“Bullshit they’re dead! Let’s get them to the diving bell. It’s got a hyperbaric oxygen chamber inside. If they’ve run out of Hydrox, they’ve only just run out of it!”
Michael grabbed the first body he could reach and dragged it through the new opening. Veyron took the limp diver and said, “I’ve got him. You grab the next one, and I’ll get him in the hyperbaric chamber.”
“Okay.”
The diving bell had been relocated directly next to the entrance to the pyramid, and a visiting doctor had remained on board, in case Sam and Tom needed resuscitating.
Michael reached through the moon pool, where the doctor had already removed Tom’s helmet. “How’s he looking, Doc?”
“His oxygen levels are very low, but he’s still breathing on his own,” the doctor replied, while holding a 100 % oxygen mask over Tom’s face and squeezing a bag next to it in rapid, deep, movements to ventilate him. “Quick, get Sam’s helmet off so we can start working on him.”
Michael and Veyron worked to quickly remove Sam’s helmet.
His face was ashen, and it was immediately apparent that he was no longer breathing. Michael slipped a finger beneath the dive suit, and felt for a carotid pulse. “He still has a pulse, but it’s weak!”
Veyron already had the bag valve oxygen mask set up. He quickly attached it to Sam’s face, and began to ventilate him with 100 % oxygen.
“Over here, Doc. Sam needs your help.”
Monitoring equipment showed that his oxygen saturation levels were less than 30 % — a reading not ordinarily associated with life. And the heart monitor showed that Sam’s heart rate was very slow, no more than twenty beats per minute.
Veyron continued to ventilate him.
“His oxygen levels are coming up, but his heart rate is dwindling.”
The doc drew up an injection of adrenaline and then gave it straight into the large vein in Sam’s neck.
Thirty seconds later, a stupid, slightly intoxicated kind of grin came across Sam’s face.
“Veyron,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “What took you so long?”
The next time Sam was awake, he and Tom were inside the dive bell’s hyperbaric chamber. His head still hurt, his thinking processes slower. Clearly his brain was recovering from its oxygen starved state.
“You there Tom?”
“I’m here. I knew they couldn’t kill you that easily.”
“I thought I told you to keep your own damn Hydrox?”
“And since when have I ever listened to your orders?” Tom replied.
Sam tried to sit up, but found himself too dizzy to do so. “Thank you, Tom.”
He didn’t hear the next words Tom said. Instead he heard the confident, bordering on arrogant, Harvard trained voice of Michael Rodriguez.
“You’re awake, Sam. That’s great.”
“Michael, what are you doing in the dive bell?” Sam slurred.
Veyron approached and stared down at him. “He was saving your ass.”
“You saved me?” Sam was confused.
“It turned out that I was the only one left who could pilot the submarine,” Michael explained. “It’s you and Tom who really saved everyone.”
“The miners?”
“They got wet, but they didn’t drown — thanks to the two of you. It appears you live up to your reputation, Mr. Reilly.”
Sam grinned. “We did it, but there’s going to be months of work to seal the other side of the tunnel and bring a team of archeologists down to explore the tomb.”
“There is, but you saved them both. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I have a proposal for you Sam Reilly,” Michael said.
“What do you have in mind?”
“It’s something particularly important to me. Much more so than the mine you just saved. I need some time to talk to you… but not here.”
“Why not here?” Sam asked, stuck inside the hyperbaric chamber, most likely for hours.
“For what I’m interested in, I need to talk to you alone. It’s not that I don’t trust your crew specifically. I don’t trust anyone with what I want to talk to you about.”
“Where then?”
“I have a yacht — a traditional Mayan sailboat. We both have work to do to get the next operations underway. You with your archeological dig, and me reestablishing a highly profitable silver mine. Not tomorrow — say the following day, Thursday?”
Sam didn’t answer.
“Come sailing with me. Just the two of us. It will be fun, and I can tell you what I need.”
Sam had no idea what his most recent billionaire friend wanted, but he was intrigued. Besides, after today’s events, he could use a day out sailing an antique sailboat.
Chapter Six
The wind was light in the Gulf of Mexico, but the Mayan sailboat even lighter, and as Sam helped to raise its single sail, the little boat picked up speed. Sam grinned, his teeth white as the little ship’s sail. He felt like a boy on his favorite theme park ride.
This was real sailing. Between himself and Michael, the two men owned more than most countries spent on their military each year, but now, they’d been reduced to a couple of overgrown children, trying not to fall out of the little boat.
Michael surprised him with his competence. Clearly the man had spent a lot of time on the water. As the midday sun rested above the horizon, the light wind became no wind. Above their heads, the single sail flapped aimlessly.
“Did you bring a little motor?” Sam asked.
“No, did you?” Michael laughed.
“No, I forgot that.”
“Do you think the wind will pick up?”
“Not a chance.”
“That’s okay, that’s why I have these.” Michael said, showing him a pair of oars. “It’s only about three miles back to land. You’re in no rush?”
“No,” Sam lied.
He watched as Michael comfortably connected the oars to their rollicks and start rowing. Strong chest, back and arms pulled on the oars, the outline of each muscle stood out, well defined. The man, Sam observed, had lost none of his strength over the years.
Sam sat there enjoying the warm Mexican sun and the coolness of its water for half an hour in silence. Michael had brought him here for a reason, and that reason certainly wasn’t so that he could forget that the wind stopped like clockwork at midday, so he could have a long row back to the harbor.
He looked at Michael’s eyes. They were hardened and focused on the rowing, his jaw clenched, and he was only concentrating on his breathing. Otherwise, his mind could have been a million miles away.
You take your time Michael — it seems I’ve got all day…
After an hour of hard work, Michael finally obliged.
“Let’s have some lunch.”
“Sounds good,” Sam said.
“Have you ever heard of the Mahogany Ship?”
“Which one?”
“Come on, Sam… you know the one I’m referring to…”
“The Australian legend of the Mahogany Ship?” Sam laughed and regarded the somber expression on Michael’s face.
Is this seriously what today’s sailing trip was all about? He’s interested in an old myth of a shipwreck?
“Of course I have. My mother’s Australian — moved to the states with my dad before I was born, but in heart, I still see myself as an Australian.”
“Some say it’s a myth. Others, like myself, still believe her to be out there, resting somewhere, waiting to be found, with answers for humanity.”
“If it ever was there, it’s now long gone.”
“Is it?” Michael’s face was almost curious.
“Yeah, the last reference to it was in 1812, when it was found high up on the sand inland somewhere. Now, ships much older than that have been found to survive in sea water, but not fresh water, and never on dry land. No, if she did exist, and she was out of the water, she’s long gone…”