Deadly Coast (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kyung Yang No. 173
Arabian Sea

Kwok looked out across the building seas at the drillship and cursed Dugan. He glanced back down at his radar and cursed again, as the flickering display went black, and he slapped the side of the cabinet with his open hand. The display blinked back to life and Kwok stared in disbelief, then rubbed his eyes and looked again.

Eight targets were closing on his position, not more than ten miles away, and closing fast. They were small and fast, their radar signatures indistinct. He had no doubt who they were. He turned to the impassive black-clad Russian, who watched from the rear of the small wheelhouse.

“Many pirates come!” Kwok said. “We must leave. Now!”

The Russian stepped forward and studied the display, then spoke into the radio mike clipped to his web gear. After several attempts, it was obvious he’d received no response. He looked at Kwok and shrugged.

“Major does not answer. I think maybe he is in noisy place and cannot hear radio in backpack,” he said. “So. We must wait. He will call soon, I think.”

Kwok looked across at the drillship. She was rolling more now, but also seemed to be developing a port list. He spotted faint traces of smoke rising from the deckhouse.

“We cannot wait! If we stay, pirates will catch us too.” Kwok spoke to the helmsman in Korean, and the man began to turn the wheel.

“
Nyet
!” The Russian leveled his rifle. “We wait for others. Stay here.”

Kwok raised his hands in surrender, and spoke over his shoulder to countermand the order.
Kyung Yang No. 173
returned to her previous course, creeping along in the lee of
Ocean Goliath
at two knots. She’d hardly settled back on course when the chief engineer rushed up the short stairway and into the wheelhouse.

“We’re taking on water,” he said to Kwok in Korean. “A lot of water!”

“What? How? Where?” Kwok asked.

The engineer shook his head. “I can’t tell yet,” he said. “But I think when you struck the drillship you disturbed one of the concrete patches. I’m pumping most of it out, but the pump can’t keep up. We’re already developing a starboard list.”

“Can you repair it?” Kwok asked.

“Possibly,” the engineer said. “If I can find it.”

“Show me.” Kwok started to follow the engineer down the stairs.

“Where you go?” the Russian demanded, stepping in front of Kwok.

“Hole in hull. Ship sinking,” Kwok said. “I go look. You get out of way now.”

The Russian stepped aside, confused, then fell in behind the Koreans.

Kwok turned over the situation in his mind, even as he raced downstairs after the engineer. He’d been with the Americans and the Russians when many pirates had been killed, and now he was—for all the pirates knew—voluntarily helping them. Eventually the pirates would find out about their dead colleagues and figure out who killed them. It wouldn’t go well for him if he was their prisoner when that happened. Kwok reached that conclusion just as he stepped into the engine room, and the stench of diesel filled his nose and the engine assaulted his ears. He knew what he had to do.

Kwok followed the chief down the starboard side, and nodded as the man played the beam of his flashlight over the rising water in the bilge. Kwok turned to the Russian and motioned for him to stoop down, then spoke into the man’s ear.

“Much water,” Kwok shouted, to make himself understood over the engine. “We have leak. There.” He pointed to a random place in the bilge. “You look. You see. You must bend down and look under that pipe.”

Kwok motioned for the chief to shine his flashlight on the place where he pointed. Confused, the engineer did as ordered.

As the Russian bent to peer into the bilge, Kwok slipped a wheel wrench from a holder along the handrail and cracked him in the back of the head. The Russian collapsed, unconscious, and Kwok shouted in the chief’s ear.

“Get two men to bind him and carry him to the wheelhouse, where I can keep my eye on him,” Kwok said.

“Are you crazy?” the chief shouted back. “The other Russians will kill us!”

“And if we wait around for those fools, the pirates will kill us instead. We’re getting out of here, so do as you’re told. And I want full power from the engine when I ask for it. Now, take care of the Russian and find that leak. Understood?”

