“How strong?” Dillon asked as he fastened his buoyancy jacket.
“Eight to ten knots is fairly common. Anything above ten gets interesting.” He looked over the side of the Wave Dancer and raised his eyebrows. “I’d say it’s more like twelve to thirteen today.”
Dillon smiled and said, “Sounds as if it could be fun.”
“It’s your shout Jake.”
Chapman got his own gear on, and Dillon went down onto the dive platform to rinse out his mask.
“Looks like we’ve got company?” Dillon said, as the inflatable rib made its way towards them.
Chapman turned to look. “Well it’s not anyone I know. And the dive schools wouldn’t come here today with this current running. They’d almost certainly go somewhere easier.”
The swell was much bigger now; the Wave Dancer bucked up and down on the anchor line. Dillon went over and paused to check his air supply, and then immediately started down towards the thick forest of kelp below. He paused on the bottom, and waited until Chapman had reached him, beckoned and turned towards a large formation of rocks. Dillon followed, amazed at the force of the current pushing against him, and was aware of a stream of white bubbles over his right shoulder. A moment later he saw an anchor descend.
On the inflatable, Malakoff was sitting in the stern while Armand went forward and dropped the anchor. Pierre was helping Mazzarin and Zola into their buoyancy jackets.
After five minutes Armand said, “They’re ready to go, Monsieur, what are your orders?”
“Instruct them to have a good look around,” Malakoff said. “But, they’re to leave Chapman and Dillon alone. I don’t want any trouble, understand?”
“At your command, Monsieur.”
Mazzarin and Zola were sitting together on the starboard side. Armand nodded and together they rolled backwards over the side and into the water.
Chapman kept close to the seabed as he swam towards a large rising rock formation. Dillon followed, but with increasing difficulty against the strength of the current that followed a deep channel, leading through to the other side of the rocks. The force was quite tremendous; Chapman was wriggling himself under an enormous flat rock and pulling himself through the opening with gloved hands. Dillon went after him, reaching for one handhold after another and having to continuously fight the flow of the current. In the gloom, he could see Chapman’s fins just four or five feet in front of him.
After three to four minutes of scrabbling along on his belly, Dillon glanced down at his dive computer. It showed the depth to be at eighty feet, a rise of fifteen feet from where they had first entered the narrow opening.
Chapman was motionless for a while, and then with a lot of effort, hauled himself over a ledge and through to the other side. Dillon did the same, fighting the immense current as he went, and was through and into the most amazingly colourful place.
As Dillon came through the opening he turned, and looking up through the crystal clear water, could see sunlight glinting off the surface some eighty feet above him. The spectacle was breath taking and as he surged forward, he found himself in amongst a school of big black bream, and above them five or more mixed rays including large blondes weighing up to fifteen kilos or more.
Chapman plunged down the sheer wall of granite that fell away below, and Dillon followed him. He was aware of the current as he closed in on Chapman, and turning saw Mazzarin and Zola trying to come through the narrow opening and over the ledge. Zola almost made it, but lost his grip and was pushed back into Mazzarin, disappearing a moment later back into the tunnel.
Chapman moved on and Dillon followed, down to ninety-five feet, where the fierce current swept and bounced them along the smooth face of the rock and through a series of wide fissures. Dillon was having the time of his life, and had never felt so excited. They seemed to be dragged along forever and then the current slackened and Chapman was using his fins now and climbing steadily through the black glass like water.
Dillon followed through a deep ravine that seemed to go on and on, checked his computer and was surprised to find that they’d been down for twenty minutes. They moved away from the rock face, staying just above the forest of the seabed and came to an anchor line. Chapman looked up and gave the thumbs down sign, before moving on another forty metres to the right, and finally arriving at the Wave Dancer’s anchor line. They went up slowly, leaving the line at twenty feet and swimming under the keel to the other side of the boat to surface at the stern.
Chapman reached down to take Dillon’s tank; he’d already got a foot on the narrow ladder, and was pulling himself up and over onto the dive platform. Dillon stood up, still feeling exhilarated and completely relaxed from the dive as he unzipped his wetsuit and pulled it off. Chapman busied around, stowing the air tanks, and generally clearing the deck of any loose equipment. “Amazing dive Rob, thoroughly enjoyed it.”
Chapman smiled, “Not bad is it? That one, always delivers.”
He turned and looked across the bay at the inflatable rib. It was still anchored over on the starboard side, bobbing around on its anchor chain in the heavy swell.
“I wonder if those two divers ever did get through the tunnel to the other side?” Dillon said.
“I very much doubt it, that opening takes some negotiating as you found out. And, they wouldn’t have expected that fierce current down there either.” The inflatable swung round exposing the stern. “Well look at that, they’re from that Frenchman’s boat the Solitaire,” Chapman added.
“Is that so?”
Dillon finished towelling himself dry and stood at the rail looking through a pair of binoculars. He immediately recognised Kurt, standing in the stern with Pierre, and then Malakoff stood up.
“Who’s the chap with the silver hair and blue blazer?” Dillon asked.
Chapman took the binoculars. “I’m pretty sure that’s Hugo Malakoff, the French billionaire. I’ve seen him once or twice at the marina in St. Helier.”
Malakoff stared back at them across the choppy water, a moment later Mazzarin and Zola surfaced by the anchor chain.
“We’d better get going, if we’re to make it back to Bonne Nuit before this weather closes in,” Chapman said as he engaged the anchor winch and started the engine. Chapman pushed the throttle forward and the Wave Dancer’s propeller bit into the foaming water. He made a wide arc around the Solitaire’s inflatable, and as they passed, Malakoff held up his arm and waved at them.
“Cheeky bastard.” Dillon muttered, and then said, “Is that the Solitaire up ahead?”
“Looks like it,” Chapman said over his shoulder.
“I’d like to take a closer look at her, if you don’t mind?”
“Why not, after all you’re paying for the fuel.”
Dillon remained sitting on one of the cushioned bench seats situated in the stern of the boat, drinking a coffee from the thermos flask. Chapman looked straight ahead as the Wave Dancer raced through the water.
“You’re as you said, Jake. An experienced diver.”
“I’ve been diving since I was a teenager.” Dillon said.
They were close to where the Solitaire was at anchor; Chapman throttled back the engine allowing the Wave Dancer to pass slowly by the sleek white power cruiser on her port side. Dillon peered through the binoculars in an attempt to pick out anything extraordinary about the craft, and as they reached the stern Chapman swept around in a wide arc, and then back along the starboard side to the bow.