"That's what I was thinking," Dirk said, walking over to one of the air compressors.
"A rather expensive anchor," Dahlgren noted, gathering up sections of their mooring lines.
They fashioned a thirty-foot line to the compressor, tying the opposite end to a stern bollard. Together they muscled the compressor to the side rail and dumped it over the edge. Dangling under the surface, the compressor would act as a makeshift sea anchor, partially slowing the wind-borne portion of their drift.
"One bite into that baby ought to keep the sharks away, too," Dahlgren joked.
"That's the least of our problems," Dirk replied. He scanned the horizon, searching for another vessel that they might be able to attract. But the seas around the far southwest end of the Hawaiian Island chain were completely empty.
"Looks like we're on our own."
The two men turned to the equipment on board the barge. With the Zodiac gone, there was no apparent means of ditching the barge and sailing to shore. A remaining compressor and water pump, plenty of dive gear, and some food and clothing were all they had left aboard.
Dahlgren rapped a knuckle against the side of the shack. "We could build a raft out of this," he said.
"We've got some tools and plenty of rope."
Dirk considered the idea without enthusiasm. "It would take us a day to build, and we would have a pretty tough go running it against the wind and current. We're probably better off staying put and waiting for a passing vessel."
"Just trying to think of a way to get to Summer."
The same thought was on Dirk's mind. There was no question of their survival. They had plenty of food and water aboard. Once the Mariana Explorer returned to the cove and found the barge missing, an all-out search-and-rescue operation would ensue. They would be found inside of a week, he was certain.
But how much time did Summer have?
The thought made him sick with dread, wondering what kind of people had abducted her. He cursed their predicament, sitting powerless as they drifted farther and farther away from shore. Pacing the deck, he caught sight of Summer's surfboard atop the shack and felt an added pang of helplessness. There had to be something they could do.
Then the light went on. It was right there in front of him. Or maybe Summer had willed him the answer.
A knowing beam crossed his face as he turned to Dahlgren.
"Not a raft, Jack," he said with a confident smile. "A catamaran."
***
The gray-and-white herring gull flapped off the water with a loud squawk, angry at nearly being run over. Circling overhead, the bird warily eyed the offending watercraft skimming along the surface, then flew down and settled in its wake. The bird had never seen a sailing craft quite like it before. Nor had many people, for that matter.
Dirk's brainchild had been to construct a catamaran from his and Summer's surfboards, and the two men turned the crackpot idea into a workable design. The buoyant fiberglass boards made for a perfect pair of pontoons. Dahlgren came up with the idea of using their sleeping cots to attach as cross-members.
Stripped of their fabric covering, two of the aluminum frames were laid crossways and secured to the boards with looped ropes, then sealed in duct tape for good measure.
"If we could drill or knock a small hole in the center of the boards, we could run a safety line through to ensure that the cross-members don't go dancing off in the first head wave," Dahlgren suggested.
"Are you crazy? These are vintage Greg Noll boards. Summer would kill us both if we damaged her board."
They took the third cot frame and rigged it into a mast supported by several guylines. Along with the fabric from the first two cots, they fashioned a sail from the bright blue material. In less than two hours, they had completed a miniaturized, bastardized version of a sailing cat.
"I wouldn't take her on the Sydney-to-Hobart yacht race, but I do believe she'll get us back to the Big Island," Dirk said, admiring the finished product.
"Yep," Dahlgren drawled. "Ugly as sin, yet perfectly functional. You have to love it."
The two men slipped back into their wet suits and attached a satchel of food and water to the mast, then launched the craft over the side. Cautiously climbing aboard, they checked its stability, then Dahlgren let loose a towline to the barge. The barge quickly floated away as the two men kicked their feet to angle the cat's sail against the wind. Dirk pulled the makeshift sail taut and tied it down to the rear cross-member. To his surprise, the tiny little craft nearly jumped ahead through the waves under the force of its rectangular blue sail.
The men each lay on one of the surfboards until they were satisfied that the cot frames would hold fast.
Their rope work had been effective and the two boards attacked the waves as one, while the cross-members showed very little movement. Rising to a sitting position on each board, the men still got doused by the head waves.
"Feels like I'm water-skiing in a lawn chair," Dahlgren grinned as a large wave rolled over them.
The little cat held steady and skimmed quickly along, held true in part with the aid of a paddle that Dirk had rigged to the stern member as a rudder. Steering was limited, however, so they held a steady line for an hour or two before tacking. Dirk would drop the sail and then the two men would kick the nose of the craft around ninety degrees, then pick up the breeze on the opposite side of the sail.
"You might want to rethink that Sydney-to-Hobart race, ol' buddy. She sails like a dream," Dahlgren chided.
"True enough. Though I think I might want to pack a dry suit for that run."
They were both amazed at the crude efficiency of the craft. It wasn't long before the barge had completely disappeared from sight, while the Big Island appeared to grow larger on the horizon. As they settled in for the ride, Dirk's thoughts returned to Summer. As fraternal twins, they shared a close-knit bond that most siblings couldn't grasp. He could almost feel her presence, and he knew with certainty that she was alive. Just hang on, he silently willed her. Help will soon be on the way.
***
The dark lava slopes of Mauna Loa shimmered purple in the setting sun as they drew near the southwest shoreline of Hawaii. The jagged section of coast was largely uninhabited, the lava cliffs too foreboding for sea access but for the occasional black sand beach. Dahlgren pointed to a rocky point a mile or two to their south that protruded into the Pacific like a balled fist.
"Isn't that Humuhumu Point?"
"It sure looks like it," Dirk agreed, trying to identify the landmark in the fading light. "Which means Keliuli Bay is not far around the other side. We nearly hit the coast at the point we departed."
"A fine bit of surfboard navigation," Dahlgren said. He then peered up the coastline in the other direction.
"That means that the nearest spot to pull in and contact the authorities would be Milolii."
"Which is roughly six miles away."
"A healthy ride. Unless one is of the mind to go the other direction and visit the boys that sent us on our merry ride."
Dahlgren knew the answer from the gleaming look in Dirk's eyes. Without saying a word, they tacked the catamaran to the southeast and headed down the coast toward Keliuli Bay.
-47-
Trapped inside the tiny storeroom, Summer languished as the afternoon crept by at a snail's pace. After scouring the room unsuccessfully for any tools or objects that might aid an escape, there was little to do but sit and wonder about the fate of Dirk and Jack. She finally pushed an empty crate beneath the porthole and fashioned a crude chair out of the rope coil, which allowed her to gaze out to sea in some comfort while capturing the ocean breeze on her face.
From her nook, she could detect a flurry of activity on the ship's stern deck. A rubber boat was lowered over the side, and she watched as several divers investigated the wreck site. Summer took small satisfaction in knowing they wouldn't procure any artifacts from the exposed portion of the wreck, which had already been picked clean during the survey and excavation.