Last Out From Roaring Water Bay (27 page)

I was back into my swimming, concentrating and focusing on the seabed. I’d covered a fair section when I felt the first signs of fatigue beginning to slow me down. I checked my air gauge, my aqualung was showing low. I twisted to make one last run and was about to kick out the fins when something caught my eye.

I floated over a section of seabed vegetation which I’d noticed was behaving in an abnormal pattern; swaying differently to the rest of the surrounding vegetation So minute the deviation, that at first I thought it was an optical illusion, that was, until I viewed it from three different angles to confirm the phenomenon. The clumps of long sea grasses definitely swayed in the opposite direction than the surrounding forms of mixed vegetation. In theory, the sea grass was being pulled towards the shore, as if in some sort of slipstream. I swam down amongst the swaying grasses. The current was stronger in this area; a sort of vortex. I could physically feel an ebbing flow, to and fro, like the waves crashing against the shoreline of a rocky beach. Using the palm of my hand I traced the flow towards the rock face and came across a large split in the rocks which, strangely, reminded me of a giant woman’s vagina on the verge of penetration. The split rock was approximately two feet wide at its centre point before narrowing at the top and bottom of its approximate four feet in length. It was nowhere near wide enough for me to squeeze through to investigate there and then. I shone the torch beam through the gap and into a fissure, the light losing its way the deeper it penetrated, and I did get the impression that the fissure widened the further it went.

I dwindled over a few possibilities: the time scale and strenuous effort it would take to widen the split in the rock to fit my frame through? And what would I find on the other side if there was another side to discover?

I’d plenty to think about as I swam away from the rock face a short distance and surveyed it at another angle. I floated there, seeing an alternative picture. I got the impression that at sometime in the past that particular part of the rock face had been the opening to an underwater cave and an eruption of great magnitude had caused a rock fall which eventually covered the entrance. Right or wrong, whichever outcome, it needed checking. I’d strong urges now, the same urges and tingles I get when I’m close to finding lost treasure in the vastness of an open field, and that in built directional finder I had was at it again.

I considered what options I had for enlarging the gap. Other than a mechanical digger or a few sticks of underwater explosives, I guessed I’d be limited to a long, strong steel engineers lever, and even then there could be repercussions, as I had no way of knowing if my actions would cause a subsidence that could endanger my life. To understand the principals of what I intended to do, it would require a second opinion from an expert, but that would take time, involve more people, and attract too much attention to myself and it was the attention I was trying to avoid.

I studied the terrain intensely, shining the torch beam up and down, following the cracks and crevices of the rock-face. I finally came to the conclusion that the formation of the rocks around that particular area was the result of a severe disturbance sometime in the past. When in the past I wasn’t sure about. I marked the area on my chart and kicked for the surface because at that precise moment my safety line was pulled four times: come up!

Back on board, Shamus shouted in my ear as if he assumed that being below water made you deaf for a while. “Weather’s changing for worse, Shacks sir.”

I flicked my head towards Hamer who was now sitting in the wheelhouse. “It’s not the only thing that’s changing,” I grinned.

“He’s in a bad state, Shacks, sir. I don’t think the idea of him coming along was a good choice.”

“O yes it was,” I winked.

I glanced up at the darkening skies and felt the sudden rush of a strengthening wind. The crack of lightening far to the West encouraged me to shape myself and quickly squeezed out of my diving gear while I talked to Shamus. “Do you know if there are any charted underwater caves around Clear Island?”

Shamus rubbed the bristles on his chin in thought. “I wouldn’t be sure of that. I’ve never been one for diving meself, Shacks, sir.”

“So the possibility’s there then?”

“We could take a peek into maritime records, Shacks, sir. Maybe ask the locals around the harbour. And there’s a diving school a couple of miles out of Baltimore. We could ask them.”

“I’d rather not involve anybody else at this time.”

“Yer found something, haven’t yer?”

“I’m not sure what I’ve found, Shamus. But I’ll know better on the next dive.”

