Wreck of the Raptor

by Nicholas Harvey

  “Let’s try running across the wreck this time, I think our best chance is hooking the side railings rather than the sheet metal rail around the bow. What do you think, Reg?”

  Reg rubbed his beard and thought for a second. “I marked the line at the length we used last time, want to stick with that?”

  AJ nodded. “Yeah, it hooked the railing so it should be about right. I think we got lucky last time though, I’m surprised it didn’t just drag along the side all the way back. I hate we’re having to grapple it and damage some of the coral, but I don’t see another way unless we anchor in the sand farther in.”

  Reg scanned the waters between them and the shoreline. “I think that’s how they used to do it years ago when the wreck was shallower, but now I don’t know how you’d swim against the current that far. Only way is to hook the wreck or do a live boat and pick you up wherever you surface.”

  Hazel had been listening while she squeezed into her wetsuit. “Why don’t we do that then?”

  AJ thought about it. “Biggest reason would be the safety stops; we’ll be hanging at thirty then fifteen feet for a total of six minutes just drifting, and it’ll be hard to see our bubbles. If Reg loses us, we could be half a mile away when we surface.”

  Hazel agreed. “Right, that wouldn’t be good.”

  “Unless we run a hang line,” Reg offered. “We could drop a tank and a reg with a weight like we do sometimes anyway. You guys hang on the line and we’ll drift together?”

  “That would work,” AJ said as she motored towards the shallower end of the two dots. “I’ll deploy my inflatable signal when we’re at thirty feet, if it’s just behind the boat you’ll know we’re on the line; if it’s somewhere else and drifting you’ll know to follow us.”

  Reg took the helm so AJ could get ready. “Alright, that’s the plan then.” Before she stepped away, he asked quietly, “Are you sure you don’t want me to dive? Been in a wreck or two doing this sort of thing.”

  AJ smiled at him. “No question you’re the better man for this job, but I dragged you into this so I’d rather you stayed at arm’s length. Just in case anything goes sideways.”

  He still looked concerned. “I’ve done a few ‘sideways’ in my time too.”

  She punched his burly arm softly. “I know. We’ll be fine. Quit your worrying, papa bear.”

  Chapter 55

  July 1974

  Whitey waited out front of the Holiday Inn in Ainsley’s Capri he’d borrowed for the evening. Isabella was getting off work at 5pm and said she’d change at the hotel before she left so they could leave for their date from there. Whitey had told her he had a surprise that involved the sunset and to dress casual. He looked at his watch; it was 5.04pm and he was giddy to see her. Whitey had tried calling Peru again from his room with no answer at all; even Marisol wasn’t home. He was beginning to worry about Gabriel and stabs of guilt kept returning when he considered the possibility that the man who called Whitey his friend, and brother, may be in trouble. The list of potential perils was endless in their line of work. The government or police could have turned on him, rival coca growers, the Columbians, who knew, but the longer he was unable to speak with Gabriel, the more agitated he became.

  He glanced out the window and saw Isabella walking towards the car. All thoughts of Cavero, coca plants, and Columbians vanished as he returned her excited smile and soaked up the vision of beauty approaching. She wore her black bikini with a brightly coloured wrap tied around her waist that billowed as she walked. Around her forehead was a bandana, matching the wrap, from which her long black hair cascaded around her shoulders. Whitey stepped from the Capri and she slid into his embrace, removing her sunglasses to look up into his eyes.

  “Hola,” she whispered softly and kissed him.

  He held her close and lost himself in her beautiful green eyes that seemed to mirror his passion.

  “Hola,” he returned quietly, before forcing himself to let her go. “Come on, jump in, we have a short drive.”

  Whitey pulled out of the Holiday Inn and headed south on West Bay Road towards George Town. She chatted about the few weeks they’d been apart and what she’d been up to in his absence as he weaved behind the port on North Church Street. He slowed where the pavement ended as it became South Church Street and continued slowly down the marl road behind a scattering of occasional homes between the trees and mangroves. They passed the newly opened Sunset House dive resort and a few minutes later the Grand Old House restaurant, where they’d gone on their first date. He could see she was getting more curious as they went but she resisted asking. Whitey pulled into a break in the trees on the beach side and parked the Capri. They stepped from the car and he reached in the back and retrieved a woven basket with a cloth covering the contents.

