8. Indiana
The sun had just popped above the horizon when Dad and I stood on the back of the dive platform, ready for our first scuba dive down to Chui’s wreck. It pissed me off that the weather was perfect. I could be searching Siren’s Lure for those priceless cases of wine rather than this bullshit.
The sooner we got this over, the better.
With Tyler’s help, and the use of the crane, we had lowered the cage filled with our salvage gear over the side of Rhino in record time. The car-sized cage was now sitting on the bottom of the ocean. What Tyler didn’t know was that Dad and I planned to fill the cage with anything we found down there worthy of saving. Once we got Chui’s yacht off our hands, Dad and I would come back and bring up our cage filled with our goodies. At least, that was the plan.
I couldn’t remember the last time Dad and I dived together, and I couldn’t decide what troubled me more: Dad getting distracted by all the ‘shiny’ things on the multi-million dollar wreck we were attempting to salvage, or that I had a cop who was a relative stranger maintaining my air compressor.
Both scenarios could give me trouble.
I was used to doing almost everything myself, but if we were going to get the job done quickly, I needed their help.
Dad had given Tyler a summary of what could potentially go wrong with the equipment while we were one hundred and fifty feet below the surface, and he seemed to understand. I hoped so. Without the compressor, we would have to use the air tanks we were taking with us, and that reduced our dive time dramatically.
The tanks were bulky and annoying, and we potentially didn’t need them, but no way was I diving without them. Not when I had to rely on Tyler to keep the compressed air coming.
“You ready, Kingsley?” I asked, thankful that he’d put a shirt on so I wouldn’t get distracted by his defined abs.
He gave a thumbs up. “I’m ready. Be careful down there and watch your back with those sharks.”
His mirrored glasses hid his stunning eyes. I have never seen eyes as blue as his before, and I hated that they were on a cop. Every time I glared at him, his eyes caught me off-guard . . . and for all the wrong reasons.
“You good to go, Dad?”
“Yes. Yes. Stop fucking fussing over me.” Dad yanked up his wetsuit zipper so hard it was a wonder it didn’t smack him in the chin.
“Start the compressor,” I called up to Tyler.
The muscles in his arms bulged as he pulled the rip cord. The engine plumed a cloud of black smoke and a crunch that could crack teeth, then settled into a loud drone that removed all other noises.
I tested that my breather was working with the air compressor. Then I tested my back up air from the cylinder on my back. I gave Dad a thumbs up. After he did the same, I turned my valve back to the compressed air, clicked the button on my dive watch to start my dive time, checked that I wasn’t about to jump onto a shark, then took a giant stride off the back of the boat.
The warm ocean wrapped me like a hug as I turned to face downward and kicked for the bottom with Dad right beside me. We followed the winch cable down the first thirty feet. A school of trevally swam around the giant hook at the end of the cable, giving it a wide birth as if it was a massive fishing hook.
Visibility was perfect, and I was treated to an incredible view of Chui’s yacht and the dozens of sharks that had made the yacht their multi-million-dollar home.
As I lowered down, my air hose trailed behind me. If Tyler did his job right, it wouldn’t snag or pinch during our dive, and my air would continue to flow.
The yacht had crashed into the sand in an upright position, which would make our salvage slightly easier. Dad and I needed to find anchor points to attach our airbags, and with the yacht positioned the way it was, I could already see several options. I’d lost count of the number of boats we’d salvaged over the years, but we’d never done one this big, or this expensive.
Our salvage cage had landed twenty feet away from the yacht, and two sharks were circling it like they were trying to figure out how to get inside. We swam to the cage and removed the equipment we’d lowered down along with crates we would use to transport items from the wreck to the cage. I’d been given the order to salvage the yacht. Nobody had dictated what I had to do with whatever we found onboard. Dad’s eyes had twinkled at the prospect of looting the luxury vessel.
Dad tapped my arm and pointed at the rear of the wreck. Carrying a folded plastic crate under my arm, I followed Dad toward the stern. A baby tiger shark swam toward me, and I shoved the inquisitive bugger aside with my gloved hand when it came too close. I wasn’t worried about getting bitten, but I certainly didn’t need a shark sinking its teeth into my air hose.
