“We’re going to need evidence of their age. If they were before the 17th century, then my theory holds true. If they’re more recent than that, then we’re back to believing in some sort of natural phenomena.” Sam grinned. “Do you guys want to keep watching the video, or shall we go dive the real thing?”
Chapter Thirty
The Maria Helena dropped her anchor in a hundred and forty feet of water. Now ten miles to the west of the Bimini Road she settled in the calm water and her anchor chain became lax in the still water. Below her keel were the watery graves of as many as a two dozen 17th century sailing ships.
Today, the swell appeared almost nonexistent. The barometer read high. There was almost no wind whatsoever. Sam studied a series of synoptic charts. “It hardly seems like the sort of place where one expects to get killed by a rogue wave.”
“No one ever expects to be killed by a rogue wave,” Matthew was quick to point out. “On that matter, if you are so certain that the Bimini Road is somehow inexplicably causing these events, is It wise that I anchor the Maria Helena here?”
“I’ve left a series of data dots along the Bimini Road. If something happens and a rogue wave begins to form it will send an urgent message. Elise is currently keeping track of the data coming in and will notify you immediately.”
“A lot of good that will do for us. We’re at anchor now. How long do you expect it to take me to up anchor and escape?” Matthew paused. Swallowed. “On that matter, where do you expect me to escape to?”
“It’s likely to take as much as four minutes for the wave to reach us here,” Sam replied. “And my recommendation would be to head due south. It’s the fastest direction out of harm’s way.”
Chapter Thirty One
Sam stood at the side of the moon pool examining his full face dive mask. Built into the Maria Helena’s hull the moon pool looked more like something out of an old James Bond movie. Aside from looking cool, it served a much more useful purpose. It allowed their two submarines to be housed in a protective location, while having easy access to launch. A hyperbaric chamber stood in the aft section of the room — a solemn and constant reminder of the risks faced with deep sea diving.
Veyron entered the room. His notepad at his side with dive calculations. “The seabed is approximately 140 feet below us. With twin tanks you should have a bottom time of forty minutes. I've left a pair of single tanks on the guideline at ten feet.” His eyes darted between both men. “But don’t let me catch you overstaying your visit. They’re there for safety, not so you can have those extra few minutes to enjoy the dive.”
“Understood.” Both Sam and Tom murmured together. They were professional divers. Each one knew their own limit down to the last breath of air. Sometimes they had pushed that limit out of necessity, but neither would intentionally plan to do so.
With twin dive tanks connected by a titanium manifold in front of him, Tom returned to setting up for the dive. “I bet I’ll find evidence of their age before you do.”
“Oh yeah,” Sam replied. A confident and wry smile curling at his lips. “What are you betting?”
Tom paused. “I’ll bet you a week’s vacation leave.”
Sam calculated the weight required to maintain neutral buoyancy and then attached the belt firmly at his hips. “My father owns the company. I can have leave whenever I like!”
“Sure you can.” His voice was sarcastic. “When was the last time you actually took a vacation?”
Sam shrugged. “I enjoy my job.”
“I do too, but I’ll take that week of leave off you at any rate. And just to settle the measure, I’ll throw in a beer at the end of this dive.”
“It’s a deal.” Sam climbed the three steps and sat on the edge of the moon pool. “Are you ready to do this?”
“Let’s go.”
Sam placed his full-faced dive mask on and took a couple breaths to ensure that his regulator was working correctly. He then let himself fall forward and into the pool. Settling at the first marker, ten feet below the surface, he studied his dive computer.
It read 300 bar in each of his tanks. This confirmed that they were full. He depressed his emergency octopus — the yellow regulator designed as a backup for a dive partner or if the primary becomes damaged. A large series of bubbles came out and made their way to the surface.
“Everything’s working at my end. How you looking Tom?”
“I’m good.”
Sam kicked his fins a couple times and grabbed hold of the guide wire. Next to him were the twin tanks that Veyron had left them.
“All right, let’s start our descent.”
Chapter Thirty Two
At a hundred and twenty feet Sam stopped their descent and stared at the mass grave of shipwrecks. He’d seen on the survey that there were at least a dozen ships within the area, but somehow it all appeared much more remarkable when you looked at it with your own eyes.
“That’s quite a sight,” Tom said.
Sam felt the hairs on his skin prickle in awe. It was a monument to just how weak mankind was in the ocean. “It sure is.”
He scanned a number of them before deciding which one to swim towards. Some of them looked perfectly intact. The unique thing with saltwater is that it preserves wood. Despite lying there for more than four hundred years, some of the shipwrecks appeared as though they had only recently sunk.
Some were on their side. A couple had their hulls broken in two — presumably when they were struck by a rogue wave. Others were half buried in sand. And then he spotted what he wanted.
A British Man-O-War.
She had sunk keel down and come to rest forever on top of a sandbar at a depth of 140 feet. The hull looked perfectly intact. All three masts remained upright, although her rigging had worn away long ago.
“That one!” Sam pointed at her. “The British Man o’War. I have to see it. She looks impeccably intact.”
They were staring at her starboard side.
“I thought you might say that.”
Sam had studied them extensively out of interest when he was at college. The Man o’War design developed by Sir John Hawkins, had three masts, each with three to four sails. The ship could be up to 180 feet long and could have up to 124 guns: four at the bow, eight at the stern, and 56 in each broadside. All these cannons required three gun decks to hold them, one more than any earlier ship. It had a maximum sailing speed of eight or nine knots.
They swam toward it and descended another twenty feet. The ship was enormous. It was hard to believe that anything made of wood all those years ago could be so large and capable at sea. Sam slowly made a circle around the bow.
A glance at the portside showed why she had sunk. A gaping hole of approximately twelve feet opened in her port bow. Sam pointed his powerful flashlight inside. A lone giant eel grinned back at him with razor sharp teeth, and then slithered away. “Shall we?”
Tom placed his hand on the edge of the broken hull and pulled. The wood didn’t move an inch. Despite centuries laying at the bottom of the sea, her wood had maintained its strength. He then checked his own dive computer and replied, “Sure. We’ve got another twenty-five minutes at this depth. Let’s not go too far.”
“Agreed.”
Sam tied the end of his florescent guidewire spool to the entrance. And then entered the giant crack in the side of the hull — disappearing inside.
Chapter Thirty Three
Sam followed the opening until it reached the second cannon bay. It was a shallow level, no more than four foot in height from floor to ceiling. The cannons were still there, as though they were still waiting to fire.