Dark Water Dive

by Kathy Brandt

  Except for the beam of my light that shone ahead, I could see nothing. I was surrounded in black—dense, absolute, consuming. This was about as claustrophobic and alone as I had ever felt, above or below the water. When I pointed my light up, it bounced off the solid dark mass above my head. Air bubbles, caught on the rock ceiling, glistened like glass marbles.

  The floor of the tunnel was covered in sandy sediment. I tried to keep my fins off the bottom. If I stirred it up, even my light would be useless, bouncing back at me off a bank of silt.

  At seventy feet the tunnel narrowed. My tank clanked and scraped against the rocks. It would be impossible to turn around at this point. The space was too constricted to do anything but move forward. I was about ten minutes into the dive and about eight hundred feet into the tunnel. I kept going, knowing that it had to widen out again, unless I had taken a wrong turn down one of the dead ends. I was still following Wold’s line. He had tied it off on the rock wall at about twenty-foot intervals. About the time I was sure that Wold had made an error and headed down the wrong tunnel, it opened into a huge amphitheater. Ghostly shapes emerged in my light, sculptures in a watery gallery.

  I could see why divers were attracted to such places. It was spectacular in an eerie and frightening way. Walls were covered with drab, colorless sponges, completely unlike the color found on the reef. I kept moving, swimming farther into the room, past several tunnels that led farther through the maze, God knows how far. To the core of the earth, maybe. I swam through a bizarre labyrinth of pure white. Stalactites, like giant icicles, plastered the ceiling fifty feet above my head, some extending all the way to the ground in misshapen layers where elves and trolls hid. Stalagmites jutted from the sand, shapes that could horrify and captivate—grave stones, contorted gnomes, mushrooms, toads, and Cheshire cats—they sparkled in my light. This cave had been above the water at some point, the limestone formations developed by water seeping through the earth.

  I kept moving swimming, through sweeping arches and around boulders. Finally, the cavern opened up to a vast room above the water, the ceiling like a cathedral dome, towering into blackness. This was Purgatory Cavern.

  I broke the surface and swam to a nearby ledge. I hoisted myself out, pulled my face mask down, and dropped the regulator out of my mouth. The air was heavy and mildewed. Signs of other visitors were apparent, a rusted flashlight battery, a broken dive slate, marks on the rocks where tanks had brushed. The grotto had been formed by hundreds of years of water carving the rocks. Its walls were smooth and hollowed out, with nooks and crannies and a big back room.

  This was obviously the place where Wold had chosen to hide the drugs for a day or two until he could get back to retrieve them. It was fairly dry. The blue-and-yellow line was tied off on a nearby rock. He would have left it tied there when he’d hidden the drugs. All he had to do was follow the line back in today to retrieve them. But the cavern was deserted. There wasn’t any sign of Wold. How the hell had he gotten out and past Manetti? Maybe he really was half way to Road Town by now. Or maybe he’d never made it in.

  I unclipped my BC and tank, pulled my feet out of the water, and removed my fins. I made sure my tank was secure and turned off the valve to insure that it didn’t leak. The last thing I needed was to be stuck here without air.

  I walked into the recesses of the cavern, the sharp limestone slicing into my booties. Red crabs scurried into crevices as I went. Water seeped down the walls and from the ceiling. No sign of Wold and no drugs. Where the hell had he gotten to?

  I’d been gone for close to a half an hour. I hoped Manetti hadn’t gotten trigger-happy in my absence and that Snyder was okay. What the hell would happen when I returned empty-handed? Both Snyder and I would have outlived our usefulness. I’d have to find a way to deal with the Manettis when I surfaced.

  I struggled back into my equipment, pulled on my fins, and checked my pressure gauge. I’d used about 1,200 psi coming in, a third of my tank, a safe margin for getting out. I slipped into the water and headed back the way I’d come, following Wold’s line into the narrow tunnel.