The yacht had a jacuzzi on the top level, and I chuckled at the three crabs that looked right at home in the square pool. Dad and I reached the stern, and we both gripped onto the aluminum side railing that stretched the full length of the deck. The railing itself wouldn’t work as an anchor point for our airbags, but the poles they were attached to may be an option.
We pushed off the railing, and I followed Dad over the side of the yacht to the next level which had fancy custom-designed seating that matched the curve of the rear deck. Just like the seating on Kane’s yacht, before I’d set the seating on fire with the flare.
I still couldn’t believe that had happened. Even more shocking was Kane dropping the charges. He was not a man to forgive and forget. The cops must have offered him something significant to make him do that. Or maybe he didn’t want to waste time with the cops when he could be diving down to Siren’s Lure. Was that it? Had he searched for that ancient wreck? And had he found a fortune in wine?
My knee hit a broken piece of railing that stuck out from the back of the boat like a fishing rod.
Focus, Indiana. You can chase after Kane when this bullshit is over.
Dad continued to dive lower, searching for the anchor chain. In an ideal situation, I would spend a couple of days removing as much weight from the wreck before I attempted to raise it. But I was under instruction to salvage the yacht ASAP, and that suited me fine, too. The sooner I did this, the sooner I could get Kingsley out of my hair.
He was an intriguing man, and nice to look at. But he was still a cop, and I didn’t trust those bastards.
Dad lowered his knees to the sand, and as I kneeled beside him, I turned in time to shove a three-foot tiger shark away. The tail on the damn thing side-swiped my air hose, pulling me backward until I slumped on my side on the sand. My gloved fingers dug into the soft grains, releasing a small debris cloud. I fanned it away, and in the small divot I’d created was a glass rod. When I pulled the glass rod free, it turned out to be the stem of a wine glass that had miraculously survived the shipwreck.
The glass had a gold rim, and a tiny scorpion embossed on the side. Maybe this little memento would fetch a tidy sum, considering the legacy that asshole Chui had left behind. I flipped open the sides of my portable crate, put the glass inside, and turned my attention back to the wreck.
Dad kneeled before a massive hole in the side of the yacht. It was like nothing I had ever seen on a wreck before. Most of the ships I’d pulled up had sunken during a storm. Up here in North Queensland, we had our share of cyclones that kept me busy. This wreck, however, had suffered a catastrophic explosion from the inside, and I recalled hearing that one of Aria’s team, Viper, had used C4 to attempt to break Chui out of his hiding place.
That detonation was what had made this giant hole. No wonder the ship had sunk so quickly.
The massive hole was good news for us. Now we didn’t need to contend with water being trapped inside the yacht as we lifted it to the surface.
Dad gave me the thumbs up and pushed off the sand. Carrying the crate in front of me, I swam beside him along the middle deck, heading toward the bow. I shone my light into the windows as I went, looking into a luxury world that I had never experienced, nor would I want to.
I didn’t need fancy shit to be happy. I needed freedom.
Maybe some extra cash would be helpful, though.
At the bow, Dad swam to the anchor which was sticking out the side of the hull like an overgrown oyster shell. He had the job of using the underwater Oxy-Arc torch to cut the anchor free. We didn’t need that dead weight making our job harder.
As Dad triggered the flare on the end of his torch, I checked the time on my watch. Our dive time had just passed ten minutes, which was good.
Our conditions were excellent. Negligible current to contend with. Excellent visibility. The wreck was on a massive bed of sand, meaning we didn’t have to worry about getting our air hoses tangled in coral or massive rocks.
At the bow, I followed a golden eel as it swam in through an entrance door on the bottom deck. Dark mahogany wood lined the entrance, and algae had already begun sprouting on the surface. The first room I reached was some kind of wanky viewing area with a massive glass wall that displayed the marine life outside, and a pile of fancy leather chairs with cup holders and mechanical footrests.
I would give anything to have one of those in the hut on Rhino. The leather sofa we sat on every night was as old as Dad. Maybe older.
