“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.”