All three roared with laughter again and Bill Davis called up, “Are you drinking up there? Cos I’m coming up if you are, I could do with a drink.”
Hazel peered over the railing to the rear deck below. “Sorry, sorry, we are having a deep conversation about Miss Bailey’s romantic life and it appears it is quite amusing.”
AJ reached over and gave Hazel a playful slap on the arm. “Hey, my romantic life was just fine until you started making fun of it!”
Hazel leaned back over the railing. “Okay we’re moving on to Thomas’s love life now; I think we’ll be laughing again in a few minutes, so be ready down there.”
Thomas leapt out of his seat, blurting, “No ma’am we’re not”, and slid down the ladder in a flash.
“Okay guys, about time for our second dive!” he said to the group as he landed on the deck, beaming his huge smile.
Hazel turned back to AJ and gave her a wink. “So, if your man isn’t in town, could I talk you into dinner? I’m getting bored kicking around on my own every evening. You can tell me all about Jackson and I promise I won’t make fun of you anymore.”
AJ got up to follow Thomas but paused at the top of the ladder. “Sure, I’d like that, but it’ll be my turn to pry out all your secrets.”
Hazel laughed. “Fair enough, deal.”
Chapter 13
April 1974
Curly shut down the throttle on the large skiff and coasted in the open water off the north-west corner of the island. A short man with a shaved head sporting a Bob Soto’s Diving shirt, similar to Curly’s, eyed the coastline.
“What do you think Brad?” Curly shouted at his co-worker.
Brad gave the shoreline a final check in both directions, nodded, and peered over the side of the boat to make sure they were over sand, before tossing the anchor into the water with a splash.
Whitey had been chatting with the other five customers on board during the ride out, sizing them up. Four guys from America talked amongst themselves; they were the group Curly had mentioned in the shop. They’d most likely dive together and shouldn’t bother him. The fifth was a heavy-set French-Canadian man who hadn’t said much. Whitey guessed he wasn’t confident in his English and was doing more listening than trying to converse. He was pretty sure Soto’s would want the group to stick close together, as the currents were supposed to be fierce, and he’d be partnered with the Québécois.
The two crew manoeuvred the boat to make sure the anchor was steadfast, then Brad jumped in with a mask, snorkel and fins to survey the location. After a minute of kicking around towards the open ocean he gave a thumbs up and swam back to the skiff, working hard to do so.
Breathing heavily, he climbed back aboard, “We’re good, she’s slightly west and slightly south of us, which is perfect with the current.”
He sat down on one of the benches that ran the length of the boat on both sides and the divers looked eagerly his way for more intel.
“The current looks pretty strong, the fans on the reef I could see were laid over. Surface current is brisk too. Getting to the Raptor should be good but save some gas, it’ll be a tough swim back.”
Curly clapped his hands together. “Alright men, you heard Brad, if you’re good with some hard swimming, let’s get geared up.” He turned to the Canadian. “You get all that Olivier?”
The man looked back at Curly, slightly startled. “Oui. Uhh, Yes,” he replied in a heavy French accent, but Whitey was pretty certain he didn’t understand half of what was said.
Curly gave him a thumbs-up and continued to the group, “Look fellas, with the currents and all, we’ll try and stick together down there alright?” A few moans came from the Americans. “I know, you’re all experienced and used to doing your own thing, but we can’t have people getting blown off the site and chasing stragglers around with the boat while the rest are trying to get back on board.”
The group nodded in compliance and Curly wrapped up, “Awesome, this’ll be a bonzer dive guys, just keep an eye on me and the other blokes. Watch your air and leave plenty for the swim back.”
He waved at the sides. “We’ll back-roll in fellas; let me gear up and we’ll go in a jiffy.”
