Captain Ashman replied to the knock on his door with a simple “Enter”. Sykes stepped in and stood with the military’s exaggerated erectness, his head barely an inch from the piping overhead.
“What it is?” he hardly needed to look up from his own reading to know who it was.
“Sir, we seem to be encountering some problems with our navigation system. It’s put our position off by about fifteen miles.”
Ashman looked up. “Fifteen miles?”
“Yes sir”.
“Did you run diagnostics?”
Sykes nodded. “Yes sir, by the book but cannot find any problems.”
Ashman tapped his finger gently against pursed lips. “Could our speed be off?”
“No sir. The propulsion systems are in perfect synch. It’s just our position that’s incorrect. I suspect it’s a misread somewhere in GPS, but we can’t verify unless...”
“If we surface the mission is aborted.” Ashman’s tone was sharp. “Did someone upgrade our systems before we left?”
“Not that I’m aware of, sir.”
“If I find out that someone was stupid enough to upgrade anything before a four-month mission, I’ll personally escort them to the brig!”
“Yes sir!”
He took a deep breath. It didn’t matter whether someone upgraded the system or not, it was still broken and probably could not be fixed from here. Even if it could, it would leave enough doubt to abort the mission anyway. No one would risk continuing on and having a problem crop up at deeper depths. Down there you can’t just pop up to the surface.
“Talk with the engineers and make sure no one made any changes.” Sykes nodded, he’d expected this order before he knocked on the Captain’s door. Ashman retracted his legs and stood up. “Take us up. Tell them we’re coming back.”
By the time Sykes made it back to the bridge he was developing a bad feeling.
2
The Cayman Islands were first discovered by Christopher Columbus in 1503. Named Las Tortugas after the many sea turtles, the islands were governed as a single colony for centuries until they became an official British territory in the late 1960’s. Like many Caribbean islands, the majority of business in the Caymans was tourism, flocked to regularly by thousands of sunburned, overweight Americans with too much money and a penchant for cat naps. Arriving in Georgetown and setting out for adventure in their sparkling rental cars and air conditioning, most visitors would be hard pressed to spot remains of the devastation inflicted by the hurricane just a few years earlier. Progress could be simply astounding when it came to the anticipation of more money.
While undetectable from the island, Georgetown was in fact still visible, albeit barely, from the 38 foot catamaran across the stretch of ocean. Anchored much closer to Little Cayman, the boat sat listless in the gentle ocean swell, swaying side to side just enough to allow the lazy halyard an occasional slap against the aluminum mast. The warm winter breeze flowed gently through the lines and over the sails which were rolled up tight. If close enough, an observer might mistake it for abandoned with no one in sight, though at this distance the only neighbors were seagulls, two of which sat comfortably on the port hull.
A disturbance in the crystal blue water slowly appeared nearby and a ring of bubbles surfaced as a gentle turbulence. A moment later a dark head emerged and looked around. Spotting the aft of the boat, a mask was quickly lifted over the short hair and the man swam forward. Upon reaching the small ladder, he gently tossed the mask and snorkel aboard and with surprising ease pulled his upper body quickly out of the water, allowing his legs to find the rungs. He reached back and unbuckled each fin, tossing them up and grabbing his towel in the same motion.
He retrieved a bottle of orange juice from the small refrigerator and went forward to relax on the trampoline. Peering at the larger island he could make out the faint image of a jet ski skirting across the water. It amazed him how many people loved noise. Insistent that they need a break from the grind, they travel to a remote area to unwind only to shop with a thousand other tourists or zip across the bay on a rocket running at 80 decibels. He smiled to himself and tipped his orange juice in their direction.
To each his own, he thought. He should in fact be thankful. If they were not over there, they would probably be here next to him. With that, he stood up and squinted at the glimmering horizon. Having to decide what to do every day was just the type of problem he wanted.
His body suddenly stiffened. The sound was extremely faint but unmistakable and he felt a flutter of grim acceptance before reaching for the binoculars. He wiped the water from his face and peered through the lenses. He stood, watching stoically as the tiny black dot in the distance slowly grew into the recognizable shape of a helicopter.