Марк Брендел - The Mystery of the Kidnapped Whale

He was gasping for air now, trying to kick with his flippers, trying to force himself up through the darkness, trying…

A brilliant light suddenly flashed in his eyes. He felt a great solid thump against his chest. Something, something as powerful as a bulldozer, was lifting him, forcing him to the surface.

He didn’t try to resist. With his last, failing strength he clung to it, to whatever it was, this powerful mass that was lifting him up.

His head broke the surface. A hand reached out from beside him and snatched the mask from his face. He opened his mouth and took a great lungful of fresh air.

The red darkness was slowly clearing from his eyes. He looked down and saw a blurred surface beneath him. He brought it slowly into focus.

He made out a canvas harness. A flashlight. A camera.

He was lying stretched out on Fluke’s back.

Constance was floating beside him. It was she who had snatched the mask from Pete’s face.

“Don’t try to talk,” she said. “Just take long, deep breaths. You’ll be okay in a minute.”

Pete did as he was told. He lay quietly with his cheek pressed against Fluke’s back. Gradually breathing became easier. He was no longer panting. That terrible red darkness had cleared from his eyes. He felt strong enough to talk at last.

But before he asked any questions, before he tried to find out what had happened, there was one thing he wanted to say first.

“You saved my life, Fluke. ’

“Well, you saved his life once too, didn’t you?” Constance laid her hand on Fluke’s head. “He wouldn’t forget —”

She broke off as the boat pulled alongside. Jupe, who was steering, brought it to a stop. Oscar Slater was leaning over the rail.

“I saw it,” he shouted. And now his bald head seemed to be gleaming with excitement. “It was just a glimpse on the monitor. But I know I saw it. Your father’s boat, Constance.”

He turned to Jupe. “Hold her steady right here. The wreck must be directly below us. It flashed across the screen as Fluke turned to surface, and then I saw Pete. So it has to be —”

“Never mind that now,” Constance interrupted him curtly. “The first thing is to get Pete back on board and find out what happened, what went wrong.”

“But I tell you —” Slater was thumping the rail with impatience.

“Later,” Constance told him. “You get back to the wheel, Mr. Slater. Jupe, come and give us a hand.”

Slater hesitated. But he knew Constance was in command. At least for the present. Without her help he could never get that stuff off the sunken boat. He nodded sullenly and relieved Jupe at the wheel.

Between them Jupe and Constance helped Pete on board. Still feeling a little weak, Pete sat on the deck while Constance brought him a mug of hot coffee and Jupe unfastened the straps and lifted the air tank off his back.

“Okay. What happened?” Constance asked. “I could tell you were in trouble, but I couldn’t tell why. What did you feel? It couldn’t have been the pressure. You weren’t deep enough. What was it?”

“I just couldn’t breathe.” Pete sipped the coffee. It tasted wonderful. “I couldn’t get any air through the tube. I thought there must be a kink in it. But there wasn’t.”

He described how everything had seemed to turn red and then dark red and then black.

“Carbon dioxide,” Constance told him. “You were breathing in carbon dioxide instead of air.”

She picked up the air tank and opened the valve. There was no hissing sound.

“No wonder you couldn’t breathe,” Constance said. “The tank was empty.”

“But we checked it out.”

Jupe examined the pressure gauge. The indicator needle still pointed to Full. He showed it to Constance.

“Looks like someone jammed the gauge,” he said. “And then let all the air out of the tank.”

Constance agreed. It seemed the only explanation.

“Where did this scuba equipment come from?” Jupe asked her.

“Ocean World. I brought it aboard myself last night. And it was all in perfect condition then.”

She walked over to Slater.

“Pete’s air tank was deliberately tampered with,” she said accusingly. “I want to know —”

“You don’t think I did it, do you?” Slater turned angrily from the wheel. “All I want is to get the stuff off that wreck. I didn’t touch your equipment after you brought it on board. Why should I? You think I like all these stupid delay-us? All I want… ”

He went on excitedly about what he wanted. They were right over the sunken charter boat now. Those pocket calculators were in an airtight metal case in the cabin. He had all that money tied up in them. Why couldn’t they get on with it and haul the stuff on board?

Jupe knew Slater was telling the truth about one thing. He had had no possible reason to jam that pressure gauge. But somebody had.

“Could anyone have come aboard the boat last night or early this morning, Mr. Slater?” he asked.

“No.” Slater shook his head. “The boat was moored at the marina, and I slept on board. I never went ashore after Constance left.”

“Did you have any visitors?”

“No. Only my old friend, Paul Donner. He came down and had a drink with me. But I can’t believe Paul —”

“How long have you known Paul Donner?” Jupe cut in. “Who is he? What do you know about him?”

“Questions. All these idiot questions.” Slater clutched at his gleaming scalp. “Never mind all that now. Let’s get on with it, haul that case —”

“Answer him.” Constance was standing over Slater with her clenched hands on her hips. “You answer everything Jupe asks you. You answer it right now, Mr. Slater. Because I’m not going near that wreck until you do.”

“Okay,” Slater gave in grudgingly. He had to give in. “How long have I known Paul Donner? Is that what you’re asking?”

Jupe nodded.

“I met him in Europe a few years ago. We had some, well, some business dealings there. And then I saw him again in Mexico.”

“When?”

“Several times.”

“The last time you were down there, Mr. Slater?”

Jupe persisted.

“Sure. I guess so. He was running a small printing business in La Paz. And, well, we were old friends. I always saw him when I was there. What’s wrong with that?”

Jupe was silent for a moment, thinking.

“Anything else, Jupe?” Constance prompted him.

“No. No, that’s all I wanted to know,” Jupe said.

“Good.” Slater turned back to Constance. “Then can we get on with it now?” he demanded.

“As soon as I check my air tank.”

Constance walked back on deck. Jupe watched her as she opened the valve. He heard the hissing sound of the air escaping before she closed it again.

Whoever had tampered with the scuba equipment hadn’t had time to jam the gauges on all the tanks. Or perhaps he had hoped that a single serious accident would be enough to put an end to the whole salvage operation.

Jupe walked over to Constance.

“I think we better find out what’s in that metal case before we turn it over to Slater,” he whispered.

Constance considered his suggestion.

“Okay,” she said thoughtfully. “We’ll do it your way, Jupe.”

“Thanks.”

Jupe was grateful to her for her confidence in him. Because he thought he was close to knowing most of the answers now.

The jammed pressure gauge. Slater’s old friend from Europe, Paul Donner. The trip to La Paz. The crease, like a scar, under Donner’s right eye.

It was all beginning to fit together in the First Investigator’s mind.

“I can’t dive deep enough to reach the wreck.” Constance was standing in the cockpit, facing Slater.