  About half way into the tunnel I was pulled up short and yanked back like a bungee jumper reaching the end of the cord. I was caught. I was unable to move any farther and in the tight confines I could not maneuver well enough to turn around to see what I was caught on. Goddammit! Okay, Sampson, relax; take a breath. Wait. It was that reliable inner voice that I’d learned to count on when danger threatened to push me over the edge. I did what I was told.

  When reason again caught hold, I began to investigate the problem. I could move enough to tell that neither my tank nor any of the valves were caught above me in the rocky ceiling. Next, I pulled on my regulator hose, then the depth and pressure gauge hose. All moved freely. It was my alternate regulator. It had worked its way out of the restraining strap on my vest and dragged on the bottom until it had snagged on something.

  I would have to back up. I grabbed a knobby protuberance on the ceiling and pushed, managing to maneuver back about a foot, working my fins at the same time in a kind of reverse motion that wasn’t working at all. I kept at it, finding rocky knobs to push off of every couple of inches. Finally, the regulator slacked and I worked it out from under a rocky shelf on the bottom of the tunnel. I snugged it back in place and moved on.

  Another hundred feet and the tunnel opened back up to a roomy six or eight feet. I stopped and shone my light around the space, grateful to be out of that damned narrow tube. That was when I caught a glimpse of yellow just ahead on my left. I swam to it and found myself staring down a side tunnel. The yellow was Wold’s BC. I’d swum right by him coming in because the tunnel was obscured from that side by an outcropping. It was visible only coming from the other direction.

  Wold had swum right into it on his way out. God knows how he’d managed to lose track of his line. He’d probably been more intent on hanging on to the damned cocaine. At some point he’d realized his mistake and was headed back out. By then he would have been low on air and hadn’t had the control required to work it thorough under duress. He had clearly panicked. He was hopelessly tangled in the ropes that were wrapped about the waterproof containers filled with cocaine. It was pretty obvious that the more he’d struggled, the more entangled he’d become. His dive knife was lying in the sand out of his reach. His eyes reflected his last moments of horror, his regulator dangling by his side, millions in cocaine floating in bundles beside him.

  Chapter 27

  I retrieved Wold’s knife from the sand and cut the tangled ropes from his body. I wasn’t about to exert the energy and a lot of extra air trying to haul him to the surface. But I did intend to swim out with the cocaine. This was a bunch of coke. There were two bundles of it, packed tightly in heavy-duty waterproof bags and wrapped with mesh netting, each bundle about the size of a human torso.

  Though cumbersome, Wold would have been able to maneuver them back into the cavern and out again. Five hundred pounds of pure cocaine. Just a little air in the bags would keep them pretty much neutrally buoyant in the water.

  This was my insurance policy. As long as I controlled the cocaine, Manetti had to let me live. I’d bring out one bundle and leave the other behind.

  My air supply was nearing the red zone, and I’d stirred up so much sediment freeing Wold from his cocaine that I could barely see. I felt my way around the rocky outcropping, trying to locate Wold’s safety line. I had to be able to feel my way out by sliding that line through my hands. There was no other way I’d get out of there in the silt fog that enveloped me. I’d end up turned around or headed down another tunnel that veered off the main one, and dying.

  Again, I relied on my inner voice. Don’t panic. Don’t swim blind. Be smart. Take your time. Find the goddamned rope, for chrissake! I felt around the rocky wall. The rope had been on my left side as I’d followed it down the tunnel and encountered Wold.

  I shone my light, now almost useless, on the rocks and ran my fingers from the sandy
bottom all the way up to the ceiling. Nothing. Again, I resisted the urge to head out of there, start swimming the way I thought the entrance might be. Where the hell was that damned line? I looked again. Nothing.

  I forced myself to think rather than simply act. Was it possible that I’d gotten completely turned around, that left was now right, what I thought was the way out was the way in? I moved to the other side of the tunnel and again searched, running my hand over the rock. No rope.

  It took every ounce of will to swallow the panic. Okay, Sampson, look again. I repeated the procedure, starting in the sandy bottom and moving my hand up the wall, going slower this time, feeling every bump and indentation in the rock. I was about half way up when I felt the cord. I’d almost missed it, part of it tucked into a crevice. Momentary relief till I thought about my air. My tank had to be close to empty now.

