Wood's Reef Read Free Page A

long. The bomb looked top heavy, fatter at the front, and tapering toward the end. It appeared retro — space aged, like something from a Buck Rogers movie. 
    After removing enough material to be sure the suction of the sand would break, he jetted two holes all the way underneath it. Confident he could pull it with the winch, he surfaced.
    Mac took off his gear and climbed back onboard, where Trufante was asleep in the captain’s chair. He sidestepped his crewman and headed to the crane mounted on the port side. Steel cable flew off the reel as he released the gears. One hundred feet of cable slowly sank in the green water. Next he rigged a harness from some trap line. 
    Now he geared up again and popped back into the water, and descended with the harness and winch cable trailing behind. Once at the bomb, he worked lines through the holes and tied them off in a cradle. He checked for slack, made a slight adjustment, and clipped the ends into the hook at the end of the wench line. He finished the rig with a rope line, which he took to the surface to be used as a tag line to control the ascent.
    Back on board, he stood over Trufante, wondering if he should wake him or not. Deciding he needed the help, he leaned over and kicked him in the side. 
    Trufante woke with a start. Mac left him to orient himself and went to the winch. 
    “You good now?” Mac asked as he tossed a bottle of water Trufante’s way. This was going to be tricky as it was, and he would need all the faculties his crewman could muster. 
    “Damn near 4 o’clock, we should have been back an hour ago,” Trufante whined. 
    Mac ignored him as he moved forward to the winch. There were more important things to worry about than the time. He turned the winch on. Cable began to feed onto the roller as the slack came out of the line.
    “Hold this line and stay toward the stern.” Mac handed Trufante the lighter tag line.
    The motor gained an octave as it felt the resistance of the weight below. The boat started to list toward port until the suction released allowing the bomb to rise in the water. It righted as cable began to wind around the winch. The motor struggled with the weight. Once confident the winch could handle the bomb Mac switched positions with Trufante, taking the tag line from him. It was more important for him to guide the bomb to the boat now.
    “Bring her up easy until I tell you to stop,” Mac yelled over the motor as he peered over the side of the boat, looking for the bomb to break the surface.
    The tricky part would be keeping the bomb from banging the boat. He had no idea whether the bomb was still armed and, if it were, what would set it off. It was risky enough just bringing it up, let alone slamming it against the steel hull of the trawler. 
    The bomb rose slowly, looking like a large shark in the water, the shape becoming more defined as the bomb ascended. Mac now had the tag line in one hand, controlling the bomb, and the boat hook in the other. He called to Trufante to work the winch as if it was picking a trap out of the water. He intended to lift the bomb and swing it onto the stainless steel slides used to move the traps along the boat. 
    “What in the bejesus is that thing?” Trufante yelled as he saw the bomb lift from the water. 
    “Never mind right now!” Mac yelled back as he guided the 1200-pound cylinder onto the stainless track. “Let some slack in the cable and hold this thing while I get something to set it on.”
    He handed Trufante the tag line, and ran back into the cabin to grab two cushions from the bench seat. Back on deck, he set them on the tracks and signaled for Trufante to lower the bomb. Once this was accomplished, he freed the winch hook and tied the bomb to the deck.
    “What you got us into?” Trufante asked.
    Mac rewarded him with a beer, and ignored the question. Checking the tie downs again , he started the engine and motioned the crewman to haul the anchor. As he turned toward home, he