Counterpoint (14 page)

Holding a torch in one hand and
dragging the equipment between them with the other, they swam
forward together against the strong current.

Keeping close to see enough of the
vessel in the pencil of light was difficult enough, they had to
avoid sharp protruding pipes, cables and other hazards that
suddenly appeared, only if caught in the light beam. Neither of
them dared think about the invisible web of old fishing line, or
worse, fishing nets that could entangle them, or rusting fishing
hooks that could tear into flesh through the dive suit. Four divers
had already died in the wreck, in daylight.

Carla nearly ripped open her stomach on
a needle-sharp, corroded pipe. Her sharp intake of breath was just
enough to buoy her above it, only to have to exhale quickly to sink
under a piece of superstructure.

Counting the trucks was easy, but as
the articulated part was often dangling down into the depths, after
the cab, there was nothing to follow until the side of the ship
showed in the slender beam of light.

The invisible tug and swirl of the
current, one moment, pulling them into the blackness, then pushing
them into the hazardous metal, was tiring them out extremely
quickly. Their limited air supply was also going fast, about eight
times as fast at this depth, due to the strenuous swim against the
current.

They would be down for some time, yet
they still had to remove the wheel and ascend extremely slowly, to
decompress. Time was actually running out terribly quickly.

The truck they wanted suddenly
materialised out of the gloom. The number plate checked out, so
they manoeuvred behind the cab to get at the spare wheel.

When the ferry finally sank, it hit the
seabed extremely hard and with a slight list. The truck had snapped
its rear chain with the sudden shock. It then slid bodily sideways
over the side of the ferry, suspended in space by the remains of
the front chain, still fixed to the deck. With just the front and
rear of the cab attached, the articulated trailer part, dangle down
towards the seabed, as though it had jackknifed.

The two grasped the rubber tyre of the
spare wheel and aligned themselves, at the same time fighting the
turbulence caused by the strong current, around the cab.

“This is impossible,” thought Max,
checking the remaining air, time, and depth. At this rate, he had
seven minutes left before he had to leave for the surface. Carla
was slightly better off, with her smaller lungs, young and
super-fit body, she had 15 minutes left.

Good luck smiled on them briefly, the
wheel nuts looked OK once they removed the surface detritus with a
wire brush. The spider fitted perfectly with hardly any slackness
around the nut.

Gripping the tyre with one hand and
turning the spider with the other, did not work. Max rotated, not
the nut! So Max removed his fins and with his knees gripping either
side of the tyre, and feet on the chassis, he tried again. The nut
undid easily, chewing rust off the stud like smoke, instantly swept
away in the current.

Because this was a spare wheel, the
fixing had fewer nuts and not over tight like they would have been,
fixed to the axle.

Carla clung on to the rusted shell of
the cab as best she could, aiming the light in the right place
whilst holding the suspended tool bag, and Max’s fins. Max worked
furiously, racing against the clock.

The last nut holding the wheel in place
was nearly free, so Max attached the lift-bag.

This was going to be tricky, he
thought, with too much air in the lift-bag, he would have a runaway
assent on his hands, too little, and the heavy wheel would drop to
the seabed at a depth far beyond their reach.

Having tied on the lift bag and put a
little of his precious air in it from his regulator he refitted his
fins. Carla tapped him on the shoulder with the torch and shone a
light on the dive computer screen. Max knew they were out of time.
They must leave now, drown, or die from the bends. He shook his
head; he was moments away from success. More precious air was lost
to the lift-bag; now the moment-of-truth!

A couple of turns and the final nut
came off. He gave the spider to Carla and pulled the wheel
away.

Damn it was still too heavy!

Carla let go of the cab and pulled up
the wheel by swimming upward, frantically using her fins; it was
just enough. Max put more of his precious air into the bag, to
achieve neutral buoyancy.

As they rose above the cab, the current
swept them away into the blackness. They fully exhaled and sank
together just keeping the deck in sight.

