“There’ll be no more diving with that sky-hopping bug on deck,” said Pat.
“Which will suit me all right,” replied Tim. “Anytime you want to do a little exploring under water in this tin fish just let me know and I’ll cruise around in the clouds for a couple of hours.”
“You may have to do that when we get down into the Caribbean if we find Sladek too close to our trail,” put in Commander Ford who had come up behind them. “He’s going to be a hard customer to lose and he’ll probably use that seaplane of his to do a lot of scouting.”
Breakfast was served by Al Hardy, who was the cook, and they enjoyed the morning meal before casting loose from the Sea King dock. Then, with all hands on deck and a bright sun shining down on them, the S-18 resumed its southward voyage. The next port of call was to be Key West, where the fuel tanks would be replenished for the voyage across the Caribbean.
Once out to sea, half of the crew turned in, for there had been no sleep aboard the S-18 during the hours they had been submerged. The Jersey coast gradually dropped from view and they moved southward at a steady ten knots an hour.
Tim sought his bunk in the after quarters. Ahead the Diesels pounded steadily, but the air was clean and sweet and in spite of the noise he was soon asleep.
The clatter of pans as Al Hardy prepared the noon meal awoke him and he rejoined Pat in the conning tower. Commander Ford was down in the diving room talking with the chief divers and Tim and Pat were alone.
“Do you think we’re going to be in for trouble before we get through?” Tim asked as he watched the sharp bow of the S-18 cut through the gentle swells.
“Commander Ford told me this morning that Sladek had rounded up about the prize gang of cutthroats on the New York waterfront. You’ll get all of the excitement you want before this shindig ends.”
“Just give me time enough to get aloft in the plane and I’ll be ready for anything that comes along,” said Tim, nodding toward the trim seaplane lashed securely on the forward deck.