Gold Sharks (11 page)

The men on the other boats recovered remarkably quickly and opened fire. The sound of the shots was lost in the roar of the mighty diesels. But one burst from the light machine pistols chipped the wheelhouse roof of Dick's boat, sending splinters of glass fibre and resin over those sheltering there.

Greg and Oscar, who had been knocked of balance by the sudden surge of power, scrambled back to their feet and attempted to fire a few shots each in the general direction of their tormentors. They didn't pause to see whether any found a target.

The pirates opened up their boats to follow but their performance was no contest for Dick's magnificent thoroughbred.

“What did I tell you? They're no match for this little beauty,” Dick shouted happily, patting the console with genuine affection.

The two craft peeled away unable to press home the attack and soon vanished in the heat haze.

Greg and Oscar unloaded the shotguns and returned them to the woman who expertly double-checked the mechanisms and vanished below with the weapons. The two men moved to the stern of the speeding boat but the wind screaming in the Bimini made the canvas crack like the sails on a galleon, so conversation was nearly impossible.

“Moby Dick seems pleased with himself,” Oscar shouted.

“He does, doesn't he? I'd like to know the answer to a number of questions as well. We'll have to talk it through when we get back to the chalet,” he shouted close to Oscar's ear.

The harbour appeared out of the haze and Dick eased back the throttles. “Well done my baby,” he murmured, patting the console. “I told you she was the best, eh!”

As soon as the boat was moored and he had seen his passengers safely ashore, Dick examined the damage to the wheelhouse roof.

“The bastards!” he muttered angrily, then turned and climbed ashore, walking briskly to the boatyard. Entering the office at the rear of the workshop, a red face man sitting at the desk confronted him and his courage wavered slightly.

The man looked up.

“Have you something to tell me then Dickie boy?”

“Yes I have,” he asserted. “Those bastards fired on us and damaged my wheelhouse - they could have killed us!”

“It must have seemed authentic in the circumstances eh?” the man laughed briefly but then the laughter died, as did the smile, and his face became stern. “You're not planning to go into business on your own are you Dickie?” he scowled. “Cos if you are, just remember who the mortgage on your boat's with and where your wife and sister would have to work if anything went wrong, eh Dickie?”

“You should know I'm not likely to risk my family's lives for a few bucks - so don't be so sensitive you stupid bastard!”

Dick raised his fist in defiant mock aggression.

“Just so long as I don't have to report anything to my controller OK?”

The red-faced man stood up, squeezed past Dick and swaggered out of the office.

Dick slumped into the vacated chair.

“How the Hell did I get mixed up with these swine,” he muttered, picking up the telephone and still trembling with anger.

w

Greg and Oscar arrived back at the bungalow.

“I don't feel like fish again tonight. What you say if I give it to the neighbours? They can probably do something with it.”

Oscar sounded weary.

“That's fine by me. Personally I need a drink before making any more decisions today,” Greg muttered and looked into the drinks cupboard. “Fancy something Oscar?”

“Yes, I'll have a glass of that nice cold Chardonnay, but I'll take the fish next door first OK?”

Oscar was already walking out of the patio door heading for the neighbour's bungalow. Marion met him on their terrace.

“Oh hello there, glad I caught you in. We've been fishing again. Thought you could use this.”

Oscar held the freshly caught specimen. For some reason he felt as awkward and nervous as a young lad on his first date. “Can't remember what he said it was, but it's supposed be very good to eat,” he stuttered.

“Well thank you so much! That does look wonderful and meaty. I'll have to think of something traditional to do with it. Perhaps you'd join us?” Marion replied softly.

Oscar nodded, “Well that would be just fine - give us a call when it's convenient OK?”

He nearly fell backwards from the terrace steps in his haste to get back to Greg.

“Will I call you later then, if you're in a hurry now?” Marion called after him, a slight hint of urgency in her own voice.

