“It’s too bloody strong to swim. I won’t reach the safety line from this angle — you’ll have to lower some ballast down my line.”
“Stand by,” Rod acknowledged the request.
A five-kilo weight was attached to the line.
“First one’s on its way.”
The weight dropped smoothly down the line to the waiting diver.
“Got it. I reckon I’m going to need at least four of those.”
“Yeah you’re probably right.” Rod slipped the extra weights onto the line.
The sharks looked on with interest from the shadow of the wreck; this was a different movement for the alien creatures.
Eventually with sufficient weights to counter the effects of the current John secured himself and the safety line to the wreck.
“OK boys you can join the party now.”
With “Big Blaster” in tow, the others followed down the tethered line. They hoped that “Big Blaster”, combined with the extractor hose working in unison at full rate, would enable them to work their way into the stern section of the submarine with maximum effect. This part of the wreck was far more badly damaged than the forward section, making it all the more difficult to explore.
At first there was no sign of any more gold. Eventually they came to another bulkhead, its door jammed open with possibly just enough room for a small man without any equipment strapped to his back to squeeze through. John shone his lamps into the space but the cloudy water was still impenetrable.
They tried the hydraulic jack on the rust encrusted door without success.
“How about if I rig one the spare air hoses from to my helmet. I’m sure I could get in without the air pack.”
“Always the improviser eh Slim? Well at least you’re the smallest. If you’re happy, it’s worth a try,” John agreed.
Big J rarely interfered with the men when they worked underwater; they were all experienced and were constantly improvising to resolve problems for which there were no set procedures.
“Take it easy Slim, we’ve never worked with more than ten-metre extensions before,” he suggested discreetly
“Don’t panic Boss. I intend to spend my share of all this lovely gold,” Slim chuckled as he made his way back to the bell to collect a spare hose.
Equipped with the extension and carrying his gas-air mixes pack. He returned to the bulkhead.
“Right boys, let’s be getting to it.”
Slim slithered through the narrow gap, sending up another cloud of rusty silt. He could see less than one metre into the murk so waited impatiently as the pump sucked at the water. As it slowly cleared he recognised the mass in front of him as a rock. The bottom of the submarine must have either rusted away or been blown away when it was torpedoed and settled on the rocky seabed. Something moving on the edge of his vision caught his eye. He swung his powerful lamp but found nothing until he saw the jagged hole leading out of the hull.
“I don’t know what kind of fish there could be down here but we may have just invaded their home,” he joked humourlessly into his microphone.
Slim, wanting to get out of the claustrophobic embrace of the compartment, moved with determination towards where he believed logically the next bulkhead should be. Heavy with silt, the cloudy water obscured his route. With only his second step, he was pulled up sharply by his safety line, causing him to roll sideways and fall against the mound of coral. The encrusted rock, to his surprise, gave way under his weight, as if it were a pile of loose stones. He steadied himself as a new cloud of silt erupted all round him.
“You OK in there Slim?” John asked.
“Just slipped. I’m OK. Can you give me any more line?”
John pushed the last metre through the door.
“That’s the lot. Any good?”
“Can’t see anything for the moment but its clearing. What’s this?” he muttered before gasping, “Oh boy, this isn’t rock — it’s a bloody great pile of gold!”
All those years ago the torpedo that sank the submarine hit the main cargo hold; the intensity of the explosion blew open the bottom of the hull while the submarine was still on the surface. Most of the gold stored there was scattered into the sea, shimmering like golden autumn leaves tumbling in the wind, as it cascaded to the ocean floor to be lost forever; however some of the gold melted into a solid mass and only a few ingots remained intact.
Once the water cleared, Slim gazed transfixed at the golden reflections.
“It’s a mountain of gold!” he gasped in hushed wonder.
The tiger sharks were becoming increasingly irritated.
Half a mile or so from a small Corregidor fishing harbour, the Japanese dive boat rode quietly at its anchor. The thin-faced expedition leader of the group paced the deck in silence. His assistant, a shorter Japanese man, followed like his shadow; eventually they turned and moved towards the helipad.
“The lawyer has reported that our informer’s regular message failed to come through. It must mean that he’s been compromised,” the thin-faced man spat without turning around. “The eventual failure of his regular messages had of course been anticipated. Well at least the lawyer has been able to confirm that Franco Ebola and his men have arrived safely and are to act as our security screen. We will rendezvous at dusk.”
He looked out towards the setting sun; a thin smile while lit his face.
“Of course I also realise that Ebola’s group will probably attempt to take the gold for themselves. Our advantage however,” he looked happily for the first time at his timid companion, “is that we know that they intend to try. Yes it is going to be a very interesting day.”
Both of Big J’s dive teams were working on the wreck in a desperate attempt to recover the last of the gold. Slim was inside the hold gathering up as many of the loose ingots as he could find and passing them laboriously to John and the other divers waiting beyond the jammed door. The other team was working outside the hull, urgently trying to make an entrance at least large enough to extract, with the aid of the ships powerful derrick, the huge lump of gold which had been fused together by the initial explosion.
Slim was exhausted and John ordered him out.
“You’ve done your bit Slim and we’re all well over our time limit so we’re all going up now. The others will have to see if they can do any more.”
Slim didn’t argue; he knew the danger of extending the real pressure time to far.
“Hal,” John called, “it’s all yours now. We’re going up — the bell will come straight back for you. Good luck.”
They had just transferred to the pressure vessel when Alex raised the alarm; he’d always suspected that there had to be another mole on the ship.
Hans, poring over his complex scanning equipment in London, had not until now been able to pinpoint the exact source of the radio signals. Then suddenly he’d managed to override the code. The calls were coming from the bridge of the cargo ship La Vielle. He called Alex immediately.
Alex crept cautiously up to the bridge. As he quietly eased open the door he saw the captain huddled over the satellite telephone engaged in a whispered conversation. It was loud enough for Alex to understand that they were about to be attacked.
Alex stepped onto the bridge as the captain replaced the receiver.
“Good evening Captain,” he announced himself cheerfully.
The captain practically jumped out of his chair in surprise. “What do you want?” he demanded.
“Simple really. Just the name of the person you were talking to?” Alex smiled. That was when the captain noticed the thirty-eight revolver pointing at his stomach. He stood up slowly.
“What’s this all about?” the captain bluffed.