“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.