  Isabella looked intrigued. “A picnic?” she asked excitedly.

  He smiled and took her hand, leading her through an opening to a sandy beach perfectly framed on either side by ironshore. The sun was lowering in the western sky and glistened off the water that lapped gently into the cove. Whitey set the basket down and unfolded the cloth which he spread out over the sand. Isabella keenly examined the contents of the basket and began laying them out on the cloth.

  “Ooh, my favourite wine,” she cooed approvingly, setting the bottle of Rioja down.

  Whitey rummaged for the corkscrew and began to open the bottle while she continued setting bread, cheeses, and fruits out.

  “This is a beautiful spot; you bring all your girls here?” she teased him.

  He laughed. “My first time actually,” he said honestly. “That old romantic Ainsley told me about it, said the locals come here to swim but it’s usually quiet in the evenings.”

  He looked around at the trichilia trees and silver thatch palms providing the backdrop to the oasis of sand amongst the limestone shoreline of the south-west corner of the island.

  “It’s called Smith Cove; a bloke named Webster, a shipping tycoon apparently, owns a bunch of this land and keeps it undeveloped so the people can keep their beach.”

  He poured red wine into two glasses he’d carefully unwrapped from a small towel and handed one to Isabella.

  “Cheers. Here’s to Mr Webster and his family.”

  “Salud.” She clinked her glass to his and they both sipped the wine.

  They lay on the cloth and ate slowly, talking about Spain, and about Cayman, as the sun settled lower and lower, losing its intensity. As it reached the horizon and glowed the sky above the ocean with orange hues, he leaned over and kissed her.

  “I’ve decided to move here, to the island,” he said softly.

  She reached over and caressed his face. “You mean it? You’re going to leave Miami and your work and come here?”

  He nodded slowly and smiled. “I am. I want to be here. It’s time I made a change.”

  “I kept thinking about it after you said something last trip,” Isabella said quietly. “But I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Men say things they don’t mean sometimes.” She grinned and he chuckled.

  “True.”

  He thought carefully about how to phrase what he wanted to say. He wanted to be completely honest with her, but he was terrified of scaring her away. He’d already realised moving to Cayman was a lot less appealing if Isabella wasn’t in the picture.

  “I haven’t always made my living in a way I’m proud of,” he stumbled on his words but she hadn’t pulled away so he continued. “Lately, I’ve been working with some people that are not good men, and I want to change that.”

  She smiled and while he knew she didn’t know the gravity of his situation, he was relieved she was not demanding an explanation, or telling him to take her home. But he’d said enough; there’d be plenty of time for revealing more if things went the way he hoped. They’d have a lifetime to tell each other everything they wanted to share.

  “I just want you to know I may be off the radar for a week or so when I leave here, but I promise you I’m comin
g back.”

  She looked concerned for the first time. “You won’t be able to call me?” Calls to the island were ridiculously expensive but he made a point of calling her every four or five days, for a few minutes at least, when he was in Miami.

  “Just for a few days or so, a week at the most,” he reassured her. “While I wrap up everything in Florida. My phone will be disconnected so I won’t be able to call,” he added, landing on a legitimate reason.

  She rolled over on top of him, her body pressing down on his. She leaned in and kissed him passionately as he wrapped his arms around her and held her even tighter. She left his lips and kissed his cheek, and then his neck, and then his ear, where she whispered softly, “Then we should make love, so you’ll know what you’ll be coming back for.”

  Whitey Snow felt a sensation he’d never experienced before in his life. For the first time in forty-seven years, he was pretty sure he was in love.

