Most of the sophisticated equipment had been prepared in anticipation of the dive. The dive bell, which could hold six divers, would be lowered on a cable with an umbilical cord supplying air and communications. From there the divers could work wearing thermal dry suits and pressure helmets fitted with two way radios, providing communication via the bell, both to the surface and with each other. At the end of each dive period, the men would return to the bell, which was then sealed and returned to the surface, craned aboard the mother ship and clamped to the onboard “pressure vessel”, allowing the divers to transfer safely to the pressurised living accommodation. The “pressure vessel” was in effect a miniature submarine, its internal pressure maintained at around ten atmospheres.
It was equipped like a rather cramped apartment- and there they would have to eat, sleep, watch videos and pass their time between dives until they were eventually depressurised.
They divided into two shifts of four divers working two hours per shift during the slack water period. The dive bell with the first four men was swung out over the side of the tug and started its descent to the wrecks.
Big J agreed that John would lead the underwater team and Greg take over the cargo vessel, which would be manoeuvred close alongside the tug to make best use of its powerful lifting gear.
Eight divers led by John would form the saturated group. Divided into two teams, they would each work one two-hour shift per tide; Hal would lead the second team. Rod, the tall Australian diver, happily agreed to be the eighth man — only seven of Big J’s team were currently fit to go into saturation. The remaining six divers would act as safety and surface support.
One knot of tide was still running as the bell stopped some five metres above the stern of wrecked submarine. The first job would be to drag away some of the remains of the surface ship, which lay diagonally across the sub, in the hope that this would offer access to any areas still intact.
Guided by commands from the divers, cables were lowered and the work of looping chains around the solid beams and plates began. The first large steel plate was lifted about one metre before it collapsed in a cloud of oxidised flakes of metal, leaving the water filled with an impenetrable fog of silt and minute debris.
The shark, watching from the cover of the rocks, retreated nervously.
The slight current soon cleared the water and the divers returned to their task. After two and a half hours the next shift of divers was lowered to the wreck.
“I think you should carry on working away at the middle section. I suspect that we’re very close to the sub’s pressure hull,” John advised.
“OK, see you later,” was all Hal said as he moved with the others into the site.
Progress was slow and it was two more days before they reached the submarine’s pressure hull and discovered, that at that point at least, it was still intact.
Dick had agreed originally to act as ferryboat but after Dick’s call confirming that the Golden Lily men were going to attempt some kind of search for the gold. Alex converted his role into “”. Dick, fired both by the generous fee proposed and the excitement of playing a more important role in the actual dive operation, enthusiastically agreed.
Fortunately, earlier that morning he had persuaded Annie to stay ashore and with his friend’s family. This meant that she would be safe and out of harm’s way.
“Running stores in all weathers back and forth to the divers is not the best place for the child,” he’d convinced her earlier.
On the run back to shore at the end of the first evening, he decided to stop and refuel at the little fishing village just south of Manila — it would save him a few miles and the fuel was a bit cheaper.
He didn’t spot the three powerboats at first; it was the men loitering on the quay that alerted his attention. He pulled up to the fuelling berth as a wizened old man appeared from a shack near the rusting pump. Dick nudged the boat gently against the coir fenders and grabbed the mooring line.
“Hello there,” the old man greeted him cheerfully, “twice in one week; business must be good!”
Dick smiled as he unscrewed the fuel cap.
“It is and about time too — been lucky enough to get a couple of decent charters.”
The old man passed the fuel line down the wall. Dick took it and pushed it expertly into the tank, snapped the flow lock and stood up
“OK let it go. I need about five hundred litres each side.” Dick stood up, wiping his hands with a large piece of rag.
“I’ve had a good day as well, almost six thousand litres to those fellows over there.” The old man pointed with his crooked arthritic index finger.
Dick followed the line and saw, barely visible in the shadow of an ocean going trawler, the sterns of the three powerboats.
“What are they up to then?” Dick asked innocently.
“Don’t know, a bit strange really — they’ve had a long trip though. I thought they were divers at first but judging by some of their complexions they are definitely landlubbers from the south — I can tell by their dialect. Up to no good, if I had to guess,” the old man winked and tapped his nose knowingly.
Dick completed the refuelling and paid.
“Can I leave her here? I’ll be about ten minutes.”
“It’s OK by me,” the old man confirmed and vanished inside his shack.
Dick walked over to the little café where four or five young men were sitting. The glasses on the table all appeared to contain mint tea or just water.
“Good afternoon,” Dick greeted them politely, sitting down at the only other free table. He ordered a coffee and relaxed. “Excuse me for asking but do any of you know about a Japanese dive boat looking for crew in these parts?”
To a man they turned sharply and stared at Dick.
“What dive boat?” the nearest hissed.
Trying to appear casual, Dick replied,
“I just heard that there is a Japanese diving expedition being fitted out around here somewhere — apparently they’re looking for pointers and divers.”
“We know nothing,” the same man replied abruptly.
“I just wondered when I saw those powerboats moored over there.” He pointed vaguely across the harbour.
Without another word they all got up from their chairs and left the café. The man who had spoken stood menacingly over Dick.
“I repeat we know nothing and if you want to stay healthy, neither do you, understand?”
“Sorry friend, it means nothing to me. I was just curious, sorry,” Dick repeated, raising his hand in surrender and looking suitably contrite.
The man stared at Dick for a couple more seconds, then turned and walked silently away.
Dick was a tough streetwise fisherman and recognised hard men when he met them and knew full well the right time at least to appear to submit; as the beads perspiration trickled down his back he knew that this was one of those times.
Returning gratefully to his boat, he cast-off and moved slowly across the harbour, aiming at the powerboats. As he moved closer, he was surprised to see men in the cockpit casually cleaning their automatic weapons. On the next boat he could see several yellow compressed air cylinders. When they heard the noise of Dick’s engines, the men simply turned their backs to conceal their weapons. Dick swung the boat slowly away and moved out to sea. He dare not use the VHF radio; others would almost certainly be monitoring the channels. He had to get back to Annie and call Alex from the landline.
Dick arrived at first light and moored his boat alongside the cargo vessel, which John had now re-named La Vielle. She in turn was moored parallel to the tug.
Alex was going to need some special help and information — so he called the Boss at SONIC. A few hours later, the Boss reported that he’d been able to establish that the diving vessel was chartered by some mysterious Japanese businessmen and was owned by a dubious Singapore company. In his opinion the businessmen were almost certainly just underworld villains, hiding under the Golden Lily canopy.