Ghost River by Jon Coon (best non fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

to lose. I heard they’re bringing Rogers back from Mexico. There are several charges against him including murder.”

“See if you can find out when he arrives.”

“I’ll ask our contact. What do you know about that briefcase?”

“He didn’t say. My guess is it’s on the boat.”

“If that’s true, it needs to stay at the bottom of the river,” she said. “It could ruin everything.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of it. One other thing. They’ve been talking to Janna. Or rather listening to Janna. You need to deal with that.”

“It’s time for her to retire. Consider it done. Sorry about your sister, at least now we know.”

“Yeah, now we know.”

The department’s dive boat waited across the river at the state’s temporary dock. Gabe called Jim, Nick, and Bob. He told them his plan and asked them to meet at the boat ASAP. Blue lights and sirens would light up the river.

As they were loading the dive gear onto the new Boston Whaler Outrage dive boat, Gabe told his crew, “I don’t know what they know or don’t. They put Corbitt’s boat back in the river and hopefully what we’re looking for is still on board. Let’s go see.” He put a pair of steel dive tanks into the stern deck rack and continued talking. “It won’t take them long to pull the boat again with that big clam bucket, so this might be our only chance. It could get hairy; you sure you want to go?” he asked Carol. “Nick and I can do this.”

“You need Nick to drive the boat and Bob to keep an eye on things. With my hot new underwear, we’ll be fine,” she said naively.

It was dusk and past McFarland’s quitting time. With Nick at the helm and Jim’s help getting into the gear, Gabe and Carol got ready to dive. Bob had binoculars and a radio. He scanned the McFarland boat and the barge as they approached.

“Only one guard that I can see,” Bob reported.

Nick turned on the sonar and made the first pass. With the old bridge steel salvaged, the image of the boat came clearly into view sixty feet beneath them. Jim tossed a heavily weighted buoy anchor. The current, raging a few days ago, was still swift but not at storm surge. The buoy danced and bobbed on the surface. They made a second pass to confirm the location and then moved up current to set the first heavy anchor. When it held, Nick moved the boat to starboard, pushed forward, and Jim dropped the second large Danforth anchor with heavy chain. Now securely positioned, Jim dropped another heavily weighted line, this one topped with a truck inner tube inside an aluminum frame to serve as their down line.

On the back deck was a gas-powered pump to power a dredge. Jim fired up the noisy little engine and then dropped the hose overboard. A blast of water came from the discharge hose, and they were ready. Jim shut off the pump, helped Gabe and Carol into the water, and handed down the hose, which at the diver end had a valve and pipe head with handles to make it easier to control.

On the down line Gabe paused for his pre-dive prayer, checked Carol’s gear for the third time, then waited while she checked his. They exchanged final okays and began the drop down the buoy line. At thirty-feet down, they stopped. Gabe hit the light button on his computer and held it up against the Aga faceplate. He could read the LEDs, which gave time, depth, and tank pressure. After doing the same to check Carol’s data, they continued to drop.

Carol was startled when Gabe’s voice came clearly through the wireless com asking, “How you doing? Are you warm enough?”

“Fine. Are we there yet?”

“Almost. Another twenty feet or so.”

“Jim, can you hear us?”

“Not very well, this wireless com doesn’t work as well with both of you online,” Jim answered.

Gabe hit bottom, dropped to his knees, and reached around him. Carol landed beside him. “Hang onto the line and take my hand,” he said. Using her to extend his reach, he circled until he hit the side of the boat.

“Got it. Stay there.”

Gabe dragged the anchor on the buoy line to the boat. Then he found the dredge hose and pulled it over also. Finally he hoisted himself up the line onto the deck and told Carol to hand him up the dredge head. Then he helped her up beside him.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“Once I get inside, feed me the dredge hose. I’ve got to dredge out the mud in the cabin up to that little anchor line locker hatch. It may take a while. Watch your air. Time and air go fast when you have this much fun.”

Gabe worked his way into the cabin, still full of waist-deep mud where Wilson’s skeleton was buried. He carefully stepped around the bones and crawled under the crushed roof, into the berth. It was full of mud almost to the overhead.

“Jim, if you can hear me, start the pump.” When nothing happened he said, “Carol, give the hose several big tugs.”

She did, and shortly the hose went stiff with vacuum suction. Gabe shoved the hose head into the mud, and the pump began clearing the cabin. Twenty minutes passed and then thirty. Gabe shut the suction valve and checked his computer. Fifteen minutes bottom time remaining on the Navy tables. It would be close for both bottom time and air.

“How you doing?” he asked Carol.

“I’m wishing this was Cozumel and we were after lobster and grouper or hogfish.”

“Catch a few bugs if you can. Grilled lobster is the best.”

He turned the valve back on, and the suction resumed. He scooped with the head, sending chunks of mud blasting up the hose. Five more minutes passed. The dredge quit. Probably refueling, he thought. He shoved his hand through the remaining mud and felt the crash bulkhead at the forward end of