  Still, I needed to take the time to think it through. The rope which had been on my left side, was now on the right, which meant I was facing the wrong way—that is, into the maze of tunnels. I couldn’t believe that I had gotten turned around that easily, but clearly that’s just what had happened. My instincts would have led me back into the interior if I hadn’t found the damned line.

  I turned around, placed the rope in my left hand, and started out, dragging the bundle of cocaine along the sandy bottom, stirring up a swirl of sediment behind me. I knew I was fast using whatever air remained in my tank, the exertion and the adrenaline rush placing huge demands on my respiratory system. I kept moving down the tunnel, aware of every breath, legs working my fins. Finally, I could see the opening ahead, the outline of blue light.

  But what the hell was I going to do when I got there? I had Wold’s knife. Little good it was going to be in the water with Manetti pointing a gun at me. I was making it up as I swam, a half-baked plan with about a 10 percent chance of working. Better than zero was the only consolation.

  Once out of the tunnel I swam down the exterior wall to the ocean bottom. I could see the outline of all three boats—the Wahoo, Wold’s cruiser, and the Celebration, Manetti’s sailboat. I was betting that the Manettis were watching for my bubbles and tracking my progress, waiting for me to surface. I stayed down and swam slowly toward them.

  When I was under the bow of the Celebration, I pulled the bundle to me and held it captive underneath my body. Then I sliced into the outer heavy plastic and into each of the water tight bags inside, positioned my alternate air supply inside, and pushed the purge button. Air rushed into the bag and sent the whole mess floating to the surface, leaking white powder as it went.

  Quickly I unclipped my BC and slid one arm out, holding on to it with the other, the regulator still in my mouth. I released my weight belt, pulled the other arm out of the BC, and took one final breath of air. Then I positioned the regulator so that air flowed freely, sending bubbles to the surface along with the cocaine. Hopefully Manetti would see the bubbles breaking on the surface and believe I was still on the bottom. As my tank settled to the sandy bottom, I headed for the surface, a couple of hard kicks and I came up at the back of the Manettis’ boat.

  I slipped the fins off in the water and silently pulled myself aboard, keeping my head down. I could see Don and Melissa scrambling around the bow, trying to snag the cocaine with the boat hook before it all dissolved into the sea. In their haste they’d left Snyder standing in the cockpit. He was already moving up behind them along the starboard side. I scurried along the other, ducking under the boom and past the mast.

  Just then Melissa turned toward me. Recognition shifted quickly to disbelief, followed quickly by sheer rage. I had just dissolved half their twenty-five million in cocaine into the sea. She raised her gun and squeezed the trigger in one swift action, pointing dead center on my sternum. I heard the gun fire as I dove for the deck, knowing that if the first bullet missed, the second wouldn’t.

  A second never came. Snyder had nailed her from the other side, stepping right in front of the bullet meant for me. Snyder crumpled as Melissa went over the side, the dive knife in her chest. Her gun skittered across the deck just out of my reach as Don turned. He went for the gun that he’d tucked in his belt as I lunged for Melissa’s. I made it first. I didn’t hesitate to fire. He tumbled over the side into a cocaine sea.

  I rushed to Snyder. He was lying across the bow, his shirt soaked in red. Blood was already pooling on the boat and dripping into the water.

  “Jimmy, you’re okay,” I said, wrapping an arm under his neck and raising his head. I was holding my palm over his chest, in an absolutely foolish attempt to keep the life inside him.

  “Just keep breathing, Jimmy. Keep breathing, for chrissake.”

  “Hey, Hannah. Guess we got them, huh?” He smiled.

  “Yeah, Jimmy. We did.”

  Chapter 28

  I blamed myself for Snyder. Just a damned kid.

  “Listen, Hannah, this is not your fault,” Dunn said.

