Greg also discovered that they had also been warned off by a group of local divers. Greg’s timely offer to join in the treasure hunt was exactly what they needed to fulfil their own ambitions.
Greg pulled the pickup to a halt adjacent to the beach and immediately spotted Moby Dick’s boat at anchor a short distance from the shore. Dick and Oscar were already on the beach talking to the two divers.
“Hi there,” he announced his presence cheerfully. “I see you’ve already met.”
Oscar was so pleased to see Greg safely back he almost ran to greet him.
“Thank goodness you’re back; did they get away OK?”
“I expect so. I helped to organise a flight and tickets, so all there was left to do was to get on to the flight — so yes, they should be OK,” he assured his friend.
“So where’s the gear?” Greg asked, turning to the divers.
“Dick’s loaded most of it onto the boat; there’s just the mobile compressor left,” the taller one confirmed, in his rich Australian drawl. “Tell you the truth, by the time we’ve loaded that, me and Rod here will have to swim behind the bloody boat,” They laughed together.
“They’re not joking either.” Dick looked glum; he’d already had to scold them for scuffing their heavy compressed air cylinders across his precious teak deck and by the time they were all on board there was very little open deck space left.
“We’re moving away from here, we’ll spend the night at anchor about ten miles further down the coast; the holding is good and there’s almost no swell.” Dick smiled at last. “It’ll be that bit more comfortable, especially for those not used to boats.”
They sped away down the coast. It was dusk and perfectly calm by the time they were moored and tugging gently on their anchor, exactly as Dick had predicted. Now, sitting in the cockpit drinking beers and chatting, the men relaxed. Eventually Annie appeared.
“OK you lazy lot, dinner is served!” She reached down into the cabin and reappeared.
“Here pass them along.”
Each plate was almost completely covered by a whole crayfish cut into two halves and garnished with chopped green and yellow peppers; several small boiled potatoes filled the remaining spaces. Finally Marion appeared, still with a large striped apron tied around her waist.
“Here, try this spicy mayonnaise. I hope it will be to everyone’s taste.”
She looked at Oscar.
He responded with a silent expression of ecstasy.
Other than the initial exclamations of genuine surprise at the unexpected feast, they ate in silence.
“In case you’re wondering where the shellfish came from,” Annie said, interrupting the silence, “one of our local Cray fishermen paid his bill by leaving them at the boat this morning. They don’t come much fresher than that!”
“Very nice,” the Australian diver Rod enthused as he stuffed his mouth full of potato liberally covered with the tangy mayonnaise. “Can’t get Slim here to cater for us like this!”
As soon they had all finished Annie collected the empty plates. “OK so you’re nearest to the door — it’s your turn with the dishes, OK?” she smiled at Dick.
He looked up in surprise but did not protest. Marion was about to rise from her deckchair to help when Annie signalled her with a wink and vanished below with Dick.
“So did you manage to get any gas?” Greg asked Slim, starting the conversation.
“We have three tanks — that’s all we could get. It’ll give us about one hour’s total dive time at around fifty metres. That equates to about half a dozen plunge dives I suppose.”
“Nothing like enough really,” Rod added, “but it might at least allow us to locate the site” He looked out across the moonlit water. “It’s a bit hit and miss but we might as well try. There is nothing to lose is there!”
“Dick reckons we should start out from here about five in the morning in order to arrive well before slack water,” Oscar observed.
“At least we will be able to tow our mini magnetometer about a bit while we’re waiting — you never know, we might get lucky,” Rod added enthusiastically.
“Well I’m going to get some sleep in that case.” Oscar stood up.
Marion put out her hand to stop him.
“I’ll go first.”
Oscar stood back, remembering Dick and Annie below, and marvelling at feminine intuition.
The hydraulic winch easily pulled up the anchor chain as they prepared to leave the following morning. Greg stood with a hose washing away the mud and odd bits of seaweed before the chain vanished down the hawse pipe; eventually the anchor itself appeared covered in mud and clanked noisily into its holding blocks. Greg gave the thumbs up signal as he hosed away the last bits of mud. Dick returned the signal and the boat moved gently ahead.
It was pretty crowded on board and the Australian divers had wisely chosen to sleep under the stars, rather than on the cramped banquette seating in the stuffy saloon.
Dick pushed the throttles forward and although the speed increased, the boat was obviously stern heavy.
“Even with all her power she’s noticing the extra weight,” he observed critically, looking back at his deck littered with the heavy diving equipment. “We should move some of the weight forward to keep her on an even plane.”
They responded silently to his request, moving the compressor up to the wheelhouse; most of the remaining gear they moved forward into the saloon. The boat’s attitude in the water changed significantly and the log notched up another five knots.
“That’s better my baby.” Dick patted the side of the dashboard, talking aloud to his beloved boat.
It took just over three hours to reach the spot on the chart where Greg estimated the submarine to be located. Dick judged that the tide was still running at about four knots to the northwest, which meant the water was still running from the continental shelf into the deeper water. That would cause a powerful undercurrent and not at all suitable for free diving.
“Better to wait for slack water in about two hours — then the divers will have about an hour before the tide turns and the flow comes surging up from the deep water and into the bay,” Dick advised the eager men.
“With such powerful currents if there is anything down there I suspect that it will have been significantly eroded by the flow of the sand-laden water acting like sandpaper on the metal hull,” Rod explained. “Ships like the Titanic are preserved because there is little or no tide movement down where she is lying but out here, well, we’ll see won’t we?” he smiled at the attentive group.
Slim rigged his mini magnetometer to a length of heavy fishing line and a small float. They would tow it up and down over the target areas to search the depths for any metal objects. Its signals would be translated into images on a tiny hand held screen.
“It’s barely man enough for a job like this but it may just give us a rough fix.” Slim looked up at Dick “OK then. Can we traverse the area at about six knots, up an down tracks, a bit like mowing the lawn please,” he smiled, his rich Australian accent somehow making it sound so simple
For about an hour they trawled up and down as requested — then suddenly they received a distinctive ping from the sensing equipment. Greg pressed the Mark button on his hand held GPS.
“The first one! Well we’ve made a start!” The mood on board changed to air of high expectancy. They soon had several marks on the plotter — and not all in the same position — but Greg was convinced.