Kwok had just reached the wheelhouse when he saw a fireball rise from the deckhouse on the drillship. He ordered the helmsman to point the boat’s bow southwest and increased speed to full power before he moved to the radar. The pirates would be on the drillship in less than ten minutes, but he figured their initial reaction would center on the silver, and he hoped to slip away in the confusion. Even if that miserable engineer couldn’t get the leak fixed, floating around in a life raft awaiting rescue was a better alternative than being killed by pirates.

Kwok decided to improve his odds. He twisted the dial on the VHF to channel sixteen and keyed the mike.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday,” he said, then repeated the name of his vessel and location. “Ship sinking. Many pirates come. Mayday, mayday, mayday.”

He was on his fourth repetition when two crewmen dragged the Russian up the stairs and dumped him on the deck. The Russian moaned, and Kwok looked down at him, momentarily distracted. His head snapped back up as the VHF squawked.

“
Kyung Yang No. 173
,” said an accented voice. “This is Russian naval vessel
Admiral Vinogradov
. We acknowledge your mayday and are coming to assist. Over.”

Kwok looked back at the bound Russian, and blood drained from his face.

Drillship Ocean Goliath
Arabian Sea

“We have assault rifle,” Borgdanov said. “But most of ammunition I use to break windows. I have part of magazine left. Also the Glock with three magazines. But eight boats means twenty or thirty
piraty
at least. I think we have big problem,
Dyed
.”

“Agreed,” Dugan said. “But I’ll be damned if I’m going to surrender just yet. Maybe we can—Jesus Christ!”

Dugan lost his footing and slammed into a mooring winch as the
Ocean Goliath
rolled to port on a particularly large wave. This time she lingered at the bottom of the roll, as if deciding between righting herself and lying on her side on the storm-tossed surface. Dugan held his breath at metallic clanging from the derrick as the drill pipe shifted, then let it out as the big vessel shuddered and rolled upright. But just upright, she was hardly rolling to starboard now. He regained his balance and moved back to where the Russians gripped a set of mooring bitts, bracing themselves against the roll.

“This baby’s going over anytime,” Dugan said. “The pirates might not recognize that right away, or realize everyone is dead. They’ll come at us from the port side because it’s lower and they can board easier. Then they’ll either get distracted by all that silver or they’ll head forward to the bridge and quarters to seize control of the ship. Either way, I don’t think they’ll head back aft, at least not initially. I figure we squat out of sight back here behind the machinery casing and see what develops.” He looked up at the darkening sky. “There’s bound to be a lot of confusion, and this storm will hit anytime. Maybe we use that to our advantage.”

As if responding to Dugan’s words, a raindrop hit his facemask, and in seconds, they were in a downpour. He looked forward at the smoke and flames billowing from the starboard-side lounge windows. Strangely enough, the wind was decreasing, and the smoke was rising in a black, greasy column. He turned away, reassured. No rainstorm, no matter how fierce, would quench the diesel-fed fire now, and when the ship went over, the lounge would be on the high side. She’d burn right up until she sank.

Dugan moved to the port side, and squatted out of sight behind the machinery casing. The Russians followed suit as the rain came down in sheets and collected on the pitching deck to form small waves on its way to the deck scuppers and overboard. The water accumulated on the exposed top deck of the machinery casing as well, faster than it could drain. Running to port because of the list, the water spilled over the edge of the upper deck like a minor waterfall, surging stronger with each roll of the ship.

“We can flush off under that water,” Dugan shouted to Borgdanov over the noise of the downpour. “Then we can take these damned masks off. I doubt there’s any airborne dust floating around in this mess. Remember to flush your gloves and boots well too—just in case—and don’t touch your face. Tell Ilya.”

Borgdanov nodded and turned to the sergeant, as Dugan crawled under the powerful stream. He turned his face up, staying there through several surges, as the water gushed over him from head to toe. Then he held his gloved hands under the flood, rubbing them vigorously to flush any residue off their slick surface. He looked to his right and saw the Russians similarly engaged, then stripped off his gas mask and closed his eyes before turning his bare face back into the stream. He crawled out of the direct stream and opened his eyes, blinking furiously and fighting an urge to wipe his eyes. He’d been in the suit less than two hours, but it seemed like two days, and the cool water on his face was comforting, even under the circumstances. His respite was cut short by the sound of approaching outboards, and Dugan shouted for the others to get down.

