Sitting in the cockpit, I fidgeted nervously with my hands. It felt like trespassing coming aboard this ship. But the reality was that the radio in my skiff could catch the attention of Roy or Pablo possibly. A chance that I did not want to take. Once again, I looked at my watch.
There were still six more minutes, which seemed like an eternity.
“Come on, come on,” I whispered trying to will time forward.
I gripped the wrench in my hand and once again set to practicing. I banged the tool on the metal box sitting on the passenger seat, carefully tapping out the coordinates in Morse Code. One small mistake would leave me stranded out here and send Adam off on a goose chase to some other set of coordinates.
Inside my glove, I could feel the sweat. Swallowing, I closed my eyes and committed to a set of breathing exercises.
Opening my eyes, I glanced over at the radio that was lit up. The frequency was set.
“This has to work. It has to.”
The clock read 13:59. Flipping the switch on the radio tied to Pangaea II, I went to work carefully tapping out the directions. I repeated it seven times, for luck. The whole thing took less than six minutes.
Leaning in, I listened wondering if there would be any response or confirmation.
But only silence greeted me.
Unsure as to whether or not I had been successful, I packed up the few tools that I brought and flipped the visor down on my helmet. The cabin depressurized as the back door swung open and I headed back to my vehicle hoping that my message in a bottle had reached the shore.