“That's OK yes. Later will be fine,” he stammered as he almost ran across the lawn to the bungalow and skipped lightly up to the terrace. The cool glass of wine stood on the wicker table waiting for him; condensation had formed on the glass and trickled onto the coaster. Oscar picked up the glass by its stem, nosed the contents with approval and took a sip.

“Wonderful. Just wonderful,” he proclaimed.

“I'd say its OK but not that good,” Greg said, and took another sip at his own glass, trying to match his friend's enthusiasm for the wine.

Oscar looked across at Greg and smiled but chose to remain silent, gazing instead at the thousands of stars already filling the crystal clear evening sky.

“I'm sure that Moby Dick is more than just a fisherman,” Greg interrupted his reverie. “Think of that boat to start with. As we said before, it must have cost a small fortune. So how can a local lad like him afford it, I ask you?” He looked briefly at Oscar, who had settled back into the padded wicker chair and appeared to be studying the stars. Greg continued, “He didn't want us to go near our marks and when we eventually did we were chased away by so called pirates.” He sipped his wine thoughtfully. “Quite frankly if they hadn't actually fired on us and hit the boat, I would have thought it was a set-up. What do you think?”

Oscar had stopped his stargazing.

“I think your assessment is about right - so what is he hiding and why?” Oscar toyed with his glass and put it on the table. “He seems like a decent man and the woman's so meek and mild. His being a smuggler or a pirate doesn't really fit, although it certainly fits the boat,” Oscar concluded.

“Yes what a boat! When he gave it the gun, didn't it go! That was some power and performance. I wonder why he needs all that expensive energy,” Greg replied as recalled their getaway sprint with due reverence and settled into another chair. “The problem we have Oscar, is that we've spent two days fishing and having fun but we haven't achieved very much else have we?” He sighed. “I think we're either going to have to find another boat or confront Moby Dick with a proposition. It's just a question of whether he is an independent operator or if he someone's lackey? Otherwise I think were going to be hanging around here forever getting nowhere.”

Oscar's mind suddenly went back to Marion; hanging around here for a while had quite a lot of appeal. He smiled smugly.

“Why don't we try Moby Dick with a proposition to go gold diving with us. Say we start on a bum location and see if his pals turn up again; or is that being too simplistic and giving away too much to start with?” Oscar wondered aloud and picked up his glass.

“I don't think we should be taking any risks. There's far too much at stake here. My gut feeling is that we should let things settle down for a couple of days.” Greg sipped his wine thoughtfully. “I'll sniff about a bit more while you go and flirt with the neighbours. Good idea?” Greg was openly grinning; he'd noticed the stars in Oscar's eyes.

Mildly embarrassed that his infatuation was so obvious, Oscar smiled gently and bowed his head at his understanding friend.

“I'll have you know young man that it's extremely flattering for me to think that this old body still has some appeal and yes, I think chatting up the neighbour is a tremendous idea!” He squared his shoulders and moved to the bedroom.

“Time to shower and change I think, don't you?”

The following morning, Greg strolled down to the boatyard. The boat was tied up in its usual place by the quay; a man in blue overalls was rubbing down the damaged wheelhouse. There was no sign of Dick. Greg felt a bit silly standing on the quay holding the pot plant he'd bought for Dick's woman.

“Good morning,” he addressed the glass fibre worker, “have you seen Dick about this morning?”

“Could be in the office having a cup of tea?” Was the cheery reply.

“Mind if I leave this on board for his wife?” Greg asked, making to go onto the boat.

“I'll take it,” the man replied quickly as he reached across and took the plant. “Not his wife though - his sister in law, part owner of the boat. Very nice eh? The boat I mean,” the man winked.

Greg walked across to the boatyard and found Dick in the office, sitting in front of a cup of tea just as the man had said - but the tea was cold and untouched. Dick was numb. The telephone conversation had been brief but clear. Now he fully understood why he'd been given the boat for almost nothing.

“My God how could I have thought that there wasn't a catch?” he muttered as his mind raced, trying to come to terms with the reality of having been so incredibly naive. He hadn't noticed Greg standing respectfully a couple of metres from the door.

