“Ease us in a little closer and drop me off,” Kurt said. “I’ll find the nearest diver and ask if he needs help.”
Kurt flipped open a panel on the hard suit’s arm. A waterproof display screen would translate anything he said into printed words, allowing him to communicate with other divers.
“And what if he’s a bad guy?”
“That’s what this is for.”
From the tool rack Kurt pulled a Picasso twin-rail speargun. The two spears were set side by side, the triggers were arranged one in front of the other. The safety was currently on.
“I brought one for you in case you need it,” Kurt added. “But, for now, stay out on the perimeter and keep a sharp eye. If I get in trouble, you know what to do.”
They were about a hundred feet away from the activity. Kurt doubted anyone could see them, the same way a man in a lighted room can’t see out onto a dark lawn at night, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
“This is my stop,” he said. With that, he pushed away from the Turtle, engaged his own thrusters and moved off at an angle. A last look back showed Joe holding station, as ordered.
31
Kurt moved through the water in almost complete silence, the slight whirring of his own thruster barely audible. The left side of the wreck appeared to have more activity. At least five lights in that area, plus the divers in standard gear who were working the vacuum. He moved to the right, where he saw only two lights.
Approaching through the cloud, he could tell the divers were trying to dig something out from under the fossilized bones of the old ship.
Unlike with the NUMA excavations—and every other underwater dig Kurt had ever heard of—these men were literally hacking at the wreck, breaking pieces off and tossing them aside.
I guess when you have a gun to your head, preservation goes out the window.
By now, Joe was too far away to pick up any radio transmission, so Kurt was on his own. He eased in behind two divers, who were oblivious to his presence.
“Enable written communication,” he whispered.
A little green box with the letter T inside it appeared on his helmet display.
He had only so many characters to work with and he settled on the simplest thing he could think of. “I’m here to help you.”
The small screen on his arm lit up and Kurt nudged the throttle forward.
Reaching out, he tapped the closest man on the shoulder, waiting for the diver to turn in shock or look around surprised. But, of all things, the diver just continued working.
Kurt tapped him again, harder this time. When nothing happened, he grabbed the diver’s shoulder and spun him around forcibly.
The diver looked at him in numbed shock. Kurt could see that the diver’s face was blue, his eyes half closed. These men had been down here a long time. Too long.
Kurt pointed down to his arm and the display panel.
The man read the message and nodded slowly. He then grabbed a small whiteboard he had with him and scribbled Digging fast as I can. And turned back to the job.
He thinks I’m one of the bad guys. That meant there were overseers down here among the dive crew.
Kurt grabbed the man again.
“I rescue you.”
The man blinked for a moment, his eyes widened a bit. Now he seemed to get it. He became agitated to the point that Kurt had to hold him still.
“How many bad guys?”
The man wrote 9.
“All down here?”