Within a few minutes Brad was the only one left on the boat and divers were scattered in the water as the current pulled them away as soon as they descended. Whitey let the water take him without struggling, and headed down to make sure he met the wreck, rather than being blown over it. He looked around to check the group. The four Americans were close by, a little above Whitey, but Olivier was messing with his gear near the surface and was already losing the group. If he didn’t descend farther, he’d miss the wreck that they could easily see ahead of them now. Curly swam back up and waved frantically to get the Canadian’s attention, but the man was focused on something out of place with his older-style life vest. As Curly almost reached him he appeared to satisfy whatever the issue was, and looked around nonchalantly before descending rapidly, seemingly oblivious to the group.
The wreck was an impressive site. It indeed sat bolt upright on the reef and had caused a considerable amount of damage to the delicate coral. It must have landed and slid back about thirty feet before grinding itself into a comfortable seat. Behind it, the sea floor sloped away more acutely before dropping off the abrupt wall that surrounded Grand Cayman. If it hadn’t found purchase on the reef, it may have disappeared to the depths. It appeared to have been painted a dark blue, but the algae and beginnings of coral growth had already tinted most of the surfaces with a soft brown hue. An abundance of fish life patrolled the big ship, from jacks and barracuda above the cabin structure, to a shoal of yellowtail snappers swirling around the large, open cargo hold. All that was left of the canvas hold cover was remnants that ran down each edge in tatters.
As Whitey drifted over the bow and forward deck he quickly dropped into the shelter of the hold and escaped the current. The four Americans did the same and proceeded to make a lap of the interior, looking for curiosities. Curly guided Olivier in the same direction and visibly relaxed when he saw all his divers in the same locale. Whitey finned towards the rear of the hold and looked for access points into the ship’s interior. A metal walkway ran across the top of the hold, with doors leading into the structure and steep steps down into the hold on each side. He made for one of the doors and was surprised when the metal handle turned easily, but the heavy metal door didn’t budge at all. Assuming silt and debris had already gummed up the seal he looked around to make sure he wasn’t attracting too much attention before heaving on the door with a finned foot against the cabin. The door ground open about halfway, which was plenty for Whitey to slip through and look inside. He cursed himself for not bringing an underwater torch and made a mental note to buy one from Soto’s. The hallway was dark, with nothing more than the light from the door he’d half opened. The interior still looked clear of debris as best he could tell. Curly had told him that over the few months after the sinking, divers had cleared the wreck of anything valuable, which wasn’t much, then moved on to general house cleaning, removing potential flotsam and loose, floating debris. They’d managed to pump some of the diesel and oil from the tanks and engine, but a lot had escaped before they could get to it. Fortunately, the currents had taken the fluids away from the island into deeper water where they would cause less damage.
Whitey thought about that for a moment. The engine bay might have what he was looking for. But where the hell was the engine room in this old tub?
Chapter 14
November 2019
AJ kept an eye on the door from her table in the Fox and Hare pub, her favourite restaurant in West Bay. She sipped from her Strongbow cider and thumbed through email on her phone. She looked up when she heard the door swing open and waved to Hazel as she came in.
“Hey there, hope I haven’t kept you waiting?” Hazel greeted her.
“Not at all, I was early. Can I get you a drink?” AJ responded warmly.
Hazel sat and hu
ng her small rucksack style handbag over the chair. “I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay please.”
AJ waved to the bartender and relayed the drink order, to which he gave her a thumbs-up.
“Thanks for inviting me tonight. Being here on my own it’s nice to have someone to chat with over dinner. I’ve spent the last few evenings fending off drunk men in various restaurants.” Hazel rolled her eyes.
They made small talk and, before long, the bartender set the wine on the table.
“You guys want some food?” he asked.
“Do you have fresh grouper tonight Frank?” AJ asked.
“We do, he can do it blackened if you like?” Frank replied.
“I’ll have that, but Hazel do you want a few minutes to look at the menu?” AJ offered.
Hazel shook her head. “No, no, blackened grouper sounds perfect, I’ll have the same.”
“You got it,” Frank replied as he cleared the menus and left.
“So, what brings you to the island? Just getting away for a bit?” AJ asked politely.
Hazel considered her response a moment. “Just a break I suppose. I’m between work at the moment, so the timing was good.”
