When he awoke the next morning he was covered with sweat.
“This may not be the exact spot, but it is very close,” breathed Ha’apu. “I know by the trees.”
Since the single minuscule “island” harbored barely six or seven small palms, with but two of decent size, Poplar felt confident the old chief had found the spot he wanted.
They’d anchored in the lee of the atoll. It was small enough so that you could see the surf booming against the coral on the far side.
Poplar kept an eye on Ha’apu while he helped Elaine into her scuba gear. Still no sign of an attempt to keep
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him from diving. He thought the hoax was beginning to go a little far.
The tanks they’d brought were the latest models. They’d have an hour on the bottom with plenty of safe time. Elaine checked her regulator, he checked his. They each took up a shark stick, but Poplar gave his to Elaine. He wanted both hands for his camera, and she could handle anything likely to bother them.
There was a diver’s platform set just below the wa-terline at the stern of the Vatai. Elaine jumped in with a playful splash. He followed more slowly, handling the expensive camera with care.
Both wore only the upper half of a heat-retaining wetsuit. The ocean flowing around his bare legs told him it was a good thing he had. It wasn’t cold, but cooler water flowing from the depths of the oceanic trench obviously found its way up here. The thermo-cline would rise nearer the surface. That would permit deep-sea dwellers to rise closer to the top. Still, it was comfortable and refreshing after the trip on the boat