Twenty-four

Tonight’s the Night

The third hurricane of the season was named Chico. Sustained winds of eighty-two miles per hour surrounded the eye which had formed over Turks and Caicos Islands. Feeder bands of rain and tropical storm winds were sweeping the Exuma Islands and reached all the way north to the island of Eleuthera. It was raining cats and dogs in Chub Cay and Nassau. The system was traveling at twenty miles per hour to the northeast. Storms traveling at that rate of speed rarely intensified, but even minimal hurricanes could inflict great damage and harm to the islands and their people.

It was a beautiful morning when Skeeter woke up at anchor on the wreck site. He got up and moved around slowly until his body got used to being awake. He was not as young as he used to be and the activities of the day before left him stiff this morning. In the galley Jenny had coffee brewing on the burner and was scraping together cereal and toast for herself, Skeeter and the guards. Skeeter turned on the radar scanner and weather radio. The radar showed a clear image of Great Guana Cay, Whale Cay and all the way over to Treasure Cay. There was no boat traffic on the screen. The people in the area were doing what people in the area always do when there is a strong weather system coming, they were battening down for the blow. The weather channel predicted that the Abaco Islands might not get a direct hit but would certainly be skirted by the storm. Skeeter thought it might be useful to send some confusion Hammerhead’s way. He keyed the mike to raise home base on the radio.

“Home base, Conchy Lady. Come in home base.”

Monitoring their handheld VHF radio from their perch at the Sand Dollar Bar, Hammerhead and Whale were instantly alert. Every transmission they heard today would be important for the job they had planned this night.

Within a half minute Susan Pincus was on the radio. “Hi, Honey. How was your night?”

“Uneventful,” said Skeeter. “Just the way I like it. We’re going to stay here all day and keep an eye on things. We can dive the site for a while. I’ll be in before dark. Is everything OK there?” he asked.

Susan knew that Skeeter was just saying these things. She was aware of his disinformation program and played along. “We’re fine here. We’ve begun bringing things inside for the storm. Max and some of those men from the Defense Force are stringing out lines to secure your boat. We’ll be buttoned up tighter than a drum by tonight.”

“Be sure and thank them for me. Now I have to get into the water. See you tonight. Call if anything comes up.”

“All right, Honey. Be careful and I’ll see you tonight.”

Hammerhead and Whale had their story. Tonight would be their night. Skeeter felt confident that he had made his point, so he hoisted the anchor and headed for home. He placed the cursor on radar right over the wreck site and set the range to twenty miles. This would have to be monitored throughout the day. If any boats came within ten miles of the site, Skeeter would be out there long before they could do any damage.

Everyone on Great Guana was very busy when Skeeter returned. As many artifacts and as much furniture as they could fit into the house was being stored. The guards had already nailed plywood over the windows of the barracks and were setting up to do the same to the Pincus residence. Max and Gaffer had strung sturdy lines across the turning basin and tied them from pine trees on one bank to palm trees on the other. As long as the trees did not go down in the storm and the tide did not rise more than six feet, the boats would probably be OK. A direct hit from the storm could devastate the island as others had in the past. This one was still minimal and there was still hope that the front from the north might blow it away. But fronts can be wicked too, so no amount of preparation would be too much.

Skeeter picked up the telephone and called to the Sand Dollar Bar. Bonnie was there placing her bar supplies into boxes for the porter to move inside the motel. She was about to place the final lock on the cabinet behind the bar in preparation to leave when the telephone rang. Skeeter was anxious to hear what she had to say.

“Bonnie, “ he said, “was Hammerhead there when I made the radio call home?”

“Skeeter, I’m so glad you called. Yes, he was here and he heard your transmission. He and his friend stopped drinking and went down to their boat. They have big plans for tonight. They used my phone and called over to Treasure Cay Divers. They’re getting an extra boat, two extra divers and a whole bunch of equipment for tonight.”

“Is Troy going to be there?”

“That would be my guess. They’re using the resort boat, so that makes me believe he’s planning on being there.”

“Where’s Hammerhead right now?” Skeeter asked.

“Get this,” replied Bonnie. “Would you believe he and his buddy went back to their room to rest up for tonight? They tied on a good one last night and woke up shaky this morning. They’re in their room recharging. Oh, by the way, they were also talking about that radar unit.”

“What did they day?”

“Just that they were angry that it didn’t work. They don’t have a clue.”

“Are you going to be around for the rest of the day?” asked Skeeter.

“I’m leaving now. I have my own house to get ready for the storm. Good luck with the bad guys. Let me know how it shakes out.”

“I’ll do that,” replied Skeeter. “Thanks for all your help. Good luck with the storm.”

Skeeter walked down to the turning basin where Max and Cameron were sitting on the dock chatting. “Well, that does it,” he said. “Guess who’s joined the bad guys.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Max.

“The invasion of the wreck site is definitely tonight and Troy Matson is going to be diving with them.”

“The more the merrier,” said Cameron. “They’ll all fit into the net so don’t worry.”

“You sound awful confident,” said Skeeter.

“Of course I’m confident. We’re going to overwhelm those guys so bad they won’t know what hit them. You’ll see your Royal Bahamas Defense Force in action.”

“Troy Matson is a professional scuba diver, maybe the best around. He’s not going to go down that easy.”

“We’ve got ten highly trained law enforcement officers ready to pluck them out of the sea. I don’t see the threat.”

“Maybe I’m just being over protective,” said Skeeter. “You’re probably right. In any event, if they arrive in two boats and there are four divers, that doubles our work. We should be ready for that.”

“Stop worrying,” said Cameron. “We have overwhelming odds against them. My only concern is that second boat. We did not get a chance to disable their radar. That could be a problem.”

“That boat doesn’t have radar,” said Skeeter. “The only electronics it has are a GPS, VHF radio and a depth finder.”

“Problem solved,” said Cameron. “Now stop worrying.”

By mid afternoon the leading edge of the storm system had reached Abaco. The normally calm waters of the Sea of Abaco had chopped up to two feet in the twenty-five knot wind. Offshore seas were building to four to six feet. Skeeter worried that it might be too rough for Hammerhead and the rest of his wayward band to attempt the dive. He figured that their main asset, the one that might mean going ahead with the plan, was Troy Matson. These seas were rough for beginning divers, he did not know how skilled Hammerhead and Whale were, but a diver like Troy could easily make three dives in seas like these and still come back for more. Three dives could do a great deal of damage to a fragile archaeological site like the San Pedro. The canvass and netting material covering the site would be no match for the divers sharp knives.