Depth Charge by Jason Heaton (carter reed .txt) 📗

daylight. Soon they’d have company. The fishermen returning to Batticaloa would not present a big problem. These were simple men scraping out a living, and the sight of a modern ship offshore wouldn’t seem that unusual with the big harbor project going on. The Depth Charge wouldn’t be new to them either. It had been in the harbor on and off for months, as one of many foreign vessels and companies in the country to take advantage of Sri Lanka’s influx of Chinese investments. Still, it only took one fisherman’s gossip to raise questions.

How could this go so wrong when I planned so carefully? wondered Rausing. Three hundred and fifty feet below, two divers were outside of the bell, panicking, and one more, Murray, inside. The trip up from the depths would take time, as would their decompression. If Aitkens couldn’t fetch the bomb, they would have to come out here a second time to dive the Vampire. It is time we don’t have. Rausing slammed his fist onto the metal desk in Dive Control. It was an uncharacteristic loss of control and the others in the room looked warily at him.

I knew I should have done the dive myself. But these men had come on good recommendation—discreet, professional. Now things were falling apart. Suddenly, above the usual electronic whines and rumble of the ship came a new noise: the baritone thrumming of a diesel engine. In a few steps, Rausing bounded up the metal stairs to the pilothouse. Captain Kovács lowered his binoculars.

“We’ve got company.”

Rausing grabbed the binoculars, a high-powered Leica set, and scanned the horizon. In the growing light of the tropical dawn, Rausing caught sight of a boat moving slowly up the coastline from the south. It was not one of the ramshackle fishing boats he’d expected, but a modern cabin cruiser with a flying bridge and wide, low transom. There were dive tanks strapped to the railings at the back. It was still a couple of miles off but would be on them in ten minutes. Would they pass by? He raised the binoculars again. This time he made out the Sri Lankan flag painted on the bow along with the name “R/V Taprobane.” A government research vessel. Damn it. He had to act, fast.

Rausing picked up the radio to Dive Control. “Raise the bell,” he said matter of factly. He was met with silence, then it crackled back, “Ah, sir, McElroy and Aitkens…”

“I said, raise the bell. Don’t question me again.”

“Yes, sir,” came a stammered reply.

“Diver 1, get into the bell immediately. Bell diver, switch off Diver 2 and… cut.”

Inside the bell, Murray raised his eyebrows and shook his head. Wow, ruthless, he thought, then stood up and shimmied around the steel grid platform at the perimeter of the bell to a series of valves marked Diver 1 and Diver 2.

In the depths, Aitkens had heard the exchange and gave one last look in the direction of McElroy, who was invisible now behind the wall of silt. Then he turned and pulled himself hand over hand up his umbilical as fast as he could so he’d not be ripped up off the bottom by the ascending bell.

McElroy was in full panic but no one heard him now. Dive Control had shut off his helmet radio. He pleaded and cajoled into the empty microphone as he tugged at his trapped foot.

Inside the bell, Murray reached for the big handle marked Diver 2 and pulled it perpendicular to the direction of flow. Off. Then he grabbed a hacksaw that was hanging on the wall only for the most extreme emergencies. With a few quick strokes the umbilical fell away out of the bell just as a horrified Aitkens pulled himself up the ladder.

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In the pilothouse, a voice came over the radio on the public Channel 16. “DSV Depth Charge, this is R/V Taprobane, do you read?” Captain Kovács reached for the mouthpiece but Rausing grabbed it first.

“This is Depth Charge,” he said in a mild, almost friendly voice. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” came the reply. “Looks like you’re running without lights over there. A bit dangerous.” It was a Sri Lankan’s voice, with good English.

“Thanks for letting us know,” Rausing replied, while gesturing to Kovács to switch on the running lights. “An oversight on our part, sorry.”

The voice came back. “What are you guys doing so far offshore? I thought you were working on the harbor project?”

“We just came out for some fresh air last night,” Rausing said, “the air in the harbor is so stuffy, we thought we’d anchor out here for a change.”

“OK…” the voice sounded confused. “Well, we’re out here for some sonar sweeps and you guys are in our search area. How much longer are you planning to take in the fresh air?”

“We’ll be gone in a few minutes,” Rausing replied, “just doing some final tweaks to our hoist in open water.”

“Got it,” came the Taprobane, “we’ll stay out of your way til you leave. Have a good day.”

“And to you, Captain….?”

“Karuna, Upali Karuna. I’m no boat captain. I’m with the Ministry of Culture, History, and Archaeology.”

“Looking for anything interesting out here? Some sunken treasure perhaps?” Rausing gave a brittle laugh. “Or I suppose you aren’t allowed to say.”

“We’re trying to locate a World War II ship that went down around here. No treasure, I’m afraid.” Karuna chuckled.

“Well, good luck to you and your crew. We’ll be out of your way shortly.” Rausing clicked off and frowned. Job incomplete and now, interference. He turned to the captain, his eyes noticeably darker with suppressed anger. “As soon as the bell is up, we move,” he instructed and walked out of the pilothouse.

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Inside the Vampire, Gus McElroy suddenly felt his umbilical go slack. His helmet lights died—total darkness. Then he couldn’t get a breath. No gas! Had his umbilical fouled when he fell into the hold? He fumbled for his bailout supply valve and twisted it open, feeling a fresh rush of gas into his helmet.