Barracuda (5 page)

“Here they are! Here they are, you idiot!” Dr.
Collins exclaimed.

“Calm down, Dr. Two-Times. You’re doing it
again.”

Dr. Collins stopped in his tracks and stood
upright. “Am I?”

“Yes, every time you get excited, you say things
twice.”

“I’m sorry, James. It’s just that we have an
extraordinary opportunity here.”

“I know, Doctor. You will become more famous and
I will complete my thesis.”

James finished his morning regimen and sat on
the couch, watching Dr. Collins admiringly. The professor was a
short, round man with a head of shocking white hair and an unkempt
white goatee. He preferred the granny style reading glasses that
made him look like a character out of a Charles Dickens novel. Dr.
Collins was now deep in thought as he perused his research papers
and made notations in his ragged journal. James looked about the
elegant furnishings in their twin rooms and silently recalled the
events that led up to this chapter of his life.

About a month earlier, Dr. Collins had received
a phone call from a colleague named Dr. Silver, a noted marine
biologist who had just returned from Bikini Atoll with a group of
scientists on a
National Geographic
Research Project. During
the phone call, he told Dr. Collins that he had seen huge groups of
gray reef sharks in the lagoons of Bikini Atoll. He also explained
that the corals and wildlife were flourishing like never before,
but that there were some anomalies that were probably related to
the radioactivity. He informed Dr. Collins of strange-looking fish
that appeared to have morphed over the past fifty years to adapt to
their radioactive environment. Dr. Silver knew that this
information would intrigue his ichthyologist pal.

Dr. Collins immediately applied for a grant to
study the gray reef sharks of Bikini. The museum’s board of
directors was leery of the project, but Dr. Collins convinced them
that it had great merit, explaining how the reef sharks had been
consuming radioactive fish for fifty years and that this could have
caused them to evolve differently than gray reef sharks in other
oceans. The sharks may have overdeveloped senses that would make
them better hunters; they could be larger and faster, producing
superior offspring. The possibilities were endless. No one knew the
exact effects of long-term exposure to radiation or the consumption
of radioactive food, which was known to be certain death for
humans. Sharks, however, were descendants from a long line of
prehistoric fish that didn’t get cancer. Dr. Collins finally had a
chance to study these prehistoric subjects. For all anyone knew, a
cure for cancer could be one of the many results of his study.

He received the grant and notified his assistant
of three years that they were off to the South Pacific to make
ichthyology history. James was quietly as enthusiastic as his
neurotic litterateur.

The trip to Shark Alley Island was an adventure
in itself. Dr. Collins was very direct and strong-willed about all
things in life, not just his work. He abhorred incompetence and
tardiness, was extremely opinionated, and was unwilling to accept
excuses. Naturally, Murphy’s Law struck them on numerous occasions
while traveling from Miami to Micronesia, so James had to play
referee many times. The professor’s neurosis caused an unnatural
belligerence that resulted in heated arguments amongst most people
with whom he had social contact. He was not a “people person.” He
thought better of cold-blooded sharks than warm-blooded humans.

With the help of the grant, the two scientists
stayed in the luxurious Majuro Majestic Hotel on Shark Alley Island
instead of roughing it at the Bikini resort. James was quite
comfortable with this arrangement. He and Dr. Collins had adjoining
rooms, so they could work together and still have their privacy.
There were only a handful of other divers since the hotel wasn’t
quite ready to open to the general public, but it was still rather
lavish. The grand opening was still a week away, and the team of
shark scientists relished the solitude.

Dr. Collins still had his nose deep in his
research papers while James undertook the unpleasant task of
unpacking. First, he unpacked their research materials and placed
them in their proper categories. This was a meticulous job, but
when done right, it avoided the redundancy of time-consuming
searches.

Then he unpacked the suitcases, quickly and
methodically placing the contents into the dresser drawers and
closets. He unpacked and laid out the scuba gear they would be
using. This was a labor of love for James, who was a master diver
and took great care in handling his equipment. He was equally
diligent with Dr. Collins’ rigging.

