Impressive, Riggs thought. But why then, he asked, was there a coiled-up black electrical power cord attached to the MAP Mix 9000? Riggs had already twisted off the factory tie and uncoiled the cord. Harald explained that they wouldn’t need the power cord for their operation. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just tie it back up161.”
8. Monday
Billy sat by the lake in New Hampshire162, enjoying a lazy summer Sunday with his girlfriend, Michelle. R&R is exactly what he was looking for after such a stressful week on Deer Island. He knew the white waterfront bungalow where his close friends and surrogate parents lived was just the place where he could find it. He had started the day playing golf with Ken, and after Ken left with Deb for a wedding, Billy and Michelle had the place to themselves.
Before long, the relaxation gave way to worry—though not his own. Michelle rattled off all the things that were giving her pause about the tunnel project, cataloging the details he had shared with her as the job had progressed. She reminded him about the trailer getting damaged in a freak roadway accident on the way to the island, about the flats on the trailer tires, about the equipment that wasn’t working right and the equipment that still hadn’t shown up on site, and most of all, about how completely cut off from civilization the divers would be at the end of the tunnel. As silly as she knew it was, she threw in the fact that the divers were working on an Indian burial ground. “How many signs do you need, Billy?” she asked.
He decided to try to defuse the situation with a laugh. “You’re supposed to be a good Catholic,” he said, “and here you are doing this bad juju.” No luck.
In their four years together, Billy and Michelle had built a strong relationship based on trust. He took her concerns seriously and never tried to snow her about the dangers of the jobs he was working on. Still, like his diving buddies, he was careful not to offer too many details. From the start with the tunnel job, he had accentuated the positive. “This has never been done before,” he had beamed to her. “We could end up on the Discovery Channel.” But as his involvement on Deer Island deepened, he had clearly let too many details slip.
Billy understood why Michelle was so anxious. He had his own troubles with the job, and they both knew that when he got worried about something, he tended to clam up. No doubt she had picked up on this and could sense how much his initial Discovery Channel-fueled excitement had cooled.
He tried changing the subject, focusing on the happy news in their life. He and Michelle had been renting a small house in Wakefield, a short drive from Deb and Ken’s place, where he had previously kept a room. Now they were in the process of buying a beautiful old New England farmhouse in town. But when Billy tried to get Michelle to discuss that house instead of the tunnel, she wouldn’t budge.
Rather than commute from New Hampshire to Deer Island every day, Billy had been crashing during the week at a friend’s place outside Boston. He planned to do the same in week two of the job, heading south in the morning and not returning until the following weekend. He sensed that Michelle felt this was her last shot to get him to reconsider.
The somber news that had been dominating the airwaves all weekend hadn’t helped ease her apprehension. That Friday night, John F. Kennedy, Jr., had been piloting his single-engine Piper Saratoga, with his wife and sister-in-law on board, headed to the Kennedy compound on Cape Cod for his cousin’s wedding. By early Saturday morning, the Coast Guard had begun a massive search-and-rescue effort in the waters around Martha’s Vineyard. By Sunday, the Coast Guard had reluctantly shifted its focus from rescue to recovery. No matter what he had done in life, JFK Jr. had always been remembered best as the little boy in short pants, poignantly saluting his father’s casket during the funeral procession on November 25, 1963, which also happened to have been the little boy’s third birthday. Now he was presumed dead at age thirty-eight. Bride-to-be Rory Kennedy, who had still been in her mother’s womb the night her father, Bobby, was assassinated in California, postponed her wedding in grief.
Even after Michelle had to leave for work, Billy got no reprieve. By then Deb had returned, and in the living room, she told him just how distressed she was about Deer Island. He tried offering the same reassurances he had given Michelle. There was nothing to worry about. Everything would turn out fine. But it was clear he wasn’t getting through.
Softly, Deb said, “Billy, please don’t do this.”
“Ma,” he said, using his affectionate nickname for her. “I’m fine.” Feeling ganged up on, he walked out of the house and headed into the backyard. Near the lake, he found Ken sitting inside the tiny white shed he had turned into a watering hole, complete with wet bar and stocked refrigerator. They each grabbed a beer.
Billy had been having such a good run lately, now that he was working less and able to spend more weekend time relaxing with Michelle and golfing with Ken. Just a few weeks back, he had recorded the first eagle of his life, marking the accomplishment by jumping up and down on the course so fervently that Ken wondered if they’d be asked to leave. But this Deer Island job seemed to be casting a pall on them all.
Ken brought up the job, trying to explain Deb’s concerns. “She’s nervous,” he told Billy.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Billy replied. “You know that.” Back when they’d been training in Tap’s yard, Ken had stopped by for his own look at the mock-up. “You’ve got to tell the girls that I know what I’m doing,” Billy told him now. “Sure it’s dangerous, but we’ve practiced. We’ve got all good guys.”
That was enough for Ken. Later that night, he told his wife, “Look, he’s going to be all right.”
At four o’clock the next morning, Michelle awoke to hear Billy’s truck running in the driveway. She was groggy but instantly became upset that he would leave without saying goodbye. They had an arrangement: before he took off for a job, especially one that would keep him away for a whole week, he had to jostle her awake for a goodbye kiss. But soon Billy walked through the door. He’d only stepped outside to pack up his truck. They kissed, and she rolled over and went back to sleep.
At seven-thirty a.m. on Monday163, July 19, the divers gathered at the base of the shaft to begin going over the lengthy checklists Harald had handed them, ensuring that all their tanks were full, all their connections were tight, and all their equipment was operational. Only when they began reviewing the checklist for the Humvees did they discover a problem. The gray Hummer wagon wouldn’t start. As it turned out, the battery was dead. Billy knew a dead battery at the base of the shaft was no big deal—they could simply jump-start it or swap it out. But it would be a different story if it happened again when they were deep inside the tunnel.
The divers were relieved that the mysterious MAP Mix 9000 was finally here and that their plug-pulling mission could begin in earnest. The day’s assignment called for the five divers to drive the Humvees as far as they could into the tunnel, and then the three-man excursion crew would trudge on foot to the end, to begin yanking out the plugs. They would start with the plug in the elbow of riser number 1, then work their way back toward the shaft, with the goal of pulling several plugs by day’s end.
As the divers maneuvered inside the Humvees while going over their checklists, their bodies rubbed against the thick plastic covering on the vehicle’s upholstery. The official explanation for why the divers had to keep the clear protective plastic on the seats and interior door coverings, as if the menacing Hummer were some dowager’s sofa, was that the plastic would be a barrier against the water in the tunnel. But by now the divers had figured out the real reason Norwesco wanted that barrier: after the job was done, the company planned to resell the two pairs of Humvees. Water stains on upholstery never helped with resale value.
162 (Chapter 8, note 1)
Billy sat by the lake in New Hampshire: Michelle Rodrigue, Ken Jones, and Deb Jones, interviews by author in August 2010 and after.
163 (Chapter 8, note 2)
At seven-thirty a.m. on Monday: Harald Grob, topside log, July 19, 1999.