  “What do you think he is up to, Biff?” Li asked in a whisper. The swimmer was nearing the yawl. “With that knife in his mouth, I don’t think there’s much doubt about it. Do you, Dad?” “Depends on what you’re thinking, son.” “Well, I think this is Perez Soto’s last, desperate effort to establish his salvage rights to the Sea Islander. I’m sure that’s his boat over there, just off our starboard bow. See it?” The power cruiser, the Black Falcon, was sharply silhouetted now in the lightening dawn. “Perez Soto’s sent that swimmer over to cut our anchor rope,” Biff continued. “Wouldn’t you agree, Dad?” “You’re right, Biff.” “Why would he want to do that?” Li asked. “Well, if his man could cut our line, and we were still asleep, we’d drift. Even in the slight current that runs in these waters, we’d drift half a mile or more in a very short time. Once we were out of the way, he could easily sink his own line onto the Sea Islander and establish his rights of salvage.” The swimmer was now only ten feet from the yawl. Biff reached down and pulled out a boathook, a long pole with a hook on one end, used to grab a mooring when coming into an anchorage. “I’m going to hook me a human fish,” he whispered. Biff raised the boathook. He rested its hooked end on the gunnel. The swimmer was now within hooking distance. Biff shot the boathook out. It grazed the swimmer’s head. Feeling it, the swimmer dived. Biff prodded forward with the boathook. He felt it catch. The pole bent just like a fishing pole as the swimmer tried to get away. “Got him, Dad. Got him!” Biff shouted happily. “You sure have, Biff. You got him right by the seat of his swimming trunks. Here, let me give you a hand.” Biff pulled the pole, with his human catch on the other end, partly into the boat. He and his father put their weight onto the in-boat end. The pole became a lever, lifting their catch out of the water. A funnier catch Biff, his father, and Li had never seen. It was Li who started laughing first. In the rapidly increasing daylight, they could see Perez Soto’s man on the end of the pole. He was waving his arms, kicking his legs frantically. “He looks like a crab,” Li chortled. He did. The man, caught by the seat of his swim pants on the hook, was unable to reach back to free himself. He was suspended three feet above the water, still kicking and squirming furiously. “What shall I do with him, Dad? Throw him back?” Thomas Brewster was laughing. “I’ve used many a weapon to defend myself in the past, but a boathook ... this is the laughing end.” Both boys made an “ouch” face at the bad pun. Mr. Brewster turned to Li. “Get a flashlight, Li. I want to make sure who this human shark is.” Li darted into the cabin and darted right back. He didn’t want to miss a thing. Thomas Brewster shone the flashlight on the hooked, would-be knife wielder’s face. “Just as I thought,” Brewster said. “It’s the man who was guarding Dr. Weber. I heard Perez Soto call him Madeira.” Madeira, in his frantic struggling, had dropped the knife from his mouth. He was no longer any threat to the Easy Action and her crew. “Guess I might as well drop him back in the water, hadn’t I, Dad?” Biff asked. “Sure, son. Let him go. In the water he can free himself. Then you just watch him head back for Perez Soto and the Black Falcon.” “You’re not serious, Dad!” Biff exclaimed. “Isn’t it dangerous to let them get away?” But Biff didn’t have to drop Madeira back into the water. There came a ripping sound. Madeira’s hooked swim trunks split. The water prowler hit the water with a belly whopper. Pantless, he turned and swam away. Biff, Li, and Mr. Brewster howled with laughter. When the laughter died away, Mr. Brewster said, “To answer your question, Biff. They’re too dangerous to keep aboard. We’ll have to leave them to the authorities. They’ll track them down, now.” It had grown much lighter. It was easy to follow the swimmer’s progress back to the Black Falcon. “He’ll go without his breakfast when he gets back,” Tom Brewster said. “Perez Soto will be furious.” “Speaking of breakfast—” Biff said. “Me, too,” Li cut in. They went below. All hungry. All happy, feeling that they were nearing the climax of their Hawaiian sea hunt. “Looks like easy sailing from here on in, Dad,” Biff said, munching a piece of toast. “Well, don’t get your hopes up too high, Biff.” “Why not, Dad?” “We still have to locate that metal box. We have no assurance that it’s still in the Sea Islander’s cabin.” A frown of disappointment came over Biff’s face. “I’m not saying it isn’t there, understand,” his father went on. “But remember, the Sea Islander has