The man raised his shoulders.
“Doesn’t sound like such a big deal to me.”
“There’s more I’m afraid. We also think that there are some armed terrorists from the South who also want to muscle in on our operation.” The man’s expression had not changed. He’d make a good poker player, Alex thought fleetingly. “You still want in?”
“So just what are you diving for that makes you the good guys?” the man asked.
Alex smiled.
“Gold, my friend, gold!”
“I should have known.” The man shook his head in disbelief. “Well at least you’re being honest about it,” he laughed as his mood suddenly changed. “You may know different to all the others but many fortunes have been wasted looking for gold out there.”
“That is our risk — your deal is a small retainer and a share if we find anything.”
“I can’t lose then can I!” he smiled again. “In that case count me in. By the way name’s Maurice — my friends call me Mo.” The man held out his hand.
That was when Dick remembered where he’d met Mo before. He was shipped aboard the trawler with a team of divers to try to save their net when they hooked into an old wreck in about one hundred metres of water. The trawls are almost one kilometre long and cost a fortune. The divers did several plunge dives to see if the net could be saved but in the end were unable to help. Mo had been one of the divers.
“OK Mo we start with a bit of intelligence work,” Alex instructed as they all strolled casually along the quay. “In the next bay there are three powerboats with a mixed crew of divers and armed men. I want to try to find out what they’re up to. They’ve seen Dick here so it would be too dangerous for him to go back. Do you fancy making a start?”
“OK,” Mo grinned, “but when you said security work, I didn’t realise you meant the James Bond stuff.” He grinned happily. “Give me an hour and I’ll see you back at your boat.”
Forty-five minutes later he was sitting on the boat drinking a beer out of the bottle.
“You were right — they’re from the south, a surly bunch too, almost nothing to say for themselves. There are several divers amongst them. The others are probably some kind of religious fanatics; a dangerous looking outfit I can tell you.” He sipped his beer. “They’ve three thirsty looking powerboats, a bit like this but more streamlined. I bet they can go!”
Dick looked upset.
“They’ll have to go some to match this little beauty.” He affectionately stroked and patted the console.
“I sure hope so.” Mo shook his head. “I’m beginning to wonder what I’ve got myself into now,” he said with genuine feeling.
“Don’t worry my friend.” Alex leaned over and thumped him on the shoulder. “The good guy’s win. I’ve seen the movie!”
The next shift of divers settled on the bottom; the high-pressure suction hose was lowered with them. They were tense as John eased himself carefully into the jagged hole. As well as the lamps attached to their pressure helmets they had a brace of lights on a flexible cable. The silt rose in an impenetrable cloud as he stepped onto the bottom. The suction hose was inserted to pull gently at the cloudy water. As it cleared, John found that he was standing about two metres from a half-open bulkhead door. He took a step towards it and another cloud of silt filled his vision. Feeling his way forward, he reached the door. He pushed hopefully but unsurprisingly it would not move. Gradually the water cleared again.
“I’ve found a door but I’m going to need the hydraulic jack to push it back,” he said, speaking into his helmet.
The second diver had just dropped into the hole. The other two were to remain on the outside.
“I’ll get it,” Number Four replied and made his way half walking, half swimming back to the bell.
John positioned the jack while number two diver pumped the lever. Amazingly, the door started to move almost immediately. As soon as the gap was wide enough, they waited once again for the silt to clear and then John eased through the gap. He stopped dead as the light of his helmet lamp played over the contents of the compartment, recognising at once the ten or twelve millimetre shells sitting in their customised racks; in the same glance he took in the dozens of crates stacked beneath them.
The sudden thrill made him suck greedily at the artificial air in his helmet; pausing briefly, he controlled himself then, with the warning about delicate munitions ringing clearly in his head, called out calmly, “Steady boys — this place is full of munitions.”
Number two diver was close behind him.
“Here.”
John made enough space for him to squeeze in.
“My God,” Number Two exclaimed. “There must be hundreds of ’em. I wonder what else they have in here.” He moved forward cautiously.
“Be bloody careful boys!” Big J’s warning voice sounded in their helmets.
Big J sat in the control room staring at the coloured screens. Like a mother hen, he spent every shift monitoring his divers.
“I suggest you switch on your camera now,” he gently reminded John. The picture panned across the racked shells then moved down towards the boxes underneath.
“Be very careful boys — those boxes may contain other nasties.” He hadn’t wanted to say it but they looked exactly like the grenade boxes he’d seen in Vietnam.
Number two leaned down and gently waved his hand in front of the first case; the silt flew in a cloud. He stopped and waited, then did it again. After three or four goes the front edge of the case was cleared. It was made of wood with its lid clearly nailed down; amazingly it still appeared to be in good condition.
“What do you think?” he asked.
It was Big J who replied.
“I think we need to know what’s in that box boys.”
He tried to hide his own excitement. Suddenly he was no longer thinking of grenades but could it be what they were all hoping for?
“I suggest you use a small lever and carefully lift the top of that first box,” he ordered without evident emotion.
“At your command oh master,” John responded lightly.
Because of the buoyancy exerted on the body underwater, it is much more difficult for a diver to exert pressure on objects.
Number Two diver tried to move the first box first but it was too heavy
“OK, let’s do it the old fashioned way.”
He pulled the lever from his belt kit, held it against the box and gave it a gentle push. Nothing happened.
“Here, try this.” John passed him a heavy wrench.
The diver tapped the lever gently, then a bit harder, until suddenly the rotting wood imploded into a cloud of decayed fragments. The bar skidded to a halt on the solid contents. They waited as usual for the silt to clear. The lever had gouged along the surface of the contents, creating a golden coloured scar, which sparkled in the artificial light.
The realisation of the find left them all momentarily speechless.
“My God,” Big J’s voice booming down the microphone broke the silence, “we’ve bloody well found it!”
The captain of the chartered dive vessel answered the satellite telephone. He listened briefly than passed the instrument to the oriental man standing next to him.
“It’s for you.”
“Yes, yes,” the oriental man, speaking in English, repeated into the instrument. “Excellent. You will now give the coordinates to the captain.” He passed the telephone back. “You will now be given our next position, so please make a careful note but do not alter course until I tell you.”
The captain took the telephone and wrote down the latitude and longitude of the waypoint.