“What’s the matter with you people? You should know better than trying to show-off underwater. Nobody’s fucking politics can ever bend the rules of nature and diving rules are sacred with me. Get those buggers across here pronto! We’ll have to waste precious space in our chamber now.” He stomped away angrily then shouted down to his own crew, who had casually assembled at the sound of the excitement.
“I won’t have heroes in my team. Remember, we work as a team. Clever buggers like those stupid sods cause more trouble than they’re worth. So just you look at this bunch and remember!”
He pointed towards the ailing divers as they were being carried across to the tug.
“And don’t any of you forget, I don’t write letters to no weeping widows.” He paused looking seriously down from the bridge, a few seconds ticked by. “I can’t bloody write anyway,” he grinned at his men.
There were a couple of patronising guffaws but none was really amused. They were all too well aware of the thin line between life and death beneath the surface of the sea.
“OK let’s get some work done?” He turned to John standing at his side. “How long has he been down there?”
“About ten hours I guess?” John replied with a grimace.
“Not good, not good,” Big J repeated, shaking his head. “It’s not that deep so I suppose we’d better get the small dive chamber ready first and send a couple of the boys down on helium. Three minute dives only.” He stopped pacing. “Wait, perhaps a better idea would be to send Jake — he’s got the strongest stomach — and the other two Chinese divers; we’ll let them recover their own mate or what’s left of him.” He looked through the screen to the men busying themselves on deck. “It should teach them a lesson in following the rules!” He walked away shaking his head. “What a bloody waste,” he mumbled in despair.
The three divers entered the cramped pressurised capsule, where normal atmospheric pressure would be maintained, and were lowered to the seabed.
The divers would be able to leave the pressure vessel and, by breathing a sophisticated mixture of gases be able to spend just a few minutes at a time on the outside, without any risk. In this way the whole crew would be able to surface quickly and without decompression.
The remote video camera scanned the murky water for the wellhead and the lost diver. Within seconds, the slimy metal side of the vast manifold came into view. They manoeuvred slowly along the metal wall; suddenly they came across a great army of crabs piled up in a pyramid. As the sphere got closer the crabs began waving their arms and claws in protest. The object of their attention suddenly became sickeningly clear. According to the survivors the diver had been tangled in some kind of obstruction. The lure of dead flesh had soon attracted hoards of predators to a welcome feast.
The sharks had on this occasion paid little attention to the bait. It lacked the excitement of life’s final struggle and the absence of blood. The crabs, however, immediately sensed the potential banquet. It had been a struggle for them at first, trying to get to the body as it swayed gently from the safety line but, when the current changed, the body nudged into the buckled angle iron brackets, allowing them to quickly scramble aboard to gorge on their prize.
In the circumstances, the divers chose not to exit the protection of their pressure sphere. Instead, using the robotic arm, they tapped the seething mass of shells, attempting to frighten them away. Some took the metallic hint but a significant majority chose to ignore the intrusion, probably believing it was a challenge for their lunch. Jake banged even harder, dislodging more of the prehistoric-looking carnivores. Eventually, he was able to grab the diver’s weight belt. He tugged on the arm and called to the winch man to raise them a metre. The crabs fell away in a tangled heap, revealing the air tanks, the weight belt and tattered remains of the neoprene suit. There were no hands nor head; all that remained of the body was inside the suit. To add to the macabre scene, the suit moved and bulged periodically as smaller crabs inside it continued unhindered to strip the remains of the skeleton.
There was a tense silence in the confined sphere. The two Chinese divers looked away from the screen and covered their faces, forcing back the bile. The true horror of the pathetic remains seeped slowly into each of the observers’ minds. Even Jake, the toughest and most experienced of all of Big J’s divers, swallowed several times.
“Come on then,” he growled eventually, “lets get the fuck out of here!”
The flight from Tokyo was only half full; the airlines of the world were still struggling to shake off the effects of the September eleventh terrorist attacks in New York.
It was evening as Alex Scott checked into his hotel overlooking the teeming Hong Kong waterfront. As soon as he was in his room and using his new, all singing and dancing mobile telephone, he called the contact given to him by Tokyo Police Chief Haki.
The phone bleeped. Almost immediately a voice answered in Chinese.
“Hello, Haki’s friend, I believe you’re expecting my call?” Alex responded.
There was a slight pause. “Mr Scott?” another pause “Mr Alexander Scott?” came the agreed response.
“You got it in one,” Alex confirmed. “When can we meet please?”
“I’ll come to you,” the voice answered. “I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”
Alex agreed and the phone went dead; he looked at the handset for a moment, shrugged his shoulders and switched on the television. As the set warmed into life. The Simpsons blared out at him in English. “Not really very Chinese!” he noted to himself, switching to another channel. The local news in Chinese, he decided, was more typical but no more entertaining. He turned the set off. A few moments later, a tap on the door made him jump up from his chair. He cautiously opened the door. Standing in the corridor was a medium height man carrying a large rolled up golfing umbrella.
“Mr. Scott I presume?” the man asked, presenting the umbrella.
Alex smiled. Haki just loved these cloak and dagger introductions. He opened the door wide and invited the man into the room.
The man extended his free hand. “Ling,” he said, introducing himself.
Alex took the hand; it had a good firm grip, he noted.
“Come on in, make yourself at home.” Alex pointed to the free armchair. “I can’t offer you any hospitality without calling room service.”
Ling waved his hand.
“Thank you but no thank you,” he smiled politely.
They sat facing each other. Ling laid his umbrella on the floor beside the chair before leaning forward, clasping his well-manicured hands together.
“Haki asked me to put myself at your disposal. He told me very little other than that you are looking for an unusual cargo and the Syndicate are involved.”
Ling spoke English immaculately. He was oriental but it occurred to Alex that he must have some European ancestry.
“Yes that’s right. The Syndicate are very much involved and are suspected of smuggling a lethal cargo of military arms and munitions out of China to the Philippines. I need your help to intercept and destroy it.”
“I presume that this cargo is to be transported by sea?” Ling, not showing emotion of any kind, asked by way of a reply.
Alex nodded.
“Then it has to be stored close to the docks, yes?”
Alex nodded again.
His confidence growing, Ling sat back.
“In my opinion therefore, it would be more successful if the cargo were to be destroyed in transit. In neutral waters so to speak? Do you agree?”
“That also makes good sense, assuming that we know how and when it is to be shipped,” Alex replied, adding, “I take it then that you will assist?”
“Yes of course, Haki is an old friend, we have worked together on many occasions. He tells me that you helped him when his son was murdered in Manila.” He looked saddened for a moment. Then, looking up, he asserted, “When Haki recommends someone to me, there is no need to ask any more questions. If there were more law enforcement officials like him in this world, we would be all the better off for it.” Ling stood up. “There is much to do and only a very few people can be trusted anymore. Oh, and just so that you understand, the last time I assisted with a SONIC versus Syndicate operation, two members of my family suffered unspeakable deaths. Had I cooperated with the Syndicate they might have lived. Just thought you should know. Now I have even more reason to oppose their evil regime.” He changed his tone. “I will call you in the morning, on your mobile, if I may have the number please.”