I gave one of the chairs a push, but as I expected, they were fixed in place. Besides, after all this time under water, the mechanics would be ruined anyway.
Holding the crate in front of me, I swam to the next room, which was a large open area with more seating. Unlike the viewing chairs, a couple of these fancy leather chairs had toppled. I scanned my flashlight around the room and found two televisions, a record player, and sound equipment that would all be worthless. The records, though, might be worth something.
My flashlight lit up a massive bar. The entire back wall was covered in shelving, and miraculously, several bottles were still in place.
Dad will wet his pants when he sees this.
He could take whatever he wanted. He deserved to be happy for a while.
I swam farther into the yacht, passing over shattered pottery, a smashed glass table, broken wine glasses, and a faint crimson stain in the previously white carpet that I assumed was blood. It wouldn’t be Chui’s blood. His body had been found in a secret room he’d had built in his stateroom, so the blood stain had to be from one of Chui’s crew. They had all died in the shootout between them and Aria’s team when they’d raided this yacht to find Chui.
I peered into a few of the cabins where colorful fish and dozens of crabs looked right at home amongst the luxury bedroom furniture.
Nothing stood out of interest, though, so I continued swimming along the wide passage. My air hose tugged behind me, and I stopped. When it tugged again, I turned around and swam back.
I found Dad at the bar, and despite the regulator in his mouth, his grin was off the charts. He spread his arms wide like he was presenting a long-lost treasure. I gave him two thumbs up.
He rubbed his hands together, then pulled bottles from the shelving and placed them into his plastic crate.
Leaving him to raid the bar, I followed the stairs up to the bridge. Unlike the bridge on Rhino, this one had gadgets that I could only dream of. Unfortunately, saltwater had ruined most of them, but I helped myself to two sextants, a compass, a chronometer, four dive torches, and four weatherproof walkie-talkies. I also found a woman’s dive watch that was still working.
Thank you very much.
I opened the cupboard and pulled out a Pelican case. I wrestled to release the sealing clips, and a giant air bubble burst from the case. My breath hitched. Inside were two guns and several boxes of ammunition. I only owned one gun, an ancient silver handgun that Dad had found decades ago in a 1920s wreck. Dad had restored the weapon, and although we’d fired it, we hadn’t needed the weapon to save our lives. These guns should be more accurate than our hundred-year-old handgun.
After adding them to the crate, I followed my air hose back down to Dad, but he wasn’t there. Assuming he was making a trip out to the metal cage, I swam out of the yacht. Dad was on his way back from the cage with another empty crate. I didn’t think I had ever seen him swim so fast.
I had to shove aside a nosy reef shark to enter the cage before I could add my crate full of goodies and grab another crate.
This time, I headed for the rear lower deck, assuming they would have an equipment cupboard like most boats did. I checked my watch again. Our dive time was thirty minutes already. I would give Dad another ten minutes, then we needed to start attaching our airbags.
The doors to the equipment cupboard were so well concealed, it took me a while to locate them. I used my dive knife to jimmy open the doors. Another massive bubble burst out, knocking me backward.
Because of the angle of the boat, the doors shut again, and I had to use a weighted deck chair to prop the doors open.
I swam inside.
Holy shit, I’ve hit the jackpot.
The room was twice the size of the hut on Rhino and was full of quality sporting equipment. Two jet skis that had been on trolleys with wheels for easy transportation had toppled onto their sides. Next to them, two underwater scooters had also broken free of their strapping and tumbled over. They would be worth much more than my cheap second-hand one I’d scored a few years ago. But while they were exciting finds, the chances of them ever working again were minimal.
The side wall was filled with fishing rods, reels, tackle boxes, water skis, and snorkeling equipment. Floating against the roof were three surfboards, four wakeboards, and six paddleboards. The other wall had scuba diving gear that was several quality-levels above what I was using. The tanks alone would be worth twice as much as mine. I did a quick inspection of one. It had some corrosion, but Dad would have it working like brand new in no time. Next to the tanks were breathing regulators, masks, fins, at least ten wetsuits, and the most exciting–three scuba dive computers that were probably worth a grand each. I swam to the final section.