James placed his dive apparatus on the bed,
scrupulously dusting and cleaning each piece before hanging it in
the closet. He gingerly handled his hoses and blew dust from his
second stage regulator. His regulators were made by Sherwood, a top
of the line model that could be used in either ice or tropical
diving. He checked the hose to make sure there were no kinks in it.
He also tested the rubber mouthpiece that would fit into his mouth
while breathing through this second stage. It was solid and there
was no dry rot, so he knew it would suffice for the upcoming dives.
He then checked his Octopus second stage. This was also a Sherwood
product. The Octopus was an emergency second stage to use in the
unlikely event that the primary one failed. The mouthpiece and hose
were also in good condition.

James delicately handled his first stage and
cleaned it. The third hose that was connected to the first stage
held his dive computer. James preferred the U.S. Divers brand of
dive computer because of its simplicity. Some brands had many bells
and whistles but were too complicated to read or understand when in
dark waters or at depth.

James loved his dive computer because it gave
easy-to-read grafts to prevent him from staying underwater too
long. U.S. Divers was also recognized as one of the more
conservative computers, and James liked this added safety
feature.

He tested the battery on his dive computer and
was satisfied that it was adequate. Then he carefully hung the
regulator on a hook in the closet and allowed the hoses to hang
freely.

Satisfied that his dive gear was clean and safe,
he repeated the process with Dr. Collins’ equipment, complete with
a state of the art re-breather bubble free system. With the
research paper, clothes, and scuba gear unpacked, James felt
hungry.

“Hey, Professor, how about some dinner?”

“You go. I’m busy. I’m busy.”

“Okay, Dr. Two-Times.”

“Did I do it again?”

“Yes, you did. Let’s take a break and feed our
brains.”

The professor mumbled something unintelligible
but followed James to the elevator. The scientists were on the
fifth floor of the five-story hotel. They had a grand view of the
east side of the atoll and could see clear across to Bikini Island.
The elevator took them to the lobby, and they followed the arrows
to the dining room.

“This is quite a setup,” James commented. “It
must have taken them a few years to get all this interior and
exterior design together.”

The professor nodded. “Yes, it’s nice,” he
mumbled. “It would be nicer if there weren’t so many damn Japanese
people around here.”

James let out an uncomfortable laugh. The
majority of the staff was Japanese, except for the pretty liaison
woman and some of the hotel managers, who appeared to be Russian.
That probably didn’t sit too well with many of the locals. James
made a silent prayer that Dr. Collins didn’t allow his opinionated
sarcasm to cause problems with the hotel staff.

A nice Japanese waiter seated the two at a
window table and brought a pitcher of ice water. While James read
the dinner menu, Dr. Collins was busy making notations in his
journal. The professor never went anywhere without his beloved
journal.

“Will you please put that away and start
enjoying yourself, Doctor?” James lamented.

“We are here on a grant and our mission is quite
clear,” the professor snapped back.

“You must eat if you want the gray cells to be
active in that mad brain of yours,” James pressed. “It also
wouldn’t hurt if you took the time to stop and smell the roses once
in a while. Just look about you. This is paradise.”

Dr. Collins looked blankly at his protégée, and
then slowly put his pencil in his shirt pocket and closed his
journal. Looking out the large bay window, he noticed the
magnificent view of lush gardens leading down to the dock. The dive
boats and fishing boats were rocking gently at their moorings as
the setting sun splashed a river of gold and red hues across their
bows. The low cirrus clouds were speckled with the flight of sea
birds returning to their nests.

The professor’s eyes widened as he took in this
portrait of nature entering its nocturnal state. The golden sun
would fall below the crimson horizon in just a few minutes. A
waiter broke his trance when he asked the pair for their dinner
order.

Dr. Collins watched the waiter as he left and
saw the regal opulence of the dining hall for the first time. The
hall was littered with ornate pillars and high ceilings. Bright
pastel colors abounded, except for the muted murals that depicted
fishing villages and native life. Centerpieces of fresh flowers
were lavishly placed in an ever-widening circular fashion.

