After walking over to a cabinet along the starboard wall, Gordon sorted through several hot water suits that had been hung inside the closet before he found the one he had used many times before. A thin, satisfied smile crept over his face as he took it out and began checking the inner neoprene lining for any wear and tear, finding nothing significant.
O’Keefe gave him a mischievous glance. “Found the exact same one?”
“Sure did,” Gordon said. In addition to providing air and communications, the attached umbilical would also send a steady stream of hot water into the diving suits they wore. Without adequate warmth, the cold depths would numb their body parts and eventually kill them as well. I’m going down to where no human being is supposed to be, he thought. I better make sure I’m ready for anything the ocean can throw at me.
A young man wearing a white hardhat strode into the area carrying what seemed to be some sort of fishing net in both hands. “Is this what you guys wanted?”
Haakon strode over and took the netting from the tender’s outstretched hands. “Yes, this is it. Thank you.”
“No problem,” the young man said. He had just gone through commercial diving school and was eager to learn from them. It was every tender’s dream to become one of the divers inside the hyperbaric chamber. “If I could ask, what will you use that for?”
The tall Norwegian winked at him. “We’re going to catch a mermaid with it.”
Howls of laughter from both O’Keefe and Gordon made the tender blush, and he was about to turn around and walk away in shame when Haakon patted him on the back.
“It’s really for when you’re inside the bell,” Haakon explained as he held out the long netting with both hands to stretch it. “If you’re the standby diver, instead of having to crouch down on a narrow metal seat for long hours, you can suspend this from one end of the interior to the other and have a hammock to relax in.”
“I get it. Thanks,” the young man said before he turned around and left.
“You should have just let him experience it for himself if he ever gets to our level,” O’Keefe said.
Haakon shrugged as he walked over to where his duffel bag was lying on the floor. “It is no bother to me. I am a nice guy, unlike you two.”
“I’m sure you must have made love to a dozen mermaids after you caught them in your net like your ancestor, Hans Christian whatshisname, did,” Gordon said.
“Hans Christian Andersen was Danish, not Norwegian,” Haakon corrected him.
O’Keefe gave an impish smile. “So he doesn’t smell of herring then?”
“No. Since he is long dead, he smells just like your girlfriend now,” Haakon countered, eliciting more laughs from Gordon.
Walking back into the room, Langley began tying several thick nylon cords around the knives strapped to his harness. Gordon and O’Keefe watched in silent amazement as the third American of the group attached no less than three diving knives to his hot water suit.
“You’ve only got two hands, Bill,” O’Keefe said.
Langley was known throughout the industry as the quiet one. During break times inside the hyperbaric capsule, he would slink away from social activities like telling diver war stories and would instead be lost in one of the many books he carried inside. Short and balding, he was nevertheless extremely dependable, and would only talk when necessary. “This is going to be one hell of a rush construction job,” he said, pointing to his knives. “These are so I don’t have to swim back into the bell if I lose one, or even two.”
O’Keefe was impressed. “Now that is preparedness.”
“Bill’s right,” Haakon said. “With this schedule it will be twelve hours on, twelve off. I think it’s best we each carry at least two knives.”
Gordon shook his head slowly. “Twelve hours. That’s pretty much the limit. And there’s only four of us.”
“It surprised me as well,” Haakon said. “With the deadline and all, it might make more sense if there were six of us in the group.”
“Maybe they can’t afford to pay for six,” Gordon said. “Did you see Morgenstern Oceanic’s stock price yesterday? It’s still taking heavy losses in the markets.”
“But they’re paying us pretty much double if we do this on time,” O’Keefe said. “So I don’t think money is the issue.”
Langley moved closer to the other three so he could whisper. “It’s not.”
The others huddled closer to him so that anyone listening nearby wouldn’t be able to hear. O’Keefe stood up and turned off the microphone inside his helmet before placing it on the chair. Haakon gestured with his chin, asking for an explanation.
“I’ve heard from the others that Martin Symonds’s team is doing a salvage job on that island that’s on the news,” Langley said. “It’s all hush-hush though.”
Gordon raised an eyebrow. “Lemuria?”
Langley nodded. “That’s the one. Most of the company’s divers are over there, picking up every single piece of evidence they can find in the water and bringing it back onto the work boat.”
“To do what?” O’Keefe asked.
“To get rid of all the evidence,” Langley said. “There seems to be some sort of underwater installation built into the island over there too, just like the one we’re heading into. The only difference is the one in Lemuria got smashed by something.”
“Destroyed? By what?” Haakon asked.
Langley shrugged. “Who knows? I doubt Martin does.”
Gordon bit his lip. “So everybody else’s over there and just the four of us out here? Why’s this boat full of crewmen then?”
“They’ve also got a full crew of ROV techs,” Haakon said. “I saw Izzy, Buntrock, and at least four others on my way down here.”
“Yeah, it’s mostly ROV stuff,” Langley said. “We’re just along for the ride. But there is one last, very important thing.”
The other three silently waited for him to continue.
“Clive Liger’s team is somewhere out here too,” Langley said. “And I don’t have a clue as to what they’re up to, but I’ve got a feeling it’s all tied in with what we’re doing.”
12
LOOKING OUT PAST THE starboard windows of the Queequeg’s wheelhouse, Liger could see the white froth being generated in her wake as the vessel made a slow, roundabout turn to port. Kazimir had called again in the early hours of the morning, and he had admonished Liger for his team’s lack of progress so far. Weeks spent trawling in the middle of the Arabian Sea, and with nothing to show for it.
Screw him, Liger thought. Here I am risking my life to cover up for his crimes and he actually has the balls to order me around as if I was one of his corporate gophers? I ought to just walk away from this whole bloody affair right now.
But he knew he couldn’t. Liger was now joined with Kazimir at the hip when the disgraced billionaire in hiding told him in so many words about the recordings of their conversations in order to blackmail him. To back out now would jeopardize all the money and assets he had stashed away, and Liger couldn’t bear to live out the rest of his days as a pauper.
Turning around, he glared at the helmsman. “What in the hell are we doing? We’re just going in circles.”
The Queequeg’s captain wasn’t there, but the Russian helmsman looked him in the eye. “My orders were to cruise along area indicated on map.”
“Who ordered you to do that? When your captain isn’t on the bridge then I’m in charge here,” Liger hissed.