Yes! Underwater cameras and spearfishing gear. I need Dad’s help.
I wrestled one of the scooters free and pressed the button to turn it on. No such luck.
After filling my crate with the most expensive items first, and checking my air hose wasn’t tangled around anything, I swam out of the equipment cupboard, carrying the crate, and kicked like crazy to return to the cage.
Dad was on his way back from the wreck with another load, and his eyes lit up when he saw me.
Using hand signals, I indicated for Dad to put his crate in, grab another, and then follow me.
We swam into the equipment room, and his cry of joy seemed to bounce around the room.
After Dad and I made three trips to the cage, ferrying a pile of equipment that we could either use or sell, I checked my watch. We’d run out of time for the fun stuff.
We needed to get this wreck off the sand.
I showed Dad my watch, and he waggled his head in frustration. We had salvaged items from many wrecks over the years, but most of it was just junk. Occasionally, we found something worth a few dollars. The stuff we had so far was what our dreams were made of.
We returned to the cage with our final load from the looted gear, and after closing the door on the cage and locking it into position, I unhooked the cable attaching the cage to Rhino. Dad and I had agreed before the dive that if we found anything down here, we certainly didn’t want Kingsley to know about it. Once we transported Chui’s yacht to Rosebud and Kingsley got off our case, Dad and I would motor back here and haul up the cage.
We unhooked all our airbags from the outside of the cage, and working together, we swam around the outside of the yacht, strategically anchoring our twenty-two airbags to various locations over the wreck.
We’d chewed up another twenty minutes doing that.
Leaving Dad at the bow, I swam to a lift bag anchored at the stern. Using our hand signals, we added air to the first two balloons, alternating between taking a breath from the compressed air and filling the bags. The familiar sound of air rushing into the balloons echoed through the water as the one I filled slowly expanded.
Working in tandem, we moved to another pair of bags positioned on opposite sides of the yacht, partially filling each one with our compressed air. It was slow going, but if I’d been down here by myself, it would have taken a lot longer to work my way around all the airbags, gradually adding air in small portions at a time. The key was to ensure we got the balance right between the airbags, adding buoyancy to the wreck so it didn’t shift too quickly.
The vibrant yellow plastic of the partially filled elongated balloons contrasted against the brilliant blue ocean around us. Since we’d started inflating the bags, the sharks had doubled in numbers, and a couple of the juveniles were cruising between the bags like they were navigating an obstacle course. I’d never seen that before. As long as they didn’t take a nibble at any of the bags, I didn’t care.
It took us thirty-seven minutes to get all the balloons partially inflated, yet the damn wreck hadn’t even moved a fraction.
Dad and I continued working our way around the yacht, gradually adding more air to the balloons. It was like a weird dance between us, add air to the bag, move to the next bag on our right, add air to that bag, and move to the right.
We were nearly through our second cycle around when the yacht finally shifted.
I signaled to Dad, silently communicating with him through the bubbles, and he waved back, confirming he’d seen the shift. A surge of adrenaline raced through me.
Salvaging boats this way was a delicate balance between physics and precision. Dad and I continued the air-filling monotony, and after we had added more air to another six balloons, the yacht responded to the increasing buoyancy with a subtle sway. The sand beneath the vessel shifted, and clouds of sediment billowed into the water like a ghostly veil.
As I waited for the water to clear, my heart thundered in my ears. I loved this part of my job. It was like bringing something back to life.
Pity we couldn’t do this for my mom.
I shoved the image of Mom lying lifeless in Dad’s lap from my mind. Now was not the time to lose focus.
The yacht groaned and rolled to the stern. Finally, it had broken free from its sandy confines and floated above the ocean floor.
Thank Christ!
Sixteen of our balloons were at full capacity. If the wreck hadn’t shifted when all of them were fully inflated, then we wouldn’t have been able to raise the wreck.
Dad held a finger in the air, indicating he wanted me to add air to one more.