Hamer disturbed us when he poked his head out of the wheelhouse; death had almost caught up with him He didn’t look at all well, but he still had a sense of humour when he said, “You still with us, Speed? I came to see you drown and you’re disappointing me.”

“Why don’t you accompany me on my next dive? There’s nothing like a close encounter to witness a drowning man. You could ensure I’d drowned if you held me under water until I ran out of air.”

“I’d savour the moment, Speed! Only how the fuck am I expected to get back to shore; you know I’m a lousy swimmer?”

“Yes, there is that scenario. You might also want to consider this: what if the boat sinks before we get back to Baltimore?”

Hamer did consider the possibility and took it badly. He dashed to the portside and promptly vomited into the sea. I pulled a squeamish expression, and who could blame me after I saw what Hamer had just ejected over the side.

The return journey to Baltimore harbour turned out to be an absolute nightmare with the heavy swell challenging the
Muff’s
durability. None of the conditions bothered Shamus in the slightest; in fact he looked like he was enjoying the occasion immensely. I soldiered on with the pretence that nothing bothered me. Hamer, as it was, disappointed me considering how he’d bragged about his toughness. The sea definitely wasn’t for him.

I looked away and beyond where Hamer stood spewing. I’d caught site of what appeared to be a large fishing trawler about a half mile off our position. There’s nothing sinister about a fishing vessel operating in these waters and in fairness I shouldn’t have had any concerns, but I had. The trawler gave me the distinct impression that it was shadowing us. I couldn’t be rightly sure and there was nothing to suggest that the trawler showed interest in the
Muff
. If anything the trawler was probably and wisely heading for the safety of Baltimore to shelter from the storm, as we were.

Still, there was something pecking away at my skull trying to get to my brain. The more I observed the trawler, the more I found the whole set-up strange, though I couldn’t quite work out what was missing from the scene. And I would have expected a ship of that size to have the horsepower to stretch its distance between itself and the
Muff
instead of maintaining equal knots.

I grabbed a pair of binoculars and went out on deck to check the trawler over. I remembered I’d seen the trawler before, anchored just outside Baltimore harbour that morning. When the binoculars fell on the bridge of the trawler my suspicions were proven right. I was literally staring into another set of binoculars. We were under observation. The problem was, the distance between the two vessels made identification of the watcher difficult for me. The situation reminded me of the cold war days when Russian trawlers use to stalk Navy ships. I say Russian because the trawler was flying a Russian flag.

I went back inside the wheelhouse and gave Shamus a nudge to distract him from his concentration, shoving the binoculars in hand. “What do you make of that trawler off the starboard bow?”

Shamus rammed the glasses hard into his deeply wrinkled eye-sockets. “She’s not a regular at Baltimore, Shacks sir. And she isn’t there for the fishing.”

“How can you tell that?”

“She carries no nets, Shacks sir.”

I snatched the binoculars back and looked for myself. He was right. “She’s been with us all day, I’m sure.

“That she has, Shacks sir.”

“Then I’m not imagining the trawlers tagging us?”

“That she is, Shacks sir.”

“You noticed too?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a seaman if I didn’t, now would I, Shacks sir. Should I change course? Give her a once over.”

“Shamus, you’re on my wavelength.”

Shamus spun the wheel and angled the
Muff
towards the ship, as if on a collision course.

In between swallowing bile, Hamer chirped up. “What’s going on?”

“We’re sightseeing,” I told him.

“Fuck the sightseeing! Get me back to shore! I need to lie down for a while.”

“The cabin bunk is for the mentally sick.”

“Ha-fucking-ha, Speed,” Hamer said dully. “I want to lie down on something that doesn’t move.”

Hamer twisted his head and wretched, unleashing a torrent of indescribable fluid into a plastic bucket Shamus had found for him, all of which even made my stomach tighten.

“I did warn you it would be rough out in the bay,” I told Hamer harshly.

“I’ve…” He gagged. “I’ve never suffered like this before. I’ve got food poisoning.”

“More like you were too greedy at breakfast.”