  Chapter 56

  November 2019

  Once the two women were ready, Reg lined up the two dots on the GPS and eased the RIB boat against the current towards the island until they were well forward of where they estimated the bow of the wreck lay. Shutting the throttles down, he waved a hand to the divers and they back-rolled into the water with a splash.

  With no air in their BCDs, neither surfaced; quickly inverting, they kicked down to clear the boat as the current immediately grabbed them. AJ orientated herself, spotting the dark apparition she knew was the bow of the wreck. They descended rapidly to avoid being blown clear of the target, and she cleared the rapidly changing pressure in her ears often. They planned to angle down and land on the wreck as close to the rear of the hold as they could to save time at depth, similar to what they’d done from the line before. Hazel rolled to her side and signalled to AJ, running her hand through the water quickly to say the current was strong. AJ returned an okay sign. She’d recognised the same thing and kicked down a little harder as they whipped over the open hold. Now she wished they had grappled the wreck, so they’d have an ascent line. With this current, if Reg missed them, they’d be in Belize for dinner.

  They reached the base of the cabin structure at around 110’ and AJ stole a few seconds to gaze across the wreck. The Raptor was alive with fish of all shapes and sizes. The rusting hulk was like a town centre on a Saturday morning with schools of snapper, jacks, and barracuda patrolling the upper reaches, several large grouper making laps around the hold, and scores of angelfish, butterflys, parrotfish, and Spanish hogfish weaved in and out of the railings. Above her, under the walkway that spanned between the two cabin doors, three fat lionfish hovered stationary, fluttering their plethora of brightly coloured fins.

  Hazel started down into the hold and AJ focused back on the task at hand. The door was as they left it, held partially open by years of growth and debris and, as AJ carefully examined, a crowbar placed there in 1974. She followed Hazel into the engine room where the French woman wasted no time heading straight over the big diesel to the port side. AJ waited for Hazel’s fins to clear and then followed, picking her way between the cables and lines. She shone her torch down the side of the engine and saw the filter Hazel had described, while Hazel got situated to try and undo the cylinder. There was so little room to manoeuvre and it took Hazel a few moments to find the best position to get leverage with the wrench Reg had provided. AJ lay patiently on the enormous valve cover and kept her light on the filter so Hazel could have both hands free. Hazel finally settled enough to slide the strap over the filter and she pulled the handle tight. The handle ran into a line running from the sump below the filter; she had to release it, and shuffle the strap around to a different position. Getting reset, she pulled the handle tight, cinching the strap tight on the filter and pulled hard on the handle. The filter didn’t move, but Hazel was pulled forward by her efforts, into the lines ahead of her. She needed to brace herself against something and AJ saw she was looking around for options as silt and small debris floated all around them from all the movement. AJ spun her light beam in circles to get Hazel’s attention. Hazel looked up; her eyes looked calm but determined. Not bad for 130’ underwater inside a shipwreck’s engine room, AJ thought, a surge of the respect she’d previously felt returning. AJ pointed a finger to her feet and made a flicking motion. Hazel immediately understood and reached down to remove her fins. Just getting her arms to her feet was a struggle; she had to bump and wriggle off various pipes and cables. Some would give way a bit, but others were steadfast and didn’t budge, making it more difficult. Hazel managed to slip out of her fins and handed them to AJ so they wouldn’t be searching for them when they were finished. AJ pinned them under her own legs, keeping her torch on the work area.

  Hazel pulled her knees up tight to her chest and extended her feet until she found a rigid pipe she could push against. Taking the handle, which was now between her legs, she pulled with all her might, pushing with her strong legs as she pulled with her arms. The handle began to slowly move towards her until it was too close to pull anymore. She released and started to move the strap for another go when AJ tapped her shoulder. AJ reached down the side of the engine and slid the strap on the filter then pointed to the filter itself and waggled her finger. The filter hadn’t moved at all, the strap had slipped around it making it seem like it had moved, but AJ had been able to see from above they hadn’t made any progress. AJ shone her beam on her computer, holding her wrist so they could both see the small screen. They’d been in the water for twelve minutes and had four minutes no-deco time left. Hazel nodded and looked back down at the obstinate filter. She drew her hand back and forth on the cylinder, indicating they needed a saw. She looked back up at AJ who nodded and pointed to the door.

