There was nothing to say the treasure wasn’t under the silt.
Remembering Maxine’s words, I kept track of my time at this depth on the dive computer.
When I reached the time limit I managed to get Otto’s attention – it’s time to ascend.
He didn’t bother using any of the signs I’d learned – just held up his hand, fingers outstretched – five more minutes.
I showed him my computer.
This time he did respond with a gesture, but it wasn’t one you’d find in any dive manual.
He could stay down here if he wanted – I was going to ascend. But as I went to head up, something caught my eye. It was just a piece of reef sticking out from the silt, but there was something about it that looked unusual.
I figured I could afford to give it a minute of my time, so I finned quickly towards it. As I did I could feel the current, a current I hadn’t felt before, flowing strongly against me.
Just one minute, I told myself, checking my watch.
I reached the reef, holding on to it to avoid being swept away.
I was right about it being unusual!
I could make out an engine. Old and encrusted, it had almost become part of the reef itself. I didn’t think it was very significant as far as Yamashita’s Gold went, but I couldn’t help feeling proud of my eye.
But wait – there was something else – just the tip of it visible above the silt. Was it an anchor? Or something much more valuable?
I felt down with my other hand.
I could feel a straight edge.
If only I could see it, if only all the silt wasn’t there.
I had an idea: I’d read about this technique they used in marine archaeology where a downward blast of air is used to blow the silt away.
Couldn’t I do something similar with my fin?
I took one off, and holding it with both hands, I brought it down quickly.
It worked – the silt dissipated and I could see that the object was indeed only an anchor. The disappointment I felt was really intense.
But then something else caught my eye.
Something embedded in the rock.
No, it couldn’t be.
I brought my face as close to it as possible – yes, it could be. A coin. Encrusted. It was roughly the same size as the Double Eagle.
The disappointment turned into elation, an elation that was turbo-charged. Welcome to the world of treasure hunting, Dom.
I looked around for Otto.
Where are you, Jake?
Where are you, Jake?
But then through all that emotion, I had a thought. And when I say ‘thought’, that’s exactly what I mean: this came straight from my neocortex.
And this thought said: Jake does not need to know.
And immediately I knew this thought was the right thought.
To hell with getting the band back together.
I checked my computer – I had thirty seconds left at the bottom.
I unsheathed my knife, and started hacking at the coral around the coin.
It was much harder than it looked.
I checked my computer – it was time to ascend.
I kept hacking.
The water around me was becoming cloudy again, visibility was becoming a problem. I attacked the coral with renewed vigour, stabbing at it like Bob, the Psycho dude. I could hardly see at all now.
Finally, a chunk of coral with the coin embedded broke away. I put it into the pocket of my BCD.
I went to put my fin back on, so I could get out of there as quickly as possible. I dropped it.
I thought of what Dr Chakrabarty had said about the god Pan, how he’d created panic in order to help the Greeks win the battle of Marathon.
Stay calm, I ordered myself.
My first calm thought: you don’t need the fin.
My second: you need to move.
I was having trouble orientating now – where was up, where was down?
Of course, my air bubbles! I checked which way they were headed, and swam in that direction.
It didn’t take long to get clear of the turbid water, but the current had increased and I was getting dragged along at an incredible rate.
Stay calm, I ordered myself.
I checked my dive computer.
I was supposed to stop for five minutes at this depth.
But the current was ripping me along at such a rate I was worried I would be taken too far away from the boat.
But then I remembered what Maxine had taught us about decompression sickness: the headaches, muscular weakness or paralysis and, in some cases, breathing difficulties, unconsciousness and death.
I stopped, letting the current rip me along like the scariest ride at Dreamworld. When the five minutes were over and I came up, the boat was a spot in the distance. But Maxine, true to her word, was already in the Zodiac, already on her way to pick me up.
Her first words to me as I pulled myself on board were, ‘So you did your decompression stop?’
‘Of course,’ I said.
Star Pupil couldn’t let his teacher down.
‘What happened to your fin?’ she said.
‘I lost it,’ I said.
A what-the? look crossed her face and then she said, ‘Where in the hell’s Otto?’
‘Still down there,’ I said. ‘He wouldn’t come up.’
‘Hell,’ she said. ‘Brett’s been up for five minutes already. Let’s get you back to the boat.’
Back on the boat, I was conscious of the big lump in the pocket of my BCD. The first thing I did was to put the coral with its encrusted coin into my dive-bag.
‘Didn’t stick with your buddy?’ Bones said when he saw me to me in a tone that was half-joking, half-accusing. ‘If he’s not coming up now, he’s a taking a big risk,’ said Maxine.
Bones waved away her concerns. ‘You guys, always by the book.’
It was a pretty weird thing for somebody with his health problems, all supposedly a result of diving, to say.
‘I could go down and get him,’ said Maxine.
‘No chance of finding him,’ said Brett. ‘Not with that current ripping the way it is.’
‘Hey, what’s the problem?’ came a voice from behind us.
None of us had noticed that Otto had climbed up the ladder at the stern.
Bones smiled a crooked smile – I told you so.
Maxine fumed.
Brett said nothing.
By now the boat was rearing and bucking at its anchor. Skip appeared at the door at the back of the wheelhouse.
‘We’ve got to get out of this,’ he said, and Bones gave a reluctant nod of his head.
‘Pull the anchor.’
Again this was directed to nobody in particular, again nobody in particular made a move, so I took it upon myself to go up to the bow. Here the bucking was even more exaggerated, and it wasn’t easy to keep my feet.
First, I had to work out how this was done. I’d been too embarrassed to ask anybody.
But then I saw the switch – great, the winch was electric.
I looped the chain around, hit the button and the chain started winding in. All I had to do was feed it into the chain locker while the boat bounced around like one of those crazy bulls you see at the rodeo. Eventually the anchor appeared and I pinned it into place so we could head back.
It was a scary ride. The boat disappeared into the troughs, and then, when it came up over the next wave, it gathered a frightening amount of speed as it surfed back down into the trough.
The others had disappeared to various places on the boat, but I stayed
with Skip.
I was intrigued, amazed, as to how he managed to keep control of the Hispaniola.
Or maybe I was concentrating on being intrigued and amazed just to stop being plain old worried.
He affectionately referred to the boat as ‘she’ and ‘her’ and ‘lady’ and even occasionally ‘the missus’.
As in, ‘She always pulls to the port a bit when the waves come in from that angle,’ and, ‘The missus will be glad to drop anchor and rest her bones.’
When I asked Skip if he was married, he gave exactly the answer I expected: ‘Married to this old girl.’
‘I’m going to anchor her here,’ he eventually said, pointing to a bay on the sonar. ‘Not as much protection as I would like, but it will have to do.’
‘So the camp’s here?’ I said, pointing to another point on the map.
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘You’ve got some good map sense.’
‘And Reverie’s around that headland?’ I said, pointing to another area.
‘Yeah, about fifteen nautical miles away.’
This time when he said, ‘Drop the pick,’ I knew exactly what to do.
I retrieved my coin from its hiding place.
From our anchorage we boarded the Zodiac and made for Camp Y.
Again the helmsman – Otto this time – showed considerable skill in negotiating the whitecaps, but great sheets of spray still flew in the air.
By the time we bumped into the sand, we were all soaking wet, but there were no injuries.
I helped Otto and Brett and Maxine drag the Zodiac up onto the sand, well above the high-tide mark. Even then, Otto made sure it was tied off on a tree.
As for the key, I watched, elated, as he left it in the outboard.
Because I realised I’d already made my decision: I was going to get out of this place. And Otto Zolton-Bander aka The Facebook Bandit aka the Zolt had just made it a whole lot easier for me.
Wednesday
Sign Of The Zodiac
At dinner – you guessed it, fish stew – the conversation was about one thing and one thing only: the treasure. The urge to say something – Hey, guess what I found, you guys? – was enormous and a few times I had to bite my tongue, and bite it hard. I felt guilty, because I hadn’t told them, and sort of cheated, because if I did then for sure I would be the total rock star in Camp Y. But my neocortex had spoken, and I knew I had to listen to it.
After such an early start, everybody was pretty tired, and after dinner they quickly made their excuses and headed for their various tents.
Finally there were only three of us left – Bones, Otto and me, sitting on fold-up chairs, facing the dying fire.
By that time Bones had drunk five stubbies. Not that I was counting or anything. Okay, I was counting or anything. Because I’d figured the more he drank, the drunker he’d become, and the sooner he’d go to bed.
Though it had occurred to me, and a terrible thought it was, that Bones never slept, that he was one of those insomniacs who stayed awake all night.
‘Well, I’m going to hit the sack, too,’ said Otto as Bones started on his sixth stubby.
‘Yeah, well, sweet dreams,’ said Bones, and then he added the words that, to use a Bones term, pretty much shivered my timbers. ‘So where did you put the keys to the Zodiac, son?’
‘Um, they’re in it,’ he said.
‘In it!’ thundered Bones. ‘How many bloody times have I told you?’
‘It’s not as if anybody’s going to steal it out here,’ he said.
‘Never leave the keys in an outboard,’ said Bones. ‘Go and get them now!’
Otto hesitated, and I didn’t blame him. Just because Bones was his dad, that didn’t mean he was the boss of him. That sort of stuff, you have to earn it. But Otto went and got the keys and tossed them to his father, who put them in the grimy pocket of his grimy shorts. Otto then took himself off to bed.
‘So do you need another beer?’ I asked Bones.
‘Man’s not a camel,’ said Bones.
I fetched him another stubby.
‘Did I tell you about the time me and a mate started up this bar in Angeles City in the Philippines?’ he said.
‘No, but I’d love to hear it,’ I said as enthusiastically as I could, because I figured that the more stories he told, the more beer he would drink and the more chance I would have of getting those keys.
Bones’s mate’s name was Ferret, and the bar was called Dingo’s Breakfast or something like that, and the story wasn’t really a story at all. Just all this stuff about all the beer they’d drunk and all the girlfriends they’d had, though I’m not sure ‘girlfriends’ is the right word.
It actually made me feel a bit dirty listening to it.
But I kept smiling, and laughing, and saying stuff like ‘Wow!’ and ‘Really?’ and ‘That’s wild!’
Bones drank three more stubbies.
When he’d finished the story, I wanted, more than anything, to have a long hot shower and go to bed. Okay, there were no showers, and no beds in Camp Y, but you know what I mean.
But instead I said, through somewhat gritted teeth, ‘Wow, that was so informative. You got any more stories? And can I get you another stubby?’
‘I’m going to tell you about how me and Ferret smuggled a surfboard full of hash into Indonesia. And sure, man’s not a camel.’
I actually thought this story was going to be better, and it actually did start off better, but it soon degenerated into a less coherent version of the previous story. Beer they’d drunk. Girlfriends they’d had. But Bones drank another three stubbies.
‘So you got any more?’ I said.
‘Kid, you’re a real stayer, I’ll give you that,’ he slurred, because the alcohol, at last, was having an effect on him. ‘You’re gunna like this one for sure, it’s how me and Ferret cleaned out the casino in Macau.’
‘Man’s not a camel?’ I suggested.
‘Too right,’ he said.
I don’t know much about casinos or gambling, but that’s probably not the reason I didn’t understand this story – he was almost speaking in tongues now, really drunk ones.
‘Another beer, Bones?’ I said brightly when he’d finished.
‘Shiver me shimbers,’ he slurred, looking at me, before he toppled slowly off his chair and onto the sand.
‘Bones?’ I said.
He didn’t stir.
‘Bones?’ I said, even louder.
No movement at all.
I knelt down on the sand next to him. I steadied my hand. And I slid my finger into the pocket that had the key.
The tip of my finger touched metal.
‘Ferret!’ mumbled Bones, and I couldn’t imagine what sort of dreams he was having.
I hooked the tip of my finger around the key ring and slowly, slowly, slowly pulled until it was free of the pocket, and free of Bones.
I have to admit, as I took the headlamp out of my backpack and put it on, and made for the Zodiac, I was perhaps feeling a wee bit full of myself.
Once there, I put my backpack, with its coin, in the bow and I stuck the key in the ignition – no problem, it was the right one.
Another pat on my own back.
I checked the fuel – it was about half-full, but there was another full tank.
Back. Pat.
Now all I had to do was drag the Zodiac down to the water, and I’d already noticed that the water was a long way away; the tide must’ve gone right out.
I untied the rope and tossed it into the boat. I grabbed the stern of the Zodiac and pulled. It hardly budged.
Surely it hadn’t been this hard last time?
But last time had been with other people, and I knew that Otto and Brett and Maxine were much stronger than they looked.
I used the rope to drag the boat around so that the bow was facing towards the water.
Now it would be easier, I reasoned.
It was, but not easy enough: there was no way I could drag the Zodiac all the
way to the water by myself.
If I’d been full of myself before, I was pretty much empty of myself now.
Dom, you’re an idiot.
A fool.
But then I remembered something I’d seen once, I couldn’t recall where, but it was a man rolling a boat up a beach on two big squishy rollers. As the boat spat one roller out the back, he’d stop, go and get it, and feed it into the front.
Okay, even a science dud like me could get the physics: he was decreasing the friction. So where could I get two big squishy rollers so I, too, could decrease the friction?
Camp Y seemed somewhat deficient in the big squishy roller department, but what it did have was an abundance of much smaller, much less squishier, rollers.
I went back to where Bones was sprawled out on the sand. Making as little noise as possible, I filled a bucket with empty stubbies, carrying this back to the Zodiac.
I carefully arranged these stubbies side-on at the front of the Zodiac, making a sort of track for it to follow.
And then, facing the front of the boat, feet on either side of this track, I wrapped the rope tightly around both hands and pulled with all my might.
The Zodiac rolled forward!
I’m not sure that man on the beach would ever want to swap his big squishy rollers for my smaller, less squishy versions, but it worked. I just had to make sure I didn’t run out of stubbies to slide over. So I was forever stopping, going around the back and gathering the stubbies the Zodiac had already slid over, and arranging them in the front.
It took about an hour until, finally, the Zodiac was afloat, and I was aboard.
I lowered the outboard, started it, and I was away.
The sea, so bumpy during the day, had calmed right down. There was a three-quarter moon, and no shortage of stars.
With the map in my head, I made my way towards Reverie Island, keeping about fifty metres off the darkened coast.
Despite my – so far – successful getaway, I was feeling really anxious.
What if they were already after me?
What if they were waiting for me?
What if?
What if?
What if?
Anxiety bred more anxiety; my heart was thumping, my palms sweaty. So I turned off the outboard. The outboard ticked for a while, but then there was nothing but absolute silence.
The moon mooned, the stars twinkled, the sea said nothing.
Yamashita's Gold Page 16
