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“Intact?...You're kidding!...Give me five minutes, Greg. I want to see this plane.”

“Meet me on deck.” He said. “You won’t be disappointed.”

She wasn't slow to follow. As he left the wheelhouse she ran her hands back through a main of dark brown hair and, having made a record in the log, walked out on deck beneath the blazing sun.

It was all a world apart from her Harvard roots. Now, at the age of twenty-seven, a thousand books had been replaced by the dust of a thousand graves in which the past had buried its secrets with the dead and it was not impossible that the sea herself was about to break her silence....

Copyright P D MacLane

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The Red Sea, Wednesday 4th October 2011

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“It’s there!” Donovan smiled as he leaned against the wheelhouse door, the crow’s feet deepening now on a chiselled face that had long since begun to disappear behind the grey beard he had grown during their days at sea.

To Kay Hunter his words were like oxygen to her soul. In three weeks of diving from that old schooner they had found nothing but rusting hulks along the Egyptian coast, but suddenly it felt as though they had discovered the Holy Grail as he circled their location on the chart.

“Are you sure?”

“Well,” he said, “it’s a DC3 all right. If they’d headed towards the Gulf of Aqaba they would have been airborne for almost an hour on a north easterly bearing when they lost radio contact. It had to be there…Besides, it’s virtually intact.”