Fallen Palm (Jesse McDermitt Series) by Wayne Stinnett Read Free Book Online Page B

like ya said to,” Lester replied, “That was close, huh.”
    “Always be prepared son,” Russ said. “Just remember the Seven P’s. Proper prior planning prevents piss poor performance. Those guys are just doing a job and all they saw were a couple guys diving for their supper. That’s exactly what I wanted them to see. Get down there and grab that gear while I get the anchor up. It’s only twenty feet, you won’t even need your tank.”
    “Sure, Boss, but I don’t know if I can go that deep on one breath,” Lester said apprehensively.
    “Sure you can. Just go hand over hand on the anchor line and pull yourself down. Just don’t forget to equalize your ears on the way down. If you don’t think you’re gonna make it, just kick to the surface and I’ll do it. I’ll wait until you’re up before I pull the hook up. It’s not hard. Hell, little girls in Japan dive over eighty feet on a single breath for pearls.”
    Lester wasn’t going to take a challenge to his manhood like that. “Okay, I’ll do it.” He put on his mask, dropped over the side of the boat, and swam with his fins to the anchor line.
    “Before you start down,” Russ said, “take several quick deep breaths. That’ll oxygenate your lungs and give you an extra few seconds.”
    Lester did as he was told, then started pulling for the bottom, kicking furiously. He was surprised that it only took him a few seconds to reach the anchor and when he looked around, he saw the bag just a few feet away. He swam over, grabbed it and started kicking toward the surface.
    At the surface, with a huge grin on his face, he yelled, “I did it!”
    “Wasn’t that hard, was it, kid?” Russ asked.
    “You were right, man. Was a lot easier than I figured. Hey, how deep can you go on one breath?” he asked, as he handed up the bag with the two detectors in it.
    “I’ve made it to about ninety feet a few times, when I was younger. Probably wouldn’t try anything deeper than seventy feet today, though,” Russ said. “Get in. I want to get back down to that spot where you found the anchor chain. Something about the wall of that ledge didn’t look quite right.”
    Lester climbed up the dive ladder as Russ hauled up the anchor, coiling the line as he went, then laying the twenty-pound Danforth on top of the coil. As Russ started the engine, Lester asked, “Whataya mean?”
    “I don’t know, it just didn’t look natural,” Russ replied as he gunned the engine toward the dive flag a hundred yards away. When they reached it, Lester dropped the anchor over the bow as Russ backed away, with the current. He killed the engine when he felt the anchor take hold, then quickly started getting his buoyancy compensator and tank on. Lester did the same, sensing the urgency in the older mans movements. When they were both ready, they grabbed the two bags with the detectors in them, back rolled off the sides again, and headed back to the bottom.
    Russ had researched the sinking of the Lynx for years. She was a long and fast paddle steamer with two masts. She was sunk by the slower Union warship, USS Howquah, with help from two other Union ships. She’d been hit eight times by the Howquah’s big one-hundred pound guns, several below the waterline. More than likely, she’d come apart and spilled her cargo over a large area.
    When they got back to the bottom, Russ went directly to the vertical wall of the ledge and dumped his buoyancy compensator, so that he was kneeling on the sandy bottom, looking at the wall. Yeah, it was too symmetrical, he thought. He closed his eyes and cleared his head. When he opened them again, he could almost see the wooden planks of the old blockade-runner, right in front of him. He pulled his slate out, wrote the word “planks” and showed it to Lester. He motioned to Lester, with a sweeping of his hand and pointed toward the top of the ledge. They began moving in opposite directions, above the ledge and both men had hits on their