The way I figured it, I had two choices. I could stay in the water and make like a piece of driftwood—until I got washed up on shore and someone found me and decided to use me as a wall decoration for their new seafood restaurant. Or, I could take my chances going on board and hope Mr. Thief was having a good day.
It was a tough choice. But since I hated seafood, I decided to climb on board. I stole up the ladder, just as quietly as one of those Navy SEALS in the movies. I was a magnificent example of superspy heroism. No dripping water, no heavy breathing . . . just the banging of my knees as they knocked together in sheer horror.
I reached the deck and checked out the place. It was a small cabin cruiser, and it was a total mess. There were orange peels, loose papers, and bird droppings everywhere. Whoever lived here was definitely not into house cleaning.
Part of me wanted to go back, but part of me wanted to sneak down into the cabin and take a peek. Whoever was there probably had the gold. Who knows, maybe they were getting tired of lugging it all over the place. Maybe they were getting lonely. Maybe they’d like to make some new friends to share it with. (Maybe I still believed Superman was real.)
It was a long shot, I know. Unfortunately, I had nothing else to do, and not a whole lot of places to go, so I went for it. Ever so carefully, ever so stealthily, I took a step forward. And then, ever so carefully, ever so stealthily, I “WHHHHHOOAA!” stepped on my swim fins and crashed face-first onto the deck.
KLUNK!
I stayed down, waiting for the spray of machine-gun fire and hoping my dental records were up-to-date so someone could identify my body. But there was nothing. No shooting. No bullets. Not even any gaping wounds.
As I lay there, I tried to think of any sins I hadn’t cleared with God. Only one came to mind. Dear Lord, I prayed, I’m sorry for stuffing the back of my pants full of socks when I knew I was getting spanked. And if You let me live through this, I promise never to do it again. It wasn’t much, but it was the best I could come up with on such short notice. Finally I stood up and, “WHOOAA!” KLUNK! I gave a repeat performance of landing on my face.
But again, no one came up on deck. Either they were very shy or very gone or very . . . I pushed the thought out of my mind.
Then I heard it . . . a scratching noise. But it was more than scratching. It almost sounded alive. I held my breath and listened.
Scrape, scrape . . . screech.
It was coming from below, down in the cabin. I quickly slipped out of my fins. I’d made enough noise to give up the James Bond routine, so I tried another one: the Friendly-Dork-oid-who-just-happened-to-stumble-upon-the-boat-looking-for-a-half-alive-thief routine. “Hello . . . is anybody home?”
I took a few steps closer. Now I was able to see down into the cabin. It was in even worse shape than the deck. But there were no people.
Scrape, scrape . . . screech.
It was coming from the bathroom down in the cabin. The door was slightly ajar, but I couldn’t see in. I fought off a cold shiver and forced myself to start down the steps. “Hello . . . are you okay? Is everything all right in there?”
Scrape, scrape . . . screech.
I reached the bottom. I was three steps away, but it was still too dark to see inside. I continued to keep my one-sided conversation going. “I was just in the neighborhood, you know, and thought I’d stop by and—”
Scrape, scrape . . . screech.
I was directly in front of the bathroom now, but I still could not see in. Whoever was in there didn’t feel much like talking. Or maybe they couldn’t talk. Maybe they needed my help. With a deep breath, I made another deal with God. If You let me live through this, I promise to stop popping my gum in Sunday school. I stepped forward and pushed open the door.
SCREECH! CAAAW!
I was met with a flurry of feathers.
“AUGHHH!” I cried.
“SCREECH-SCREECH,” the feathered thing screamed.
“AUGHHHHHHHH!” I cried even louder.
And then, just when we finally started to have a meaningful conversation, just when we were getting to really know each other, the giant seagull flapped past my face and out of the bathroom.
I leaned against the door gasping for breath, trying to decide whether to have a heart attack or just a good old-fashioned stroke. That’s when I peered though a small window and spotted The Bullwinkle speeding toward me. Great! I could use a little company.
But just before I clamored back up the steps and onto the deck to wave to them, something else in the bathroom caught my eye. It was on the mirror. I pushed open the door a little farther to see. It was scrawled with soap and in big letters:
It was the same warning the thief had radioed—the last message he had transmitted before disappearing.
For the next hour everyone on board The Bullwinkle was busy dropping anchor, prepping their gear, and getting ready to send down the minisub and a couple of divers. Captain Raymond had thoroughly checked out The Peacock. There was definitely no thief on board and definitely no more clues to be found. But that’s okay. Our biggest clue was directly below us. The sunken sub was resting on that steep ledge, with all that gold hidden somewhere in it.
I sat inside Eric’s minisub, watching as he closed the hatch on us. CLANK! I swallowed hard as he spun the handle around to seal us in. I don’t want to say I was feeling claustrophobic or anything, but suddenly I could relate to those big dill pickles crammed into those tiny glass jars at the supermarket.
