Elise was already at the controls. “Welcome back.” Her eyes met Tom and Genevieve. “How are you two feeling?”
“Fine,” Genevieve replied.
“Never better,” Tom was already opening the hyperbaric chamber’s doors. “But I’d like to keep it that way.”
Elise nodded. “It’s good to go.”
Sam removed his dry suit and wrapped a heated blanket over himself as Genevieve and Tom climbed into the decompression chamber.
Elise turned the pressurized lock and brought the pressure inside up to the equivalent of 40 feet.
The Maria Helena’s chamber, which had originally been plumbed for commercial diving, had an identical set of controls inside and outside the chamber, although the topside controls will usually override the diver’s controls. The rationale behind this plumbing philosophy is that in an emergency, divers can operate their own decompression. In the civilian world, not many chambers can be run from the inside.
Sam removed his dive booties, hood, and gloves. He dried his wrinkled, shaking hands. His movements slightly subdued by exhaustion. Deep, red lines marked his face from the mask, emphasizing the pallor they all shared — a mixture of fatigue and cold.
Elise glanced at him. “Nice dive?”
“I’ve had better. It was a little cold down there, and it’s always sad to see the cruel fate of fellow pilots.”
“Any guesses what happened?”
Sam said, “I think they landed the plane on the water successfully, and then it sank. That damage is low speed. He must have been some pilot. It would be like landing the world’s biggest bus on the sea at two hundred and fifty miles an hour. Damned near impossible.”
“And then someone killed him and the copilot?” Elise asked.
“Yeah. Back of the head, single shot. Both of them.”
Her response was mechanical. “How weird?”
“Yeah.”
Elise glanced at the pressure reading for the chamber, confirming it was fixed at the equivalent of 40 feet. “So, what happened to the murderer?”
Sam shook his head. “No idea.”
“Any luck with the flight data recorders?”
“Tom and Genevieve retrieved both of them.” Sam pulled a woolen jumper over his head. “They’re still attached to the lift cable. I’m about to help Veyron pull them up.”
“Anything you want me to look at?” she asked.
“We’ve been told by the British Air Accidents Investigation Branch not to tamper with either of the black boxes.” He unzipped the pouch on his buoyancy control device and handed her the soaking wet USB stick he’d retrieved from the cockpit.
Elise took it, her face distorting in a small grimace. “It’s a bit wet. That was careless of you.”
Sam lifted his palms outward toward the ceiling. “Hey, I didn’t put it in the water.”
“Is that the QAR?”
“Got it in one,” Sam replied. “Any chance you can still access the data?”
“The seawater will have wreaked havoc, but I’ll try my best.” She smiled. “Any luck with the data and voice recorders?”
“Yeah. Tom and Genevieve found them. The team from the UK Air Accidents Investigation Branch were adamant we’re not to open its casings and disturb the data.”
She nodded. “That seems fair. It’s their show. We’re just here to retrieve it for them. So what’s the plan for it?”
“As soon as Genevieve’s decompressed, she’s going to fly it to Finland, where it will be taken by a commercial jet to Heathrow, where the UK AAIB will take it apart, see what it has to say and commence their investigation.”
“All right. I’ll have a look at the QAR as soon as we’re done here.”
Sam pulled up his wet weather pants, zipped up his work boots, and zipped the wet weather jacket up to his face.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Up on deck to help Veyron pull up the flight data recorders.”
Chapter Six
Sam watched as Veyron operated the heavy winch, as it pulled the lift bag containing the twin black box recorders onto the aft deck of the Maria Helena. As soon as it cleared the deck, Veyron adeptly maneuvered the crane across inward until he successfully lowered the load onto the deck.
As soon as the bag was on the deck, Sam stepped forward, disconnected the winch hook, and secured the lift bag so that any broaching wave wouldn’t sweep it away again.
He met Veyron’s eye and gave him the all okay signal.
Veyron secured the hook to the deck and made his way across the deck to greet him. “Well done, Sam.”
Sam shook his hand firmly. “Thanks. It was Tom and Genevieve who did most of the heavy lifting.”
“All the same. You got it done.”
Behind him, standing at a half-open door at the base of the pilothouse, a stranger said, “Good man, well done!”
“Thank you.” Sam glanced at the stranger. He was moderately overweight, and his shortness accentuated that weight. The man wore a crisp, white beard, and a well-practiced, deceitful smile. At a guess, the man was one of three types of people — a politician, lawyer, or a banker. None of which he had any interest in speaking to today. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
The man held out his hand. “I’m Gene Cutting.”
Sam accepted the hand and gave it a curt, but firm shake. “Right. I’m sorry, who?”
“Gene Cutting.”
“So you said. From where?”
“I own Phoenix Shipping, and I need your help.”
“I’m afraid you’ll need to get in line. I have a lot on my plate right now. Are you a friend of my father’s?”
“No. I’m afraid I’ve been a competitor to your father over the years. Our dislike of one another has been entirely professional, I assure you. Your father’s an amazing man.”
Sam glanced at the second helicopter, this one on the generally unused forward helipad. “Then what are you doing here?”
“I have a problem.”
Sam nodded. “So, you said.”
Gene continued. “One of our ships ran aground yesterday. We need your help.”
“Sorry, buddy. You should have called ahead. I could have told you I’m not interested in taking on extra work currently.” He looked at the Dreamlifter’s black box. “As you can see, I have a lot of work to do, here.”
Gene ignored him. “I did call.”
Sam stared at the man through narrowed eyes. “You’re the guy who’s been trying to call me all day?”
“Yeah.”
An incredulous grin crept up on his lips. “That makes you an asshole or a fool. Which one are you?”
“Hey, I need your help. We’re willing to compensate you well for your time,” Gene replied, nonplussed.
“I already told you I wasn’t interested.”
“I know. But this is important.”
“What I’m currently doing is important!” Sam sighed and shook his head. “Can’t you get one of the other experts to have a look at it?”
“I already have.”
“What did they say?”
“They said they have no fucking idea what to make of it.”
“Make of what?”
“What went wrong with the Buckholtz?”