Passage by Night - Jack Higgins [22]
It was difficult to believe that anyone could still use the old-fashioned canvas suit with all the paraphernalia of air and lifelines in this era of the frog-man with his compressed air cylinders. The aqualung was superior in every way and with it, the diver became a completely free agent.
He could see the girl as he drew nearer, rather small in a bright red shirt and canvas jeans, long hair twisted into a pigtail at the back. She was turning the handle of the lifeline crank, hauling her father in, and seemed completely unaware of Manning's approach.
Quite suddenly, the crank stopped revolving. She tugged at the handle, exerting all her strength and then went to the rail and looked over. She ran back to the crank and swung all her weight against the handle with no result. The next moment, she turned and dived over the rail.
Manning cut the engine and drifted alongside. He fastened the line quickly, ran across to the crank and threw all his strength against the handle. It refused to budge. As he moved back to the rail, the girl surfaced beside the wooden ladder gasping for breath. Somehow, her pigtail had come undone and long, blue-black hair floated around in the water. He reached down and pulled her over the rail.
'What's wrong down there?'
She was completely distraught. 'I couldn't reach him! I couldn't reach him!'
'How deep is he?'
'Ten fathoms, maybe more. I've got to try again.'
She scrambled to her feet, turning to the rail. At that moment, a great gout of air erupted to the surface. Manning sat down and pulled off his shoes and jacket.
'You stay with that crank. The line's probably snagged on a niggerhead. The moment I signal, start pulling him in.'
He scrambled onto the roof of the wheelhouse, poised on the edge for several seconds, forcing as much oxygen as possible into his lungs, and dived.
Once in the Caymans, he had free-dived just over a hundred feet, but that had been ten years before. Ten years of hard living. Of going downhill in every way.
As a diver descends, the deepening layer of water filters the sunlight, absorbing all red and orange rays. At fifty feet, as he descended the face of the great cliff, Manning found himself swimming into a neutral zone. Visibility was still excellent, but all colours were muted and autumnal.
At sixty feet the line had looped itself around a gnarled spike of coral, tightening into a crevasse. He freed it quickly and moved on.
He found the old man on a wide ledge on the face of the cliff. The ancient canvas suit had been slashed open against the razor-sharp coral as he struggled to free himself. Water had forced its way into the suit and only the continuing pressure of fresh air being pumped into the great bronze helmet kept it at chest level.
Manning, his vision completely distorted, had a brief glimpse of the face peering out at him before he pulled hard on the lifeline, his agreed signal with the girl. He started upwards, dragging the old man behind him.
The pressure in his ears was fantastic and bells seemed to be tolling melodiously somewhere near at hand, great waves of sound beating against him.
Far above, he could see the silhouette of the Cretan Lover's hull and he released his hold on the old man and spiralled upwards in a cloud of champagne bubbles.
He broke surface beside the ladder and hung there for a moment, gasping for breath. When he pulled himself over the rail, the girl was turning the handle for dear life, sweat pouring down her face.
'He's coming,' she cried. 'He's coming.'
Manning was conscious of the pains in his limbs, of the gigantic hand that presses against his chest. He fought against the darkness that moved in on him and heaved on the line with all his strength.
The old man broke through to the surface beside the ladder. Manning and the girl heaved together and he staggered over the rail and collapsed on deck.
Manning watched as the girl unscrewed the bronze wingnuts and then his vision blurred and the sound of her voice seemed to come from the end of a tunnel. When he went, he seemed to dive headfirst into the dark