The pirates approached like a band of howling Comanches, their swift boats speeding up swells and crashing down the other side. The first boats drew close and cut their speed to match that of the wallowing drillship, and the more daring of the pirates balanced in their boats, timing the movement of the big ship. At the bottom of
Ocean Goliath
’s port roll, several leaped to catch the bottom handrail and hauled themselves aboard.

Dugan’s guess the pirates would be distracted by the silver was correct, and the first aboard screamed through the rain to their brethren, alerting them to their great good fortune. Here and there, pirates in the boats fired celebratory shots into the air.

Waabberi balanced on the shifting layer of silver as the big ship rolled, his initial exuberance at discovering the treasure mitigated by sudden terror as the port rail dipped toward the water and metallic clanging filled the air from the derrick. Something was very wrong. There was no evidence of Mukhtar or anyone, and the ship was close to capsizing. They couldn’t stay here long, but—he looked down at his feet—he wouldn’t abandon this treasure. He turned to the men beside him.

“You,” he said, “position four men halfway between here and the deckhouse. If Mukhtar and his fanatics are about, I don’t want to be taken by surprise.” The man nodded and rushed to do as ordered, and Waabberi turned to the second man.

“We don’t have long,” he said, “and we must save the silver. Have the men scoop it up and dump it in the boats.”

The man looked out at the seas. “The silver’s heavy. We can’t load the boats so heavily in these seas.”

“The mother ships will be here in an hour, maybe two,” said Waabberi. “Load the boats and shelter in the lee of the drillship until they arrive. Her hull is breaking the waves a bit. Even if she rolls over, she’ll float awhile. We’ll be all right as long as no one is in the shadow of the derrick when she goes over.”

The man looked doubtful, and Waabberi lost his patience.

“Don’t question me!” he screamed. “Get moving! Now!”

The man glanced at Waabberi’s hand moving toward the pistol in his waistband, and turned away.

“At once, Waabberi,” he said over his shoulder, and began to shout orders.

Soon pirates swarmed aboard with empty backpacks, having hastily emptied ammunition bags and anything else that could hold coins. Those without containers spread their shirts on deck and piled coins to be gathered into bundles. The drivers stayed in the boats, circling on the stormy seas, waiting their turn to nose up to the ship to take on silver.

Dugan squatted at the corner of the machinery casing and peered through the pouring rain at the controlled chaos. He felt Borgdanov beside him.

“What do you think,
Dyed
?”

“They’re pretty occupied. If we had a boat, we could slip away. But I’ll be damned if I can figure out how to get one.”

“Lifeboats?”

“They’ll all be forward near the quarters. There are life rafts back here, but I don’t think we can slip away from these guys in a raft. And besides. We’ll never catch Kwok in a raft.”

As they spoke, the first boat moved away from the side to make room for the next. It was a semirigid inflatable, visible through the driving rain as it wallowed up a swell and circled close in the relatively calmer waters beside the rolling drillship.

“That’s it!” Dugan said, pointing to the boat. “He’s loaded and staying in the lee of the hull. My bet is he’ll wait for the others back here beside the stern. He’ll be by himself until another boat is loaded. That’s our shot.”

Borgdanov nodded and motioned Dugan back out of sight behind the machinery-casing bulkhead. The Russians conversed in hush tones, the sergeant looking doubtful, then nodding in reluctant concurrence. Borgdanov turned to Dugan.

“Ilya will go first without weapon,” he said. “He must take out pirate without attracting attention, or we have little chance. After Ilya captures boat, you and I jump and he picks us up. If we are lucky, we sneak away in rain without being seen.”

“And if we aren’t lucky?” Dugan asked.

Borgdanov shrugged. “You and I will have weapons. We empty them at pirates to keep their heads down and maybe make them a little cautious. Then we jump and hope for best.” He looked at the sergeant, then turned back to Dugan. “This you should know,
Dyed
. Ilya and I do not surrender, no matter what. Russian