“Oh, I’m well familiar now,” Tusker said. “I certainly will not miss the traffic here when I go back home. Where are you staying over there?”

“For the east coast work, MOCHA partners with a dive resort in Batti called the Deep Blue. They cater to the tech diving crowd, these macho foreigners who want to tick the Hermes off their bucket list.” Upali said, referring to the wreck of the British aircraft carrier, sunk by a Japanese aerial attack during World War II. “If I get some free time, I might do a dive or two. I need to keep my proficiency up, you know.” He grinned.

“Ah, the truth comes out,” Ian replied as he fished their lunch packets out of a sun faded cooler. “A diving holiday!”

Raj’s mobile phone interrupted the banter, ringing shrilly. He wiggled his head side to side in apology and fished it out of his shirt pocket. He spoke in animated Sinhala for less than a minute, then put the phone away and said something to Upali.

“That was a call from the guy who’s fixing the pump,” Upali translated. The tired dredging pump they’d been using to excavate sea bed had sputtered to a halt two days earlier. It required constant fiddling to keep running, but it did make their work a lot easier. They’d finally left it with a motorcycle mechanic in Galle to tinker with. “Sounds like it might be ready this afternoon.”

Tusker gave an exaggerated double “thumbs up” gesture. “Well, that’s some good news. Ian, if you want to go into town and pick it up, we can keep at it since we’re already suited up.” Tusker gestured to Upali and then at the muddy harbor. He took a pull on an insulated flask that had lost its battle with the tropical sun and got a mouthful of lukewarm water that tasted faintly of iodine.

“Right-o, I’m sure it just took a little gaffer tape and a whack with a big spanner,” Ian replied in his sharp Geordie accent. “I’ll go pick it up in the van and then start my weekend early.” He grinned.

“Got a big date, Ian?” Upali asked. “Still pursuing that waitress at The Lighthouse?”

“I’m waiting for you to teach me some more Sinhala so I can impress her!” Ian shot back.

“I’m not sure what would confuse her more, your Newcastle accent or your attempted Sinhala!”

Tusker laughed out loud. “Seriously, Ian. People say I sound like the characters in that show, Fargo, but the Midwestern U.S. has got nothing on the north of England when it comes to accents. It’s taken me six months to finally understand a word you’re saying.”

“Oh sure, you betcha,” Upali said in an exaggerated Midwestern American accent. Tusker punched him hard on the shoulder.