“More the merrier. How long do you figure you’ll need the boat?”
“Hard to say,” Sam said. “At least a couple of weeks. Depends on how it goes.”
“I’ll tell the crew and the bosses back home we’re here for the duration, then. We’re pretty self-contained. Just need to make shore runs for fruit and veggies. We’ve got a watermaker aboard and the sea’s lousy with fish, so we can stay as long as you like.”
Des gave them a quick tour of the specialized equipment along both sides of the bridge. Leonid and Sam nodded with approval. The electronics were cutting-edge, a floating laboratory and archaeological research department, with satellite Internet and communications. “We had a complete overhaul two years ago, so there’s little we don’t have aboard,” Des said with obvious pride.
“It’s certainly impressive,” Remi agreed.
When the Darwin arrived at the site, it orbited in a slow circle over the coordinates of the ruins, and both Des and Simms hovered around the monitors as the equipment detailed the anomalies along the bottom. Des ordered the anchor dropped at the edge of the complex, close enough to easily dive but far enough away so the anchor wouldn’t damage anything if it dragged. Soon four of the divers were suiting up for an initial exploration.
Once the men were in the water, everyone gathered in the bridge again to watch their progress on the screens. Their helmet-mounted cameras were sending color images in real time, recorded on hard disk for later study. Visibility was better than when Sam and Remi had dived, and soon the ruins appeared from the reef, the remains of a ghostly city swirling in the flickering light.
“There. What you’re seeing is the largest mound, and others oriented around it,” Leonid said.
“Makes sense. Probably the main palace, with the outbuildings temples and housing for the royal court and servants,” Remi said.
“I make out, what, forty structures? Maybe more,” Des said.
“At least. It appears to have been a significant compound in its heyday. Probably housed hundreds, depending on how many lived in each building,” Sam confirmed.
“Amazing that this wasn’t discovered during the war,” Simms said.
“The occupation forces had other fish to fry,” Remi said. “And the technology wasn’t really up to the challenge of exploring an underwater archaeological find.” She eyed the screen. “There’s been a lot of progress over the last seventy-something years.”
“Have you given any thought to how you want to operate?” asked Des.
Leonid stepped forward. “I have,” he said, and proceeded to detail the approach he intended to use for mapping the site. Sam and Remi exchanged glances several times — the Russian might have been ill-natured, but he was clearly a first-rate archaeologist and more than capable of running the expedition now that he had the tools to work with. When he was finished speaking, it was obvious the Australians were impressed.
Two sharks put in appearances during the dive, but the Aussies seemed unconcerned. Des pointed to the image on the monitor. “See that? Sharks typically avoid divers. Something about the noise of the bubbles startles ’em and nine times out of ten they’ll swim away as fast as they can.”
“What about the tenth time?” Leonid asked.
“Well, that’s when it’s best to have a powerhead. When we’re diving in waters with sharks, one of the team will always have one. It’s also known as a bang stick, a small air round affixed to a speargun shaft that detonates on impact, terminally injuring the target.”
“That’s good to know. Seems sensible,” Leonid allowed.
“But the chances of having to use ’em are low,” Des reaffirmed.
“How about crocodiles?” Remi asked.
“Same effect. The damage of a powerhead isn’t from the projectile, it’s from the explosive gasses entering the target. So even a relatively small round will kill a huge beast. It’s the blast, not a bullet, that does the trick,” Des explained.
“We could have used one of those the other day,” Sam said, and told him about the crocodile.
“Blimey! Twenty feet? We get ’em that big up north, but still. Did the bloke on the receiving end make it?”
“Lost a leg.”
“Damn. Well, I’ll alert the lads to be careful. Then again, working Australian waters, we’ve seen just about everything. I’m pretty sure we’ve got more dangerous creatures per meter than anywhere else on earth. Even the bloody pinecones will kill you down under. Our bunya pines drop a cone that can weigh ten kilos — imagine a bowling ball falling thirty meters onto your head.” Des offered them a smirk. “And those are just the plants.”
Sam nodded and turned to Des. “We’ve been there a few times and love it.” He glanced at his watch. “How can we get back to town?”
“Simms here can give you a lift in the skiff.”
Sam looked to Leonid. “You staying aboard?”
“Might as well. As you Americans say, it’s ‘prime time,’ right?”
Sam took a final look at the monitor and the ghostly outline of the sunken city.
“Yes, it is. And you’re in the spotlight, my friend. Front and center.”
CHAPTER 18
Sam and Remi drove to the airport the next morning to meet the American divers. Even with a chartered jet from Brisbane to Honiara, the flight time from Los Angeles had taken thirty hours, and they expected the men to be stiff and tired. They were surprised when the four divers descended the steps from their plane looking chipper and rested. The tallest of the group approached them without hesitation and extended his hand.
“Mr. and Mrs. Fargo? Pleased to meet you. I’m Greg Torres and this is Rob Alderman,” he said, indicating the man next to him, who nodded.
“Please. Sam and Remi,” Sam said, shaking Greg’s hand.
“And these two are Steve Groenig and Tom Benchley,” Greg said, looking to his right where the final pair of fit young divers was standing. None was older than early thirties, and Sam recognized the unmistakable bearing of former SEALs — battle-hardened veterans who would be as comfortable in the water as sharks.
The customs and immigration clerks sauntered out onto the tarmac and did a cursory inspection of the men’s dive gear and duffel bags before stamping their passports. The immigration clerk eyed the men and shook his head.
“You best be careful and stay in town, yeah? With what happened wit’ the aid workers, it’s not safe anywhere else,” he said in heavy patois.
“What happened with them?” Remi asked. All they’d heard the day before was that the two Australians had gone missing, with no official word of explanation.
“It’s all over the web. Rebels got them.” The clerk shook his head. “It’s bad. They threatening to kill them, they are.”
“Kill aid workers? They’re here to help.”
“These fool rebels say they all part of the foreign plague. Dat’s what they calling it. Fools blaming everything on others, like none of our problems is our doing. But they saying all the foreigners gotta go or there goin’ to be big-time trouble.”
“So they kidnapped unarmed humanitarians who are here to help the underprivileged and they’re going to kill them?” Remi said, her tone disbelieving.
“Dat what they saying. Crazy in the head, dese fools be.”
Sam’s eyes hardened as he studied the divers. “Well, looks like you flew into the eye of the hurricane. All of this just happened.”
“We can take care of ourselves,” Greg said, his words clipped, his tone flat. Sam believed him.
“You’ll be on the boat all the time in any case, so any local issues shouldn’t affect the expedition.”
Greg shrugged as if it was all part of the job.