Suddenly, in front of them from out of
nowhere came two dive lights. Had someone seen them, also on a
night dive, or was this Manuel, after the wheel?

A harpoon just missed Carla and clanged
against the steel plating of the wreck.

Max switched out his dive light. Carla
immediately did the same. Together they swung to the left over
towards the centre of the deck. They could see nothing except the
scything dive lights looking for them.

Max was convinced it must be Manuel and
a fellow diver. Manuel was not the sort to snatch the wheel and
leave witnesses.

The current drift was fast now, and for
all they knew they could be floating up or down or away from the
ship. Carla fumbled with one hand, for Max’s small back up dive
light or a light stick. She found the light. Holding it over her
dive computer, she switched it on. In the restricted glow of the
small light, she checked her reading. Depth was constant, and she
continued to monitor it. Max checked the flow of air bubbles; they
were drifting along on their backs as though leaning backwards in a
rocking chair. Guiding Carla upright, he briefly turned on his dive
light pointing it down. Yes, he could see the deck. Turning his
head, he could see the searchers’ lights, but they had lost sight
of Max and Carla.

Suddenly Max struck his head. Christ it
hurt, stars lit up the black water where ever he looked and a
deeper blackness was enfolding him. Carla heard the sound and felt
the sudden impact through Max’s hand as he held onto her arm, Max’s
grip was weakening, and she pulled him close to her, wrapped her
legs around him and grabbed the wheel lift-bag in her free
hand.

Gathering the tools and wheel lift-bag
together in one hand, she used the small backup dive light dangling
from Max’s strap, to examine him. His eyes flickered in the light,
so he was just about conscious. Rust particles and blood drifted
around his head as they moved with the current. For the moment, he
was still alive.

She rechecked her depth and decided to
exhale fully to descend a bit closer to the deck; this would reduce
the risk of missing the stern rail and line to the surface.

She could now see the glow stick and
guide rope, in the weak beam of the backup light.

Manuel’s lights were now heading
towards them and the rear of the wreck.

Logic told her to use the line to the
surface, it leads to safety and the air supply at five-metres,
where they must stop to decompress. She knew the safety would be
temporary though, because Manuel had been down less time and would
have used less air and energy. He would catch them at the five
metre mark where they were forced to wait. An ascent without the
line would be OK, except there will be no air at five metres to
save them. She figured their safe decompression time would be about
15 minutes, holding one’s breath for that time was not an option.
Manuel, on the other hand, probably only needed three or four
minutes.

She knew what she must do. She breathed
in and exhaled slowly, starting her slow ascent. She checked her
rate of ascent every five to ten seconds. She was spot on, keeping
pace with the rise of the smallest silver bubbles around them.

By judging her position over the deck
by Manuel’s dive lights, she estimated she would drift with the
line on her left, and so her dive light beam would not shine in
Manuel’s direction. She felt safe because she could only just make
out the disc of light from their lamps. The beam itself was lost in
the gloom.

She scythed her light, but saw nothing.
Manuel’s lights were moving across, under her. “Shit!” She bubbled
through her regulator. “I’ve missed the guideline.”

Arcing the main dive light she saw the
guideline behind her and to the left. With her lamp arm around
Max’s waist, she kicked hard towards it.

Dragging the equipment and Max against
the current was draining her energy, fast, and she was making
agonisingly slow progress towards the rope, tantalisingly out of
reach.

Her breathing was a deep panting, and
at any second, the regulator would be unable to supply her tortured
lungs with enough air. If that happened, they would both drown. Her
outstretched hand was just inches away from the safety of the thick
rope guideline when the airflow was stifled; the demand through the
system was now too high. In a desperate threshing of her fins and
clutching of her outstretched hand, the gap continued to close.
Suffocating and on the borderline of panic, she made a final lunge,
screaming through the suffocating regulator with the effort. Her
slender fingers at last gripped the thick rope, and she clung on.
Her body was continuing to suffer from oxygen deprivation, and
although the physical exertion had stopped, her lungs demanded more
air. It was like stopping after a long, hard run and wanting to
pant furiously, but forced to breathe slowly. At one point she
nearly panicked and ripped the mouthpiece away, to breathe without
the restriction, just one good breath, that’s all! Gradually her
breathing rate dropped to meet supply, and she refocused on her
predicament.