Hazel sipped her wine and AJ continued, “What do you do for work?”
“Well, I was the manager for a large art gallery in Fréjus, until a few months ago. Now I’m not sure what will come next.”
It was the first time AJ had seen Hazel be anything but assertive and confident since she’d picked her up two days before.
“That doesn’t sound good – what happened, if you don’t mind me asking?” AJ enquired quietly.
Hazel managed a smile. “I’m not sure, honestly. I’d worked for the owner for over ten years. We’d grown the business together and we were doing well. One day everything was fine and the next he called me into his office and said he had to make a change. That was it. No explanation. He apologised, and I of course asked what I’d done wrong. He said, ‘Nothing, I just need to make a change.’” She took another sip of wine and looked away, clearly still upset by the incident.
“That’s awful, I’m so sorry,” AJ sympathised, unsure quite what to say.
“Oh well, new opportunities ahead, right?” Hazel forced a cheery expression. “So, what’s on the cards for tomorrow’s dives?”
AJ took the hint Hazel was done talking about herself, her work at least. “Well, you’re on our smaller boat tomorrow with Carlos and one of Reg’s guys. Once a month we get to dive the submarine so we’re taking the Newton out there. You’ll love Carlos, he’s Cuban, engaged to Thomas’s sister. I’m sorry the boat to the sub is full, it gets booked up way ahead of time.”
“That’s okay, I understand. Would be incredible to see it but like I said yesterday, I’ll just have to plan ahead and come back.”
Frank returned with two plates and placed them on the table. “Get you ladies anything else?”
AJ took in the smell of the fresh grouper rubbed in spices and blackened perfectly. “This looks great, thank you. Tell George I’ll bring him some lionfish tomorrow afternoon, we’re diving the sub tomorrow.”
Frank nodded. “Will do, maybe he’ll plan a ceviche special.”
Frank wandered back to his bar and the women tucked into their meal.
“You should come to France and dive the Rubis, AJ; you could stay with me, plan some other fun dives, maybe go to Corsica as well,” Hazel enthused between mouthfuls.
“I’d love to,” AJ replied honestly. “I don’t get a lot of time away as you can imagine, but I need to visit my parents sometime; maybe I could combine a trip to France too.”
“Perfect.” Hazel held up her wine glass. “Santé, we have a plan.”
AJ carefully clinked her cider bottle to the wine glass. “Cheers, I like this plan.”
She’d only known this lady for a few days, but AJ already felt a strong connection and the idea of diving in southern France was very appealing. She’d slowly come to realise over the years that she was a strong independent female herself but she still looked up to and admired confident women. Some people had a strong presence in a positive way, people noticed when they were in a room and she saw Hazel Delacroix as one of those people. Of course, too many people had a strong presence in a room for all the wrong reasons. AJ had known a few of them too.
“Your parents are in England?” Hazel asked, bringing AJ out of her mental wandering.
“They are, yes, and I’m an only child so I’m fortunate they come here and visit two or three times a year. What about yours? In France I assume?”
Hazel paused a moment. “My mother died earlier this year I’m afraid: cancer. My dad is still in France but I don’t see him much. My mother divorced him twenty years ago and I was much closer to her.”
Put my foot right in it again, AJ thought. “I’m so sorry about your mum, Hazel. You really are having a bad run of things.”
Hazel smiled and AJ’s phone rang loudly on the table, startling them both.
“Shit, sorry, I forgot to silence the thing,” she said, scrambling to mute the ringing. Looking at the caller ID she said, “I’m so sorry but I should take this.”
Hazel waved to her that she didn’t mind and AJ answered the phone. “Hey Jonty, what’s up?”
AJ’s face frowned as she listened to the caller. “Bloody hell Jonty, well I hope you’re okay?”
She listened some more, still frowning. “Sure, I’ll get you the next opening but you know it’ll be next year right?”
Another pause and she winked at Hazel. “Okay Jonty, I’ll sign you up for the next available and add you to the wait list. You look after yourself and you should go to the hospital as soon as you hang up, mate.”