been on the bottom for several weeks. The box could have been tossed around in the storm that sank the boat. It might have floated out.” “I never thought of that.” The remainder of their breakfast was eaten in a concerned silence. Biff and Li were cleaning up the galley. Thomas Brewster was talking to Dr. Weber. The doctor had had a good night’s sleep and said he was feeling fine. He chortled over the human fish incident. Biff’s sharp ears caught the sound first. From a distance came a low, steady buzzing. Biff ran on deck. From just off Ka Lae, he spotted a low flying plane. It was coming directly at the Easy Action. In moments, Biff was able to distinguish its lines. “Dad, Dad!” he called. “There’s a seaplane coming this way.” Li was on deck first, followed by Thomas Brewster and Dr. Weber. They watched the plane. It came in low over the yawl, dipped its wings in salute, then described a long circle to head into the wind. It settled ducklike on the water and taxied toward the Easy Action. One man stood up in the open cockpit by the pilot. He was waving his arms. “It’s Dad! It’s my father!” Li shouted excitedly. “Well, it surely is. Li, when your father goes into action, he moves fast. I never thought he’d come back in a plane. I thought he’d charter another boat,” Mr. Brewster said. The seaplane taxied to within ten feet of the Easy Action, its twin propellers barely turning, just fast enough to give the plane headway. Henry Mahenili stood up and tossed a rope toward the yawl. It fell short. He pulled it in, and again the rope snaked out toward the yawl. This time Biff caught it. He tugged on the rope, and the plane closed the gap of water separating it from the yawl. Its nose bumped gently against Easy Action’s starboard side. “Give us about five feet of play, young man,” the pilot called out. Even in this calm sea, he didn’t want to take any chances on the nose of his plane being punched in. “I can do better than that,” Biff called, knowing the reason for the pilot’s concern. He went below and brought out extra boat snubbers, made of foam rubber. He hooked them over the gunnel, forming a soft protecting barrier between the side of the yawl and the nose of the plane. Then he pulled the plane within two feet of the yawl, making it easy for the plane’s passengers to hop from plane to boat. Hank Mahenili was first aboard. He was followed by a muscularly built Hawaiian. The pilot came last. “This is Kamuela Mamola, the skin diver I hired,” Hank said, introducing the muscular young man. “Just call me Sammy—that’s what my Hawaiian name means. You got a job for me?” the young man said. “We sure have, Sammy,” Mr. Brewster said. “Right downstairs.” He laughed. “That line over the port side,” Biff said, indicating the line. “That’s our anchor rope. It’s caught in the sunken sloop.” “Good,” the diver said. “Then there shouldn’t be any trouble at all.” He hopped back aboard the plane, dug around its cabin for a few minutes, then reappeared with his skin diving equipment. This consisted of a glass face mask, and a small oxygen tank connected to his aqualung. Coming back on the Easy Action, he donned his equipment, touched his hand to his forehead in salute, and slipped overboard. Biff leaned over the gunnel. He saw the diver pulling himself downward, using the anchor rope to guide him. It was the same as climbing a rope hand over hand, only in reverse. Bubbles from the aqualung kept breaking the surface. “Never thought of this, Hank,” Tom said. “No one told Sammy what to look for.” “Oh, yes, they did, Tom. Me. I did. On the way over. I couldn’t give him much of a description.” “No, we don’t have much to go on. Just some kind of metal box.” “That’s what I told him. I imagine it’s similar to the small locker-box you keep semi-valuable papers in at home. That’s what I told him, anyway.” “We ought to know soon.” Air bubbles dotted the surface near the port side of the Easy Action. Five minutes went by. Ten. At fifteen minutes, worry began to appear on the faces of those on board. “Think anything could have happened to the diver?” Tom Brewster asked. “No, Dad. Not as long as those bubbles keep coming up regularly. He’s all right. If those bubbles stop, we worry.” After twenty minutes, Biff saw the anchor rope tighten, as if someone had pulled it from the other end. “I think he’s coming up,” Biff said. Everyone leaned over the portside of the boat. Moments later, Sammy’s wet head broke the surface. He wrenched the glass face mask from his head. Disappointment swept over the boat. The diver was empty-handed. |
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