“Beautiful, isn’t it, Doctor?” James asked.

“I’ve seen better,” Dr. Collins crackled in
sarcasm.

James knew that the professor would never admit
when he truly liked something unless it had a dorsal fin and
teeth.

***

“The boat leaves in ten minutes sharp, so get
your gear aboard now,” Steve ordered.

Steve Crachie was the senior dive master at the
Majuro Majestic, and it was his responsibility to make sure that
the divers stayed safe. Thus, it was his responsibility to get the
divers on board and check their dive gear before allowing them to
dive. He also had to check their scuba diving credentials and make
sure they had the proper safety equipment. Just as important was
making sure that the divers did not touch or remove any dangerous
materials from the shipwrecks. These warships had been sunk fully
armed with weapons containing high explosives. Fifty years of salt
water had slowly deteriorated these weapons, making them quite
unstable. Divers always wanted to retrieve a shell for a souvenir,
but that was like bringing a live hand grenade on board the dive
boat—or worse, back to the hotel. It was Steve’s job to ensure that
the live, unstable ammo on board these graveyard ships remained
undisturbed.

Steve was a Canadian with all the necessary
credentials. Besides being the head dive master, he was a licensed
PADI dive master, TDI Trimix diver, TDI gas blender, TDI Trimix
blender, TDI decompression producers instructor, and advanced wreck
instructor.

A group of divers had arrived at the Majestic
that afternoon for a week of diving. Ten had signed up for the
initial checkout dive, and they were clambering aboard the dive
boat
Lily I
, jockeying for position. The
Lily I
was a
Hammerhead front-loading dive boat with a length of twenty-five
feet and a beam of ten feet. It had an aluminum deep-V with a drop
front gate and a side ladder. Its benches accommodated twelve
divers.

“It’s only a ten minute ride to the USS
Saratoga
,” Steve instructed. “The
Lily I
will tie up
to the bow mooring line. When Captain Jonas gives us the okay, we
will gear up. Dive Master Carol and I will check your air and gear
before we enter the water. When we enter the water, we will all
remain on the surface until I give the signal to descend.” He
paused to make sure everyone understood and saw nods all
around.

“I will lead the way down the mooring line to
the deck of the
Saratoga
and Carol will follow last. Once on
the
Saratoga
deck, I will motion to each of you to make sure
you are okay. I want you each to signal back to me. If there is a
problem with any divers, Carol will escort them back to the
Lily
I
. When I am convinced that everyone is okay, we will drop over
the side of the
Saratoga
and float down to the lower decks.
I will lead the dive and Carol will follow.

“I don’t want any diver going below me, leaving
the group, or picking anything up. We will follow my dive profile
according to my computer. When the first diver gets down to fifteen
hundred psi of air in their tank, let either Carol or me know. We
will begin our slow decompression ascent at that time. Captain
Jonas will have air tanks hanging at various stages of ascent
should they be needed. Any questions?”

“How deep will we be going?” a young lady
asked.

“I’ll decide that based on the visibility and
how tight a group you swim in. Safety is my number one concern
here.”

“Can we penetrate the wreck?” another diver
queried.

“Not this wreck,” Steve answered.
“Unfortunately, the carrier collapsed in on itself many years ago,
probably due to its enormous weight. All the previously open areas
have become crushed, so they’re too tight for divers to safely
enter and exit. It’s really a shame because there are loads of
fighter planes and tanks on the lower levels. We hope in the future
to get some acetylene torches and cut holes in the side of one of
the lower cargo holds so we can see if it is safe to explore the
interior. Since the ship has been here for more than fifty years,
we suspect that it might still be too dangerous to penetrate
because of fear of falling debris and shifting machinery that is
not bolted down. Penetrating large shipwrecks is inherently
dangerous under ideal conditions, so today we will just explore the
exterior.”