Just Needs Killin (15 page)

Po Thang's chip, along with the animal cam I'd also requested from Craig, finally arrived. Chino hadn't implanted the chip as yet because Po Thang rarely left the ship, and when he did it was only to roam remote beaches where chances of him getting nabbed again were slim. Also, he now took to swimming with us when we dove, so Chino decided to not do anything right away, fearing even the slight incision might become infected.

We took a dark blue rubber raft with us for Po Thang to climb up on when we were down on a dive, just in case he got tired, but he seemed tireless. He could easily dive down six or seven feet and retrieve a shell or a toy, so sometimes when we surfaced there would be a pile of his treasures on the raft. If we ever found anything of value in shallow water, I decided I'd just send him down and save myself the trip.

I looked into getting him his own scuba equipment, and found it was possible, but extremely expensive. He'd just have to be content with paddling his way through the dog days of summer.

The great Mother's Day heist was fast approaching.

Fabio was taking three days off and going to Ensenada to be with his wife and mother. Chino's family planned a two-day reunion at Abuela Yee's house, so that got rid of him, Rosa, and the two cousins. All we had to do was figure out how to get Moto and Kazoo off the boat for a guaranteed two hours or so while we made the dive and snatched the vase.

Meanwhile, I was still scheming to do in Dickless, but with less enthusiasm since I now felt that, after the summer, I'd take
Raymond Johnson
back to the States, and away from the SOB. Then I'd sell the vase, and hire a hit man to do the deed, since that rat Nacho wasn't returning my calls.

After the cannon and cannon ball finds, we hadn't made anymore discoveries, but had tightened the search area to where we found both them and the vase. The vase was a quarter mile from the other finds, but Chino put that area on hold for the moment, which was fine with me.

Keeps away anyone more dishonest than I.

As it turned out, the Japanese divers already had plans for the weekend. They left in a panga at dawn on Mother's day, taking camping gear, dive tanks, and enough food for a two day campout a few miles south, on the Pacific side of the bay. They'd heard of abalone there, and promised to bring us some.

"Okay," I said to Jan as we waved goodbye to the last crew member, "let's roll."

"Ya know, Hetta, we are about to break every single, solitary, expedition rule."

"And when did we start caring about rules?"

"Like, never?"

Preparing to break rules is hard work. Disregarding Chino's hard and fast policy, NEVER LEAVE THE MOTHERSHIP UNATTENDED, was unavoidable, as I didn't dare move
Nao de Chino
over the vase, then try to move back. Someone was sure to notice.

We spent a couple of hours preparing for our snatch, taking care to load the panga with a net, basket, and line for bringing up the vase, then repacking our rebreathers, and making sure our conventional canisters were full. The dive itself would not take nearly as long as the prep, but that was normal.

Leaving the ship's workhorse—a twenty-foot panga with a 60-hp Johnson outboard—on the surface unattended was also a no-no, so we figured Po Thang left on guard got us around that one.

Chino had carefully photographed the vase, then reburied it, but we knew where it was, and the GPS coordinates told us where to anchor the panga so as not to drop ten pounds of steel smack on top of our future fortune.

"So, the way I figure it, a vase that size, packed with sand, has got to weigh a lot, but with the basket and net, bringing it up should be no problem. I'm not even going to try carrying it to the surface. We'll haul it in with the net's line once we get back into the panga."

"Good plan. You got the package ready?"

"You betcha."

"Okay, then, let's do it."

Po Thang whined and paced when we went over the side, but I told him to stay, and by some miracle, he did. We also attached and floated his raft nearby, just in case his little doggie mind forgot he was supposed to stay put. Getting himself over the water-slicked gunwales of the panga was beyond even his magical canine talents, even though he'd tried over and over, only to slide back into the water.

We just followed the twenty-foot panga's anchor line down, as I was afraid we'd dislodge the anchor if we pulled ourselves to the bottom using the rope. The water was clear, and Jan and I were comfortable by now with the equipment, if not the idea that we were out here on our own for the first time on a sixty-foot dive.

I heard Jan make a noise and turned to see her pointing to a large school of sardines, their silver sides whirling in the blue as if in a kaleidoscope. We hovered and watched for a few seconds before remembering we were international artifact thieves on a mission.

We located the vase site easily, since the small white flag Chino planted was still there. Digging the vase out was harder and took more time than we thought it would, as the sand kept collapsing back into the hole. Finally we managed to run two lines under it, lifted one end and began working the net around the base, one inch at a time.