Opera, being the thoughtful guy he was, insisted we could all squeeze in. I tried to pass, but he made such a big deal about it that sheer embarrassment forced me to join them. What a sweetheart. If we ever got back alive I’d have to give him something to express my appreciation. You know, something that goes ticktock when you get it and BOOMBOOM when you open it.
Eric climbed into his control chair above us. He buckled himself in, hit a few switches, and suddenly we were surrounded by bubbles.
“Wow,” I said, looking out the observation porthole and momentarily forgetting my fear. “This is just like Disneyland.”
Wall Street, who was sitting on my right, grinned. “Except for the undersea monster, the pirates, and the distinct possibility of losing our lives.”
Good ol’ Wall Street. I’d have to find something to express my appreciation to her as well.
As the bubbles cleared, we could see Momma and Babe off to port. They were doing their usual diving and spinning routine.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Eric called down to us.
“I’ll say,” I answered.
“Dolphins are supposed to be good luck,” he said. “There are all sorts of legends about how they save divers’ lives.”
Out of the blue, Wall Street changed the subject. “I think Wally should get a bigger bonus than the rest of us.”
“Why’s that?” Eric asked, his eyes glued to the controls.
“He’s the one who found the gold,” she said, “so he should get more money.”
I threw her a look. What was she up to? Making sure others got more money than she did was definitely not Wall Street’s style.
Eric continued staring at the controls as he answered. “We’ve all agreed upon the terms, Wall Street. Believe me, if we find this gold, you’ll all have more money than you’ll know what to do—”
“But Wally’s the one who found the sub,” she interrupted. “He should get the most.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Normally she was the one scrounging for the nickels and dimes and major stock options. Why was she trying to help me?
“And as his agent,” she continued, “I, of course, would be getting an extra 30 percent.”
Her motives were much clearer.
“Look!” Opera pointed through the porthole. There it was. We could clearly see the barnacle-and-coral-covered hull of the old sub. It was pinkish-white and green, just like the surrounding rocks. In fact, if it wasn’t for its long, pointy shape, you’d think it was a rock. The whole thing rested precariously with its nose hanging out over the ledge. It wouldn’t take much to send it falling over that ledge into the bottomless pit below—just a major earthquake or a brief visit by someone world-renowned for his clumsiness. (Another reason I wanted to stay topside.)
“For something this old,” Eric said, “she’s incredibly preserved.”
“What’s that dark thing in the middle?” I asked.
“Looks like a giant hole. We’ll be working our way toward it,” he said.
The two divers appeared on either side of us and moved ahead to explore. A moment later we had all arrived at the tail section of the sunken sub.
Eric pressed the intercom button and spoke. “We’re at the aft section now, Captain.”
“Roger,” came the voice through the overhead speaker. “Not to push you boys, but move as quickly as you can. Things are getting a little choppy up here. We might have the makings of a storm.”
“Roger,” Eric answered. He flashed his headlights off and on at the divers. It was a signal. They nodded and started moving up the submarine. They checked her hull, every nook, every cranny, every hole. Sometimes with their hands, sometimes their heads, sometimes with their entire body.
“Fools,” Eric muttered. “What’s that?” I asked. He motioned toward the divers. “They have no idea what could be lurking in those openings—moray eels, stingrays, you name it. They could lose their hands, their arms. Shoot, they could lose their lives,” he snapped his fingers, “just like that.”
“So why are they doing it?” I asked.
“The same reason you checked out The Peacock on your own,” he answered.
“You mean, to find the gold?”
He flashed me a sly grin. “Bingo.”
There was something about the way he smiled that made me nervous. Maybe it wasn’t the smile; maybe it was what he said. The fact that normal, sane men were risking their lives to make a couple of extra bucks seemed kinda spooky.
But just as scary was the fact that nobody tried to stop them. It was like the gold had somehow become more important than their lives. Yes sir, ol’ greed was definitely making headway in our little brains. And the closer we got to the gold, the more it took control.
The overhead speaker came to life again. “Eric . . .”
“Yes, Captain?”
“We’ve got ourselves a situation up here.”
“The storm?”
“Negative. Captain Perkins just radioed.”
“And?”
“He spotted us beside The Peacock. He knows we’ve found the sub, and he’s coming to board us.”
“He’s what?”
“His men are armed, and they’re coming to board us.”
“They can’t do that!” Eric practically shouted into his microphone. “That’s piracy!”
“Roger. Surface as fast as you can. Things may get a little sticky up here. I’m going to need all the manpower I have.”
“On our way, Captain.”
Eric flashed his lights at the divers and motioned for them to surface.
Wall Street, Opera, and I exchanged frightened glances. I felt a cold knot growing in my stomach. Don’t get me wrong, I was all for defending The Bullwinkle and our gold. I was just concerned about my allergies. Especially the ones involving hot lead. I break out in a bad case of pain whenever bullets enter my body.
But there was something even more sinister. Something none of us had noticed was lurking around the gaping hole in the middle of the submarine . . . something big, dark, and creepy that had been hiding in the shadows, preparing to meet us.
Lucky for it, we’d be back. Unlucky for us, it would be waiting.