We each moved to the right and added air to the next balloon.
And like an act in a magic show, the yacht began its slow ascent to the surface. Dad fist-pumped the air, and I did the same.
I checked my time and depth gauge. We’d been in the water for a hundred and twenty-two minutes. Not bad. We’d certainly taken longer to raise wrecks over the years. Then again, having the extra pair of hands helped.
Kingsley was doing a good job, after all. He would have had to add fuel at least once during this time, and not once had I felt a snag on my air pipe.
Now that the wreck was floating, Dad and I needed to stay with it, adjusting the buoyancy as the water pressure changed, but always making sure we didn’t rise any faster than our bubbles. It was easy to get sidetracked watching our prize make its ascent and forget about buoyancy physics and our diving protocols.
I set my timer to beep every minute as a reminder to check my status. We needed to raise the yacht to thirty feet below the surface in order to reach my winch cable.
As the luxury yacht ascended toward the surface, I mentally added up the value of the items we’d stashed in the metal cage still on the bottom. If we were lucky, we could sell a vast portion of that equipment and make enough money to clear some of those damn bills pinned to my corkboard on the bridge.
A sense of relief washed over me. It was about time Dad and I had some good luck.
I’d been able to hold off the debt collectors for months, but I didn’t know how much longer I could sweet-talk the bastards out of taking Rhino off me.
A shadow darted past me, and I turned just in time to knock a tiger shark away from my shoulder. Tiger sharks were opportunistic hunters, and the damn thing could bite me just because it was curious, not necessarily because it was hungry.
The shark glided off into the distance, and I peered into the blue, tracking its departure. Just before I lost sight, the pest turned around. My heart raced as the shark silently approached. Its cold back eyes seemed to be fixed on me.
I pulled my dive knife from the holster on my hip and aimed the weapon forward, hoping to warn the stupid shark off. The last thing I wanted to do was kill it, and I certainly didn’t want to instigate a cloud of blood in these shark-infested waters.
Smoothly flicking its tail side to side, the shark aimed right for me. I swished my knife and yelled through my breather. The shark darted around me with startling speed. But before I could do anything, it attacked one of the airbags. Air hissed out in a rush as the shark shook the crap out of the balloon. A cloud of bubbles obscured my vision as the bag was reduced to rags.
Panic surged through me.
The yacht groaned as if furious about the shark attack and listed dangerously to the side Dad was on. Two chairs on the upper deck tumbled toward him, and he dodged them at the last second as they vanished over the side. The remaining bags strained against the shift in weight, threatening to tilt further, or worse, break off.
No. No. No.
Fuck! It’s sinking.
Working frantically, I pushed the regulator from my air tank into the hole in the bottom of the nearest airbag and activated the emergency release valve. Bubbles spewed into the balloon, and I prayed we could redistribute the buoyancy and stabilize the yacht before it crashed back to the ocean floor.
Across the other side of the wreck, Dad was doing the same. It was a move he’d explained to me many years ago, but this was the first time we’d ever had to deploy it.
I swam to the next balloon, and as I repeated the process, keeping one eye on the status of the yacht, I searched for the damn shark. The stupid thing was about fifty feet away, shaking the yellow plastic back and forth like a dingo shakes a snake to kill it.
Dad and I added emergency air to six bags before the yacht began to rise again.
Sighing with relief, I turned off the emergency valve to my air cylinder and searched for the shark again. It was still playing with the bag. Maybe it was stuck in its teeth. Tiger sharks had powerful jaws and teeth sharp enough to slice leather.
Thank God he didn’t want to play with me.
I gave Dad the thumbs up, and he did the same. I checked my watch. We’d lost seven minutes. It felt like twenty. The adrenaline that had rushed through me moments ago vanished in a flash, and I felt like the weight of the ocean was crushing me.
I glanced up at the shimmering surface, where the shadow of Rhino’s underbelly hovered above us like a large rectangular spacecraft.
Although we had the wreck raised from the bottom, we were still many moves away from a successful salvage.
We didn’t have any surplus airbags, and if another balloon was attacked by a shark, we were screwed.