  “I should never have taken him out there with me.” I was hunched over on the hard wooden bench, head in hand, still in my wetsuit. It was soaked in Jimmy’s blood. Dunn sat beside me. A dozen empty cardboard cups were scattered on the table. Between the two of us we’d probably consumed half the coffee in the vending machine.

  “You know Jimmy,” Dunn said. “You think he was going to let you leave him behind? He was where he wanted to be.”

  “Yeah, well, it should be me lying in there now. That bullet should be lodged in my chest, not his. He dove right in front of it, for chrissake.”

  Jimmy had been in surgery for almost an hour. No one was telling us a damn thing.

  I’d brought him in, sure I was causing all kinds of further damage as I struggled to get him into the Wahoo. I didn’t think he’d make it to shore, but I wasn’t about to sit by and watch him bleed to death out there on that sailboat. He’d managed to hold on, shallow breaths still rattling deep in his chest when I’d pulled the Wahoo into the dock at Road Town.

  ***

  “Chief. Detective Sampson.” It was Hall, one of the doctors on staff at the hospital. A tall, thin, and pasty man, I thought of him as Ichabod and just barely kept from calling him that now.

  “Doctor Hall. How is he?” I asked.

  “He’s still in surgery. It’s been touch and go. His heart stopped once but they got it going. He’s lost a lot of blood and there’s extensive internal damage. He’ll be in there for at least another two hours, maybe three.”

  “Will he make it?” I demanded.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “You should go home. It will be hours before we know anything.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” I wasn’t about to abandon Jimmy. I had some idiotic notion that if I left, he’d die on me.

  Dunn could see it was useless to argue. He bought me another cup of lukewarm coffee and headed to the crime scene. Stark and Worthington had gone out already to secure the area. I’d left Don and Melissa Manetti floating in an ocean of cocaine and blood. Dunn had called Edmund Carr to help retrieve the bodies. He’d also called O’Brien and James Carmichael, both familiar with Satan’s Cellar, to recover Wold’s body and the rest of the cocaine. I told them where to look.

  Now I sat in the waiting room, replaying the sequence of events, trying to figure out where the hell I had gone wrong. I was staring at the floor, elbows on knees, chin in hand, thinking about Jimmy creeping up to the bow of the Manettis’ boat, when Elyse walked up.

  “Hannah, you’re a mess. Come on, I brought you some clothes. Hall said you could use the doctor’s lounge for a shower.”

  She kept up a steady stream of chatter as she led the way down a back hall to a door marked “Private.” I knew what she was doing, but it wasn’t working.

  “Elyse, I’m fine,” I said, interrupting her discourse in midsentence.

  “Okay,” she said, wrapping an arm around me. “Get in the shower. I’ll be back later.”

  “Elyse,” I said as she walked away, “Thanks.”

  The lo
unge was deserted when I stepped inside. I hoped it stayed that way. I relished the time alone. I went straight to the shower, peeled off the sticky wet suit, and stood under the hot water, washing away salt and Jimmy’s blood. Watching the red swirl down the drain.

  When I came out Jimmy’s mother was in the waiting room, her small form enveloped in a chair in the corner. Her hair was bristled white cotton, skin wrinkled and ebony. She wore a dress scattered with yellow and purple flowers, with a pair of matching purple slippers on her tiny feet. I knew who it was right away. Even now, I could see the same mischief behind her eyes. So Jimmy got it from her, I thought.

  I didn’t want to face her, but what could I do? I walked over, sank onto the red plastic sofa beside her, and introduced myself.

  “I know who you are. Jimmy be always talkin’ ‘bout you,” she said.

  “I’m so sorry about what happened,” I whispered.

  “Don’t you be blaming yourself,” she said, taking my hand. “Jimmy be stepping into the middle of things since he be taking his first step. He’s a strong boy. He be comin’ through dis just fine.”

  I wished I had her confidence. We sat together a long time, quietly waiting, a noisy clock on the wall above our heads relentlessly clicking off the minutes. I found myself drifting in an old familiar nightmare. The one where Jake is sinking, hand reaching out. Me straining, trying to grasp him, my fingers just inches from his when he disappears into the black void.