Offshore (19 page)

“
And what are you looking for down there?”

“
Mermaids if I’m lucky.”

They
waited, following the images on the screen as if they were watching
a wildlife documentary, until McAllister spoke again. “Here we go.
Let’s have a look see.” Once more the mask of concentration fixed
itself over his features as he manipulated the controls. One slip
this far down could be costly indeed.

If the
ROV became snagged on something, or lost power, or slipped from its
support cable and tumbled to the seabed, he would be the one to
have to don his diving suit and go and get it back, breathing in
the unpleasant mixture of oxygen and helium which would make him
talk like Mickey Mouse on speed.

Retrieval, however, would not be the end of it. The ROV could
be hauled up immediately, not so McAllister. He would have to spend
at least eight hours in the freezing water, ascending foot by foot,
decompressing on the way.

Any
faster and he risked developing a case of the bends, a painful,
potentially fatal condition, one from which a friend of his had
suffered, and one which he had no desire to go through for the sake
of a piece of machinery.

“
What’s that?” Brewer said.

“
What?”

Brewer
tapped the screen. “That there. Some sort of weird looking rock? It
looks like …” He laughed quietly. “It looks a bit like a skull.
Isn’t it amazing how your eyes can play tricks on you?”

McAllister leaned closer to the screen, straining his eyes to
see, but could not make out the detail. He hummed again. “Yeah,
that is weird … let me just move her in a bit and see what we’ve
got …”

The
joystick twitched and the object drew closer. In the circle of
yellow light cast by the ROV’s spot lamp, the object filling the TV
screen became dreadfully clear indeed.

McAllister suddenly yelled and shot to his feet, retreating
to the far end of the room to press himself against the rear wall
of the Portakabin, quaking, mumbling incomprehensibly, his face an
ashen sickly grey green, eyes so huge in his head they were in
danger of falling out of their sockets, arms and hands
pumping.

“
My dear fellow,” said Brewer, alarmed at the man’s
cadaverous, agitated appearance. “What is it?”

McAllister looked as if he might faint. “It’s …” Audible
gulp. He pointed at the screen. “It’s a head … Lonny’s … head!” The
last of the colour drained from his face as he doubled over and
vomited copiously and noisily over his boots.

“
It can’t be,” said Brewer, turning back to the screens.
“You must be mist–” The words died. There was no mistake. His eyes
had not been playing tricks on him.

There,
filling the centre screen, were the remains of the face of the
missing crewman, Lonny Dick. Only two days in the water, but
already much of the soft tissue had been picked free of the
underlying bone.

The
eyes, always a favourite, were the first to go, plucked from their
sockets and leaving behind hollow pits. Next went his fleshy cheeks
and squint rubbery nose, along with his lips, exposing a double row
of peg like teeth set in a permanent idiotic slack jawed
grin.

“
Bloody hell fire!” exclaimed the scientist, nearly five
years since he last uttered an expletive of any kind.

The
internal phone in the control room buzzed. Eddie, sifting his way
through a pile of paperwork, reached for it. “Yeah,” he said
casually.

Silence.

“
This is Capstan. Who’s there?”

Muffled
talking.

“
Mr Capstan?”

“
Yeah? Is that you Prof?”

“
Yes. I wonder, Mr Capstan, if you could come down to the
ROV control shack for a moment. There’s something we think you
should see.”

“
What’s the matter?” Eddie said. “Found Blackbeard’s
treasure?”

“
Please … come down, Mr Capstan.”

Brewer
hung up.

So did
Eddie.

A few
minutes later he sauntered into the red Portakabin. The entire grim
faced crew, including Lydia Ellis, were crammed into the tiny
space.

A deeply
upset McAllister was still sitting on one of the chairs, hunched
over, staring at the floor, Lydia’s hand resting on his shoulder,
offering professional comfort. All eyes were trained on the TV
screens, all except Lydia’s; she was looking expectantly at
Eddie.

“
Wassup?” he said.

With a
dip of his head, Brewer indicated the television screen still
displaying its ghastly image.

“
I think we have found our missing crewman, Mr Capstan,” he
said with a calmness which belied the situation.

Eddie
stared aghast at the screen, at a small fish tugging a loose shred
of skin from Lonny’s cheek and making away with it.

“
Holy shit,” he murmured, and dragged his hand down his
cheeks and over his mouth and chin, pinching his lower
lip.

“
Confirmation then, he did go overboard.”

A mumble
of agreement circulated the group.

“
How the hell did it happen? He was experienced. He knew the
drill - stay away from the rails when the wind and water is up. In
fact, stay away, period.”

“
Easy done I suppose,” said Brewer, wearing the mantle of
spokesman for the group. “If he was feeling ill and needing some
fresh air, maybe he leaned over the rail to puke and took his eye
off the ball. Big wave comes up and Bob’s your uncle, so to
speak.”

Eddie’s
worst case scenario spoken out loud.

“
Gormless sod,” said Reynolds, his eyes fixed on the part
stripped skull, and for the briefest second Eddie thought he
detected the trace of a smile sitting on the young man’s
lips.

He
risked another glance at the screen for himself, in time to see a
small black crab emerge from Lonny’s vacant eye socket to wave a
claw at the ROV’s camera. This is mine, it threatened. Go away. Get
your own.

“
Where’s the rest of him?” asked Lydia from beside Jock’s
chair.

No one
looked in her direction. No one wanted to answer the
question.