I left Hamer alone to battle with his stomach problems and continued my observation of the Russian trawler. On approaching the trawler I noticed Shamus had a sudden cob-on, but to be perfectly honest I suspected something had been bothering him for a while.

“What’s wrong, Shamus, you’ve gone quiet?” I asked him.

He flicked his head towards Hamer and then whispered to me. “What’s
gut churner
hanging around fer? You shouldn’t have brought him along. He makes me nervous. There’s something about him I don’t trust. He should
beggar off
back to whence he came.”

I kept my voice low too. “Don’t concern yourself with him. He thinks I need protecting from a couple of villains.”

“In his state, Shacks sir, I’d be a little concerned if he were watching my rear.”

“You steer the boat, Shamus and forget about Hamer.”

Shamus brought the
Muff
round in an arc and straightened the bow until we were parallel with the trawler, keeping a reasonably safe distance as we chugged along in an attempt to catch her. I managed to glimpse the Trawler’s name on its bow;
Flying Fish
.

What I found strange was the lack of attention from the rest of the ships crew. Apart from the watcher, who had now disappeared, not one other face peered over the side for a curious look. I would have thought we were worth at least one interested glance. Not wanting to give the impression that we’d sussed the trawler, if a crewman had decided to make an effort, I signalled to Shamus to steer the
Muff
away.

I went astern, mainly to get away from Hamer and his horrible gagging sounds he continued to make when he thought he was about to vomit. I found a space to sit and to reflect on the entire episode so far; to assess the information I’d gathered which wasn’t very much, but it certainly amounted to a lot more than I had yesterday. I thought again on what method I should use to excavate the split I’d discovered in the rock face beneath Roaring Water Bay. I wondered how thick the rock would be and the length of time it would take me to create an opening. I decided against the use of air powered tools as that would take time to set up for action. Another alternative would be explosives but that would require the expertise of an underwater rock blaster, which was never going to happen. It left me the only possible answer: physical force and the use of an engineers levering bar. Not that there would be any guarantee of success, more of an increase of danger to myself if I’m honest. And if I was to accidentally cause an underwater rock fall then I could be trapped or even worse crushed to death. It would mean I would have to depend entirely on Hamer to raise the alarm. I would have preferred to be more dependent on Shamus but I think he’d have panicked beyond sensibility if he knew I was in trouble. Hamer would be better equipped to arrange a rescue. Used a calmer approach because he’d have been in no rush to save me straightaway. He’d have probably wanted me to suffer first before he started swinging his badge of authority. Yes, he could certainly help me tremendously in that department. That’s providing I haven’t sent Hamer insane before the jobs finished.

*

Back at the harbour we secured the
Muff
. Hamer seemed to make a remarkable recovery the minute his feet touched solid ground. Without a word he toddled off in the direction of our hotel and I wasn’t far behind him.

I collected my room key from reception and was also given an envelope with my name neatly hand written on the front. And even though I hadn’t advertised my whereabouts, I’d suddenly become very popular in these parts of Ireland. Hamer had warned me that if he could find me easily then others could follow; he wasn’t fibbing. And then again, what had I to fear? I doubt very much if anyone, who had hostile intentions against me, would want to leave me a warning of their presence. That didn’t mean I should drop my guard. I had to be positive I was safe from harm, regardless.

I studied the exterior of the envelope with interest. My name was spelled correctly, so the writer knew me. No address, no stamp or any other mark, which suggested the letter, had been delivered personally. I attracted the spectacled fellow on reception who had given me the envelope and called him over. I asked, quietly, “Did you see who delivered this letter?”

“O yes sir, a very fine looking Lady.” He winked at me as if he understood that I’d some sort of sexual rendezvous unfolding.

I said snappily, “What did this woman look like; was she young, old?”

His eyes lifted in a gazed look. “Do you know, sir, I’m not quite sure.”

“Would this
you’re not too sure
have anything to do with you were too busy looking at her tits and arse?”

His cheeks reddened, his eyes flicking in all directions searching for listening ears. “Now you’ve put it that way, sir, I must admit both parts were a most appreciable sight. And she was wearing sunglasses.”