Breathing hard and with her leg crooked
around the line, she started the ascent. Several minutes later,
from the tugging on the line below she knew Manuel and his dive
buddy had reached it. Sparkling silver bubbles, caught in her dive
light were now rushing past her from the divers below. So far, they
had not seen her, preferring to keep their light away from their
eyes and not spoil their night vision. Holding rigidly to the
ascent rate, she tried to revive Max, thankfully, he was more
conscious now and started to help her.

Minutes later, Max ran out of air and
had to share her air, using her spare regulator. Carla was relieved
when the glow stick at the five metre mark was in sight. Max
grabbed one of the emergency air regulators tied to the line.
Maintaining shallow, regular breathing, he checked the dive
computer for decompression time, 15 minutes, it read. From the
rising bubbles, he knew Manuel was close behind. He looked down and
saw their lights.

Removing his jacket and air tank, he
released all the buoyant air. Holding the empty steel tank like a
torpedo, Max swam down the line as hard as he could, ramming the
steel cylinder onto the top of the first divers head. The diver
shouted with pain in a cloud of bubbles, and went limp.

Max was relying on the fact that unless
you look directly upwards, with a dive mask on, you see nothing
above you. The second diver also did not see the steel cylinder
descending on him, but he certainly felt it as it glanced off the
back of his head. Startled, but not incapacitated, the man fought
back.

Unable to see through the mass of
silver bubbles, Max snatched blindly at the diver's face and ripped
his regulator from his mouth. The diver could not see Max either,
through the bubbles. Suddenly, without air, it took all the man’s
will to regain his self-control. Choking, he tried to find his
spare regulator. Max had grabbed that as well, and grateful for the
air supply, gripped the air tank on the man’s back, between his
knees. Max grasped the divers flailing wrists and clung to the
drowning man’s back like a giant rucksack. When the man stopped
struggling and went limp Max slowly ascended, finally, when in
reach of the reserve air, he let the man sink back silently into
the deep.

Closing his eyes for maximum
concentration, legs around the line, Max felt for the Velcro
covered straps that held his buoyancy jacket together, slipped into
the jacket, and joined the straps around his waist, then inflated
it.

Carla had been surprised when Max
suddenly shot down into the depths, she followed his progress with
her dive light, she had seen the attack and thought to herself,
he’s learning!

Recovering all the gear and putting it
into the boat was a struggle. The boat was pitching and tossing in
the choppy water. As they gripped the ladder, it pulled them up
wrenching their arms practically out of their sockets and then
dropped them like a yo-yo, thrusting them under the water.

They eventually tied the wheel to the
boat and towed it into shore. Max rowed the last part of the way to
avoid attracting attention so late at night, with the noise of the
outboard motor. Eventually, they reached the quay and Max slipped
away silently, into the night.

Carla waited in the dark for Max to
return with the pick-up truck, from the Quayside. He found her
exhausted and shivering, clinging onto the wheel as though it was
life itself. What a little tiger, he thought and how he loved
her.

He quietly stowed the dive gear and
wheel on the truck, whilst she recovered. Then he took the boat
back to the mooring, Carla followed in the truck, to pick him
up.

Because nobody was around at that time
of the night, they thought no one had seen them, but they were
wrong, they were also wrong about the two divers, neither was
Manuel.

Manuel was lurking in the shadows of
the moored motor cruiser, waiting for his two divers to call him,
so he could pick them up from the wreck buoy. He did not suspect
the man in the rowboat, or truck that picked him up, was his
adversary, not until later when his men did not return. At first he
thought the men might have double-crossed him, but why should they,
they did not know the real value of the wheel.