“
Sharks. Fish. Crabs. Lobsters. You name it, it’s had a go,”
said Eddie. “It doesn’t take long to strip a carcass when they get
into a feeding frenzy. Once the bones get loose they get scattered
by the current and his clothes will have been carried off by it
too.”

Lydia’s
face twisted with bitter distaste and she returned to her patient.
Eddie pressed the power button on the TV, banishing the disturbing
picture and turning the screen a safe dull grey. Everyone stood in
silence staring at the blankness, not knowing what to say or do for
the best.

Eddie
cleared his throat. What he had to say next would sound officious
and heartless, but it had to be said nonetheless. “I hate to have
to bring this up now, Jock, but … um … in your own time, could you
see to … erm … recovery of the ROV?”

McAllister uncurled himself from his crouched position and
glared at Eddie. “What did you say?”

“
I … um … ” Cough. “I asked if you wouldn’t mind seeing to
the ROV. We can’t leave it down there. It’s an expensive piece of
kit.”

“
The
gear
?” McAllister said, with all the warmth of a
mid-winter’s day in Aberdeen.

“
Please.”

A slow nod. “Of course. Let’s not forget about the
precious
machinery
, shall we, eh boss? Best not allow the death of a
colleague to get in the way of the FUCKING JOB!”

He leapt
to his feet, sending his chair back against the wall, hard, and
stormed from the room, knocking against Eddie’s shoulder on the way
past, rocking him on his feet.

Eddie
felt himself shrink under the silent stares of the others. Without
uttering a word, they each filed out, leaving him alone with
Lydia.

The look
of utter disappointment on her face made his stomach clench. A
moment’s hard gaze from those sea coloured eyes cowed him some
more, before she averted them and she too left.

Chapter 21

Lonny’s
bones had been found sooner than he expected, but no matter.
Euterich was not worried.

The
others had drawn their conclusion – the big man had fallen
overboard. A tragic accident. There was nothing else they could do.
End of story.

They
would not send the ROV down again any time soon, if they got it
back at all. Jock McAllister was in no fit state to operate it just
now, which would give the current time to drag the sunken canvas
bag containing Daz Reynolds’ bits and pieces far away where they
wouldn’t find it. He remained confident of being clear and clean on
that score.

He would
not, however, chance tossing another set of leftovers into the sea.
Twice he might get away with, but a third? When the time came, and
it would soon enough, he would have to be a little more inventive
with his method of disposal.

Euterich
lay on his bunk giving careful consideration to whose body that
might be, when a rapid tuneful knocking on his beloved’s cabin door
across the corridor distracted him.

His
enhanced hearing automatically tuned in to feed him information,
allowing him to visualise the scenario from sound and imagination,
like a blind man sitting through a movie.

A
muffled, feminine voice. Lydia: “Just a minute.”

Shuffling about. Tidying up? Door opening.

“
Can I come in?” Eddie Capstan, curse him.

Long
pause. “I suppose.”

He
pictured the scene: The two of them in her cabin, standing a
respectful distance apart, each waiting for the other to
speak.

Eddie
went first. “About today … I think I was a tad insensitive.” Lydia
closed the door.

“
A tad?! You’re not kidding you were.”

“
I’m sorry. It’s been a shite day from dawn to
dusk–”

“
No excuse, Eddie–”

“
I was just trying to … I don’t know, but…” He scrubbed at
his hair. “Whatever it was, I got it wrong.”

“
Yes, you flaming well did.”

Pause.

“
How’s Jock?” he said.

“
He’s in shock,” said Lydia. “What do you
expect?”

“
How are you?”

“
The same. We all are. Anyone would be who didn’t have a
heart of granite. Have you?”

“
No.”

“
Sit down then, and I’ll make us a drink.”

“
No. I can’t stay. I just wanted to … I’ve got
to–”

“
Sit-down.”

Eddie
lowered himself onto the edge of the bunk, sitting stiffly, hands
sandwiched between knees pressed together.

“
Have you made your report?” Lydia said, spooning coffee
into the mugs.

Sigh.
“Yeah.”

“
And …?”

Eddie drank coffee and told Lydia how he’d reported his
findings to Longdrift Headquarters and received nothing but griping
and carping in return; how they said it would be better all round
if Lonny had never been found, because discovery meant
they
would be the ones
to have to declare a sudden accidental death with an unrecoverable
body to the Coroner.

They
would have to deal with all the paperwork.
They
would be the ones
to have to inform Lonny’s next of kin, to express sympathy for
their loss and stump up some form of pecuniary compensation
package.
Their
safety record would be screwed; insurance rates would go
up, blah, blah, blah.

They did
not balk at the opportunity to twist the knife over the potential
loss of an expensive piece of technology either.

Neither did they spare an ounce of sympathy for those who
witnessed the horrifying discovery and were having to come to terms
with the loss of a workmate, leaving Eddie in no doubt at all that
they too considered the entire debacle to be entirely
his
fault. As if he
didn’t feel bad enough already about how he had handled the
situation.

Lydia
made sympathetic noises in all the right places, giving him the
impression that, when he finally finished, she might offer some
other kind of comfort.

Not this
time.

Instead
she offered only a severe lambast of his self pity and sent him on
his way to pen his report, her order to ‘Grow a pair!’ still
ringing in his ears.

Euterich, still listening, smiled to himself.

“
Not quite what you were expecting was it, Mr Capstan? Looks
like I might still be in with a chance after all.”

Chapter 22

Light
from the corridor leaking through the opaque glass circles in the
double swing doors spared the sickbay complete darkness.