I was burning air like the amateur diver I am, and if the water hadn't been, according to my dive computer, sixty-eight, I'm sure I'd be filling my suit with sweat. One thing's for certain, I was tiring rapidly, and Jan probably was, as well.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only thirty minutes, the vase was in the net and into the basket. It took another ten minutes to plant the vase I bought at a local store that was blue and white, but otherwise in no way resembled the original except in color and shape. We covered it well, replanted the flag, and pointed to the surface, leaving the basket on the bottom.

We knew we didn't have to do stops on the way up, but we followed the rules set by Chino and only ascended to thirty feet before taking a rest, and catching our breath. Once again, the sardines caught our attention and while my breathing returned to somewhere near normal, I enjoyed the view.

Jan tugged on my hand, grunted, and pointed to our left. A school of dolphin attacked the sardine ball, cutting through and herding them. Then cormorants began diving, rocketing straight down into the melee, and further panicking the sardines. I'd seen these bait boils on the surface many times, but watching it from below was both exhilarating and a little scary. I also knew the commotion up there had to be sending Po Thang into a frenzy.

Sure enough, another burst of bubbles and red fur near the surface announced Po Thang's entry into the kerfuffle. I heard what was probably a giggle from Jan and we headed up.

Po Thang was dog paddling madly toward one sea gull, then another, barking to beat the band. When he saw us, he headed for me and I prepared to fend him off. Being hugged in the water by a large dog is not the best thing for someone trying to stay afloat. I moved the raft between us and he launched himself on it, torn between snagging a bird that sat there, and climbing onto my head.

Jan was already in the panga when I used my last bit of strength to pull myself in and remove my mask. We were right in the middle of the boil now, with frenzied sardines actually launching themselves into the panga. Po Thang managed to snag one in midair, then got the funniest look on his face when he realized he had a mouthful of slimy, wiggling, fish.

As he spit out the sardine, we collapsed into a giggle-fit bordering on hysteria, a combination of fatigue, stress, and excitement. It was then that I saw the large fin headed for Po Thang's flimsy, rocking raft.

"Oh, crap! Jan, look!"

She turned and shrieked, getting Po Thang's attention. He cocked his head, then launched himself from the raft into the panga just as a sailfish the size of a taxi cab broke the surface in pursuit of lunch.

The huge fish went airborne, snagged a sardine, and dove, sending a wall of water over us.

Po Thang yelped and dove under my legs, Jan yelped as well as the big fish's wake rocked the boat. We held on tight as the panga, always seaworthy, settled out. It was then I felt a tug on my wrist. I checked to make sure the line to our vase was still attached.

The sailfish suddenly reversed direction, and came straight at us again in pursuit of more sardines. This time, when he breeched, I saw piece of yellow polypropylene line trailing from his mouth.

"Jan, that big mother has our vase!"

"Holy crap, what are—"

She froze in mid-sentence as her eyes widened and dropped to my wrist.

The wrist I'd wrapped several times with yellow polypropylene line.

I stared dumbly at the line tightening around my wrist, but Jan sprang into action, reached into her dive scabbard, and slid out a razor-sharp, titanium bladed knife. As she reached for the line, I yelled, "No! If you cut it we'll lose the vase."

"If I don't, you're either going to lose that hand, or go on a water-skiing trip. He'll drown you."

The sailfish's sail appeared on the surface nearby, but he was rapidly swimming away from us. It was only a matter of seconds until he hit the end of his rope, so to speak.

I lunged for the bow of the panga and took a wrap on a cleat with what slack I had left before letting Jan sever the line near my arm. Less than ten seconds later the panga pitched forward so wildly, we were all three thrown into a heap, then the boat settled and  the fish pulled us fifty feet, until the anchor did its job.

Jerked backward, he reacted to the hit, and, fighting for his life, once again soared skyward, throwing his huge head and sword-like beak from side-to-side as he jumped. Maybe he'd been hooked before and managed to throw the hook, or maybe it's just what they instinctively do, but one thing was obvious: that basket was lodged somewhere inside him, and it wasn't coming loose easily.

With the line taut, he began circling the panga. Something was gonna have to give. I'd fought a three-hundred-pound marlin once, and remembered the boat captain's instructions for what I should do, and his handling of the boat in order to fight him.

