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are, boys, delivered safe and sound.’
    Will had been quick finding the buoy; it had only taken them half an hour. A straight beeline out from Port Lawrence, Chris guessed they were about five miles out.
    Chris and Mark sat on the aft deck in the neoprene dry suits Mark had brought along. Chris winced as he adjusted the tight-fitting rubber; it was pulling on his leg hairs.
    ‘Christ, Mark, it’s like going for the world’s worst waxing.’
    ‘How would you know?’
    ‘Ah well, you know what it’s like, gotta keep the bikini line nice ’n’ tidy.’
    Mark snorted, typical Chris. The guy would last about five minutes with the sorts of ex-navy jocks he spent a lot of his time with, before being branded a faggot, or a geek, or maybe he would just get off being branded ‘weird English guy’. Mark liked that about him, though, you got a little bit more than just locker-room humour out of him.
    ‘These are smart,’ Chris said, picking up one of the diving helmets.
    ‘Yeah, I thought you’d like these, rather than the usual. This way we can talk to each other instead of sign. I think this’ll be better for you. If you lose sight of me you’ll still be able to at least hear me.’
    ‘Not planning on deserting me down there, are you?’
    ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be on your back all the time, watching you do your thing.’ Mark gestured towards Chris’s underwater camera.
    Will finished up in the pilothouse and joined the two men on the aft deck.
    ‘You got a lot of expensive-looking toys there,’ he said.
    Mark absent-mindedly rested a defensive hand on one of the helmets. ‘Yes, some of this stuff is pretty expensive.’
    ‘How much are those funny-lookin’ space hats, then?’
    ‘The best part of five thousand dollars each,’ said Mark.
    The old man pursed his lips in surprise. ‘Lotta money for a goldfish bowl.’
    ‘Hang on, that reminds me,’ said Mark, ignoring the jibe and delving into one of his canvas kit bags. A moment later produced a small black box and handed it to Will.
    ‘Oh, you shouldn’t have, it’s lovely,’ the old man said sarcastically. ‘What is it?’
    ‘Radio receiver. It’s just for safety. You can listen in on us talking. This way, if something does go wrong, you’ll be ready when we surface,’ he said. Chris looked up anxiously. ‘Just a precaution,’ Mark added.
    Will turned the black box over in his hands. ‘How does this damn thing work?’
    ‘It’s just a receiver. Switch it on at the back,’ said Mark. Will did so and grimaced as he was met with a warbling shriek.
    ‘Damn thing’s broken.’
    ‘No it’s not. It just needs to be tuned in. Give it to me.’
    Will passed it back to Mark. ‘So, this plane you’re goin’ down to see . . . old wartime bomber, eh?’
    Chris nodded. ‘One of your B-17s.’
    ‘You reckon on findin’ any of the crew?’
    ‘Don’t know the story yet, whether the crew bailed out or went down with it.’
    Will nodded. ‘Well if you do find them, treat them with a bit of respect, eh? The waters here have claimed a lot of souls. Ain’t just your plane down there. There’s a lot of older wrecks, sailing ships and the like.’
    ‘Uh-huh, we’ll be respectful, Will, okay?’
    ‘They say when a squall whips up, it’s the dead below reminding the living to tread careful.’
    Chris looked at Mark and gave him a discreet wink.
    ‘Look, Will, uh . . . you’ve caught me out once already with the ol’ salty sea dog routine -’
    The old man glanced sternly at him. ‘I don’t joke much about dyin’ at sea. There’s many a bad story from this stretch of water, without me making stuff up to add to it.’
    They were preparing to go down to the graveside of some poor souls, and despite the photographer’s assurances, they were going to disturb it, poke it and prod it. He was uneasy. It felt a little too much like grave-robbing.
    ‘Let me tell you something that happened out here.’
    Chris looked up at Mark, who was