Greg coughed politely, Dick looked up surprised. “Sorry to disturb you. Is it a bad time?” Greg apologised.

“No, no, come and sit down. You can share a few moments with a bloody fool,” he said dejectedly.

“What's the problem?” Greg asked with sincerity.

“I'll tell you what the problem is. I've got my balls in a sling trying to protect my family on the one hand and by being greedy and fucking stupid on the other - that's what's wrong.”

Dick looked pale and drawn.

“I think it will be better if we don't go fishing today. I have so many problems to sort out. I'm sorry,” he mumbled, looking into Greg's face.

“That's OK old friend,” Greg agreed. “Perhaps another day OK?” He turned to go. “Listen if you've got a problem, Oscar's a great man to talk to. He has lots contacts for finance or especially other difficulties,” he intimated, emphasising other difficulties and tapping his nose. “You know where we are. So pop in if you want, OK?”

“Thanks - but this is something I have to sort out myself. See you,” he replied lethargically, waving goodbye with an equally modest gesture.

f

The diving operation at the oilrig was going well; the damaged manifold had been successfully pulled back into position and repairs to the buckled valve were almost complete.

“One more day should do it,” Big J declared to John. “I'll be pleased to go ashore for a bit of recreation after this lot.”

He ran a strictly dry ship.

“Diving disciplines and alcohol do not mix,” Big J frequently lectured his team. “There'll be plenty of fun, once the job is done,” was his oft-fulfilled promise.

The men in the decompression chamber suffered considerably for the first twenty-four hours. The painful effects of the bends, caused when nitrogen in the blood is compressed and trapped, especially in the body's joints, is excruciating and occasionally fatal. It also causes a severe dent in a diver's pride, providing a fundamental lesson that they must never forget.

Almost all-commercial diving now involves the use of a variety of gases, which provide for safer deep diving and help to prevent the bends.

Eager to experience the latest technology and the space age equipment being made available to them, the other Chinese divers had integrated well with Big J's team. Especially during the long hours of rest time when traditionally all divers talk endlessly about their various experiences. The Chinese were no exception; their endless stories of Japanese treasure hidden aboard the hundreds of ships sunk towards the end of World War Two had Big J's team listening to every word with obvious excitement.

“Of course we haven't actually found any treasure ourselves yet, but with the benefit of our advanced training we will be starting our own ‘Treasure Diving' business,” the leader of the Chinese team announced confidently. “We know many sites, especially in the Philippines, so if any of you boys want to come along, I could maybe arrange it!”

“Who's going to finance this great venture eh?” one of the Australian divers asked. “Do you have any idea just how much a project could cost to set up?”

“Don't you worry - we'll find the money alright,” came the easy reply - and so it would go on, each of them wallowing in their own individual fantasy of sunken treasure and a life of luxury.

The crew knew that repairs to the wellhead would be completed in the next few hours so there was an undercurrent of excitement in anticipation of being allowed ashore in Hong Kong for the promised seven days “Rest and Recreation”. That also allowed the seven days for three Chinese divers to be trained to operate the underwater vehicles within the safe confines of the harbour as well as being taught to teach basic training to other new divers.

The enthusiastic young Chinese divers knew that they would have to work hard to convince Big J if they were to be awarded with an instructor's certification.

Late the following afternoon, the last giant clamp was tightened and the valves were eased open. The remote camera hovered above the repaired manifold, sending its pictures up to the control room on the tug above. Big J, John and the technicians watched in silence for two minutes. The new joints were examined from every angle. They showed no sign of movement under the immense pressure - nor were there any signs of a leak.

“I'd say that's a good one boys. Well done everybody!” Big J finally declared.

The men watching the screens all cheered and patted each other enthusiastically.

“Thank God for that lads - Hong Kong here we come!” one of them called. The news spread around the ship within seconds. Men lined the rail looking into the sea; the underwater workshop and diving chamber was already being winched to the surface.