"Jan, cut the anchor loose, and standby for a boat ride! We have to tire him out."

The minute the sailfish felt some slack, he took off like a flash, and we braced ourselves for when he hit the end of the line and started towing us again. If we could wear him down, we might have half a chance of dragging him into shallow water and getting our basket. Okay, so we probably didn't have a chance in hell, but we had to try.

He towed us for a couple of miles without showing any sign of tiring, so I started the outboard and put it in reverse, increasing the critter's drag. Another two miles later, he still didn't lag, and now he was headed for the bay's entrance, and open ocean.

"Hetta, we gotta do something. We can't let him take us out to sea."

"Why not? We have to wear him down somehow."

"And then what? What if he just dies and sinks?"

"Then we'll drag him back in behind us. He's not getting away with our vase."

"Maybe it's...we stopped!"

"Feel the line."

She reached over the bow and grabbed the line. "It's loose."

"Is it hanging straight down?"

She leaned over. "No, it's under us. Hetta! Kill the...."

I reached to shut down the outboard, but it was too late. It ground to a stop, the propeller fouled with yellow rope. "At least we didn't cut the line, thank goodness. But now we'll have to wait this fish out, and when he dies, clear our prop before motoring back inside the bay. Or maybe we'll get lucky and the tide will turn and float us back in." We had oars but paddling a panga is akin to herding cats.

"Uh, we're moving sideways."

The big guy had us bow and stern, and if he pulled us crossways into the waves outside the protection of the bay, we could easily take on water and sink. It was time to face facts and cut him—and my vase—loose.

Jan took her knife out again and was moving to the panga's aft when we heard, "
Ohayo, Cohee
! We come fast!"

Kazoo and Moto were headed our way rapidly, and Jan and I cheered them on. I tried not to think about how much 'splainin' we had in our future.

Our Japanese saviors were so excited about that sailfish, they didn't question that we'd caught him on a piece of polypropylene line. They tied to us and began pulling our panga, and the fish, back into the bay with the powerful dual 100hp motors on their thirty-foot boat. The sailfish, already worn down by us, hardly fought and by the time we were near the beach, gave up the fight completely.

"Can we set him free somehow?" Jan asked.

Not with my vase inside him, we can't
. How I was going to get to it, if it was indeed still in the fish, right under the noses of Kazoo and Moto, I had no idea.

Kazoo shook his head. "No, Jan-san, he will not live. He fought bravely, but now he will make delicious sashimi, and soup." As if on cue, the fish gave one last gasp and went still.

I felt a sadness that must have showed, for Moto asked, "Do you wish us to take him now?"

I shook my head. "No, we caught him, we'll take him in. Can you clear my prop and help tie him alongside? We'll meet you at the fishing pier in Puerto San Carlos. You two can clean him there where they have a hoist, and a large concrete cleaning table, okay?"

"As you wish," he said with a bow, and a look that said, "If this crazy broad wants to haul in a nine-foot fish with a twenty-foot boat, so be it."

We still didn't know for sure that the basket and vase were in the fish, but I couldn't check for my treasure until we got rid of Kazoo and Moto. The minute they motored away toward Puerto San Carlos, I pulled all loose yellow line into the boat until it went taut. The rest was still inside the fish, whose beautiful silvery skin was fading, and his large, accusatory, black eye clouding. I tugged on the tight line and took a wrap on a cleat. Jan and I then put our combined weight into pulling on the line, and the fish's head raised.

Peering down into his open mouth, I said, "Okay, Jan, you stick your arm down his throat and see if that vase is still there."

"How about you stick...never mind, no way. You do it."

"Jeez, I have to do everything myself. First though, let's try tugging more on the line, see if something comes loose. Grab your end, and we'll pull on three. One, two—"

We both fell backward into the bow of the boat, but when we did the heavy basket flew out of the fish, bounced on the gunwale and back into the water, but we had, thankfully, tied off the end of the line.

I flinched as the basket hit the solid fiberglass hull, hoping the sand packing the interior protected it from shattering. It took everything we had left in us to hand over hand the net into the boat, and again, when it finally rolled over the gunwale, I was afraid we'd break our hard earned treasure.

We hid the basket under some towels and beat feet for the quay, as promised. A promise I wish I hadn't made, because if left to me, we'd cut the damned fish loose and head for
Nao de Chino
, but it was not to be.