The only limit to their stay beneath the surface was physical. The divers were breathing a mixture of helium and oxygen which was absolutely essential to guard against nitrogen narcosis; the euphoric state some unfortunate divers get into which usually leads to death.
That was the reason the Galeazzi Tower was being used. It was suspended from the Taliba at a depth of one hundred feet. Inside were two other divers. If an accident occurred where Batista or Zienkovitch were overcome, they could be taken up to the diving bell by the two safety divers and returned to the surface.
At the end of their planned dive, Batista and Zienkovitch returned to the submersible’s decompression chamber. When Marsh was satisfied they were both in the first chamber, he expelled the water and brought the air pressure up to that at which they had been diving. Then they opened the door of the decompression chamber and acknowledged Marsh on the monitors. Marsh noted the time and logged it. He knew Batista would do the same. They would now remain in the decompression chamber for an hour or more to allow them to decompress safely.
Marsh signalled to the Taliba that the dive had ended and he was now about to bring the Challenger to the surface. He blew the sea water out of the ballast tanks, filling them with compressed air. He felt good; it has been a successful dive. Slowly and gently the Challenger rose to the surface.
Chapter 11
The police picked up Sweeting Maclean about mid-day; bounced him on a traffic violation and suspicion of a crime committed the previous day. The officers claimed he fitted the description given by a witness and was required for an identity parade.
It was easy picking Maclean up because men of his character broke the rules as regularly as drawing breath. He protested vigorously when they told him they wanted him down at police headquarters for the identity parade, but all his protestations about human rights, being allowed to contact his lawyer, arrest warrants and claims that they couldn’t do this to him simply fell on deaf ears and he ended up at police H.Q.
Inspector Bain knew they had no real grounds to hold the man, but they were buying time and needed him out of the way while they searched his house during the process of recording his traffic violation and putting him into a line-up of five, off duty policemen.
There was nothing grand about the place Maclean lived in. It was situated in the poorer district of Freeport, but men like Maclean had no use for grandeur; their money was usually spent on drink, women, drugs and fast cars.
The police searched Maclean’s place thoroughly. It didn’t take long and they made sure that everything they touched was returned to its proper place. The two men searching noticed that the bed appeared to have been slept on, rather than slept in; as though somebody had lain there. The room itself was typically male but there was a pair of ladies shoes that looked as though they had been tossed carelessly on to the floor. One of the men picked them up.
“Look at these,” he said to his colleague. “And the bed.”
The other policeman was puzzled. “What am I supposed to see?” he asked.
“Girl’s shoes. If Maclean had a woman here last night, the bed would have been in one helluva mess. But the bed’s made. If a woman had made the bed before she left this room, it would have been tidy, and she wouldn’t have left her shoes behind.”
The other man nodded. “I see what you mean; the girl’s been here and gone.”
His companion put the shoes down and shrugged. “Might as well get back to the station; tell the inspector what we’ve seen.”
They let Maclean go, not because they had nothing on which to hold or charge him, but because they needed him back out on the street: he was their only lead to Helen Walsh.
He left the building with the air of someone who had cocked a snook at the police, but beneath the veneer, Maclean was angry. He was like a disturbed wildcat. He climbed into his car. It wasn’t the Buick; that was now a pile of scrap, and pulled away from the parking lot. He drove back to his house, parked the car on the roadway outside and let himself in through the front door.
The moment he stepped inside he could sense there was something wrong. He could almost feel it. Just inside the door was a tallboy drawer unit. He opened the top drawer and took out a small .22 calibre Beretta pistol, a ladies gun, but useful if needed. He walked from room to room with a growing feeling that somebody had been there. Although Maclean was not a particularly tidy man, he was a man of habit and knew where things were.
But everything seemed a little too precise. Everything was in its place, but they had another spirit on them. His Obeah instincts manifested themselves in a growing belief that his house had been searched while he had been held by the police. And now he knew the reason they had picked him up; because they had a suspicion he was involved in the woman’s kidnap and wanted him away from his house while they searched it. He knew now that he would have to be very careful.
When he walked into his bedroom, he saw Helen’s shoes. They were placed neatly at the foot of the bed. He knew they had not been like that when he took the girl away. He picked the shoes up and held for a while. Then he smiled and lifted his finger in silent rebuke.
“Oh, mister policeman,” he intoned, “you have made a big mistake.”
He knew then what the police were up to; they wanted him back on the street to lead them to Helen Walsh. He gave up looking round the house and went to the windows, looking from each one until he saw the car with two men in it, sitting there waiting. He wondered if the police were being deliberately stupid.
So be it, he thought, let’s give them something to follow. He would not go back to Helen Walsh for some time. Instead he would stay in Freeport.
He thought about the shoes and how absent minded someone had been to put them back so neatly. He laughed.
“Oh yes, mister policeman; a very big mistake.”
After the dive, Marsh asked Khan to tell him exactly why he wanted him to pilot the Challenger and what for. He was in Khan’s cabin with the Captain and Malik. Malik always seemed to be around. Marsh wondered if it was protection for Khan. He noticed also that Khan’s face had taken on a very pallid colour and he wondered just how ill the man really was.
“Very well Marsh, I suppose you are entitled to know what it is we want you to do and why we need your skill and experience.” Khan was sitting in a comfortable chair. Marsh was leaning against the desk, facing him.
“The Challenger,” Khan began, “will dive on to a capped well-head. It is a dry well. The cap of the well-head is designed to allow the submersible to anchor on to it using the skirt that is attached to the underside of the Challenger. Batista and Zienkovitch will take care of that procedure. Your job is to guide the Challenger on to the well head following precise instructions from either of the divers.” He coughed and reached for a glass of water, his face mirroring the discomfort he felt in his chest. When he had drank a little of the water, he continued.
“There is sufficient room for one diver to work inside the skirt. Zienkovitch will do that while Batista remains in the central chamber to prepare the device for lowering into the well.”