AJ shook her head as she listened to the response. “Okay, well take care, thanks for letting me know, bye for now.”
AJ hung up her mobile and looked at Hazel, still shaking her head.
“Everything okay?” Hazel asked, looking concerned.
AJ laughed. “That was a bloke called Jonty Gladstone.” AJ paused trying to decide how to describe the man. “You know what, it would take too long to describe Jonty; the important part is he has a concussion. Well, he’s pretty sure he has a concussion. Either way he has to cancel tomorrow.”
Hazel looked at AJ in anticipation.
“Want to dive the U-1026 tomorrow?” AJ said with a grin from ear to ear.
“Oui! yes, yes!” Hazel gushed, jumping up and hugging AJ across the table.
Chapter 15
April 1974
Whitey slipped back out the doorway of the cabin and shoved the big door as far closed as he could manage. He checked around again for the other divers. The Americans were over the other side of the cabin structure looking at the sister doorway. He gave them an encouraging thumbs-up. That’s it fellas, you have a good explore in there, he thought humorously. Olivier was still circulating in the hold, where apparently Curly felt he was safe, as he’d moved on to looking through the wheelhouse windows above. Whitey dropped back down into the expanse of the empty hold and spotted another doorway dead centre of the rear wall. He wondered if he could get that lucky. Moving past a curious mutton snapper he arrived at the door. Again, the handle moved easily; these fellas must have kept the hinges and locks well greased, he thought, and heaved on the handle. This door came open far more easily. Three sharp bangs rang out through the ship and startled Whitey. Looking around him he saw Curly floating above by the wheelhouse with a big metal clip in one hand and waving at all the divers with the other. He was calling the dive. Damn it, Whitey cursed, he just needed a few more minutes. He waved back at Curly so he’d worry about someone else and looked around for the other divers. The Americans were close by Curly but where was Olivier? He spotted him, still in the front of the cargo hold, staring up at Curly but not moving. Whitey quickly finned in his direction and, looking up at Curly, gave him an okay sign that he’d retrieve his buddy. Curly seemed satisfied and gathered the other four to start the struggl
e back to the skiff. Whitey reached Olivier, who looked at him blankly through his big oval mask. Whitey signalled with both thumbs that they were to ascend and Olivier nodded his acknowledgement, or at least an acceptance that he’d been communicated with, Whitey wasn’t sure. The other five were just clearing the hold above, and he signalled again to Curly that he had Olivier with him. Leading the way, he rose up the wall of the hold but angled towards the starboard side, with the Canadian following dutifully close behind. Just before he came out of the hold where the current would hit them Whitey checked up until Olivier was alongside. He’d worked them over to the side of the ship with only a narrow walkway along the edge of the hold, and a railing beyond that, before the open ocean. Whitey eased up out of the hold and immediately felt the current pulling him towards the railing. He rotated over to be horizontal and kicked as subtly as he could to hide the effort it was taking. Olivier, once again seemingly oblivious, swam straight out and was instantly whisked away like a child’s balloon on a gusty day. He wrapped around the railing for a moment as he flailed and panicked with one fin caught in the small opening between the top and middle rail. Whitey grabbed the railing with one hand and pinned Olivier’s fin with the other, which secured the rubber fin to the metal rail, while the corresponding foot slipped out and followed the rest of the Canadian’s body as it drifted away from the Raptor, unable to fight the current with just one fin.
Whitey hung on and turned back to thankfully see Curly had witnessed the whole calamity. He felt bad for poor old Olivier, but he appreciated his unwitting assistance in buying him some time. He checked his tank pressure gauge and was pleased to see he had plenty of air left. Would have been a shame to send Olivier on his little ride just to find out he had to surface anyway with no air left. They all judged their dive safety on the antiquated Navy tables for nitrogen saturation, but with Whitey’s depth profile looking like a busy day in a hotel lift, he had to go by air pressure remaining to guess he was within safe limits.
Wreck of the Raptor Page 5