  Taking Hazel’s fins in one hand and holding her torch in the other, AJ shuffled backwards off the engine a few inches at a time until she slid off the front of it. Hazel pulled herself over the engine to follow and they both eased through the doorway into the cargo hold. AJ handed Hazel her fins, which she slipped back on, and the two wasted no time pushing off the floor and heading for shallower water. They cleared the walkway and stayed close to the front of the cabins to protect themselves from the ripping current. AJ wished she had her spear as they passed the lionfish, but they had more important matters ahead of them. She removed her safety sausage, or surface marker buoy, which she kept clipped to a ring on her BCD, and attached it to the end of her reel. They reached the wheelhouse and scanned the surface for the silhouette of the RIB boat. Reg had positioned perfectly, above the stern, but they still had 70’ of open water to ascend to reach the 30’ line hanging under the boat. AJ nodded at Hazel and the two kicked up, clearing the roof of the wheelhouse.

  The current immediately tore them west, across the top of the cabin structure that fell away from them as they kicked upwards and into the current. They had to be careful not to ascend too fast and get the bends, but too slowly and they’d be so far from the boat Reg would never see them. AJ was breathing like a sprinter which wasn’t helping their deco situation but stealing a glance above she realised Reg was letting the boat drift with the surface current so it was staying above them. She grabbed one of Hazel’s fin tips and held up a hand indicating she should stop. Hazel frowned through her mask but looking up she quickly figured out why AJ had paused her. They settled into a gentler ascent and let themselves be taken by the water heading for the open ocean. AJ looked back at the wreck now well behind them. The Raptor was hung precariously over the wall that fell dramatically away to the black below. She looked like a toy boat hanging over the rim of a bathtub as she started to become hazy, before finally disappearing beyond their visibility. The two women had nothing but ink black depths below them as they were rapidly swept out to sea. Above, their lifeline hung like a precious oasis in a vast desert and with great relief they grabbed the tank at the base of the line and held on tightly. Removing her reg AJ exhausted air into the bright orange, soft, inflatable tube of her surface marker buoy. Car
eful to only partially inflate the tube so it didn’t burst as the water pressure decreased when it went up, she began playing out line from her reel until the marker broke the surface about twenty feet behind the drifting boat. Reg would now know they were on the line.

  Chapter 57

  July 1974

  Whitey walked onto the beach in front of the Royal Palms with his dive gear over his shoulder and was happy, but surprised, to see Ainsley already moored off the shore. Ainsley wasn’t known as a morning person, another reason he’d struggled to take up the family’s fishing profession, so Whitey hadn’t expected him to be ready at 9am sharp as planned. The ocean was flat calm, a gentle breeze brushed his face, the morning sun warmed his back and Whitey was happier than he could ever remember being.

  He stepped around an anchor lodged in the beach sand, followed the line extending to the stern of the SportCraft, and noticed a second line off the bow leading to deeper water.

  “Ainsley, you’ve moored your boat securely. It’s like you know what you’re doing,” Whitey joked.

  Ainsley beamed with pride. “I had my brother show me a few things man – I’m a professional driver now!”

  “Helmsman, Ainsley, helmsman. You drive your car, you pilot a boat,” Whitey corrected him with a laugh as he waded to the stern and dropped his gear in the boat.

  “So, it should be piloter then?” Ainsley challenged.

  “That’s not a word, Ainsley. Hey, I’m impressed you moored it securely so stop talking cos you’re ruining my newfound respect for your boating skills.” Whitey hoisted himself up on the swim step and slapped Ainsley on the shoulder with a big smile. He listened for a second and caught Elton John’s ‘Bennie and the Jets’ playing from Ainsley’s transistor radio laying on the second seat up front.

  “Diggin’ your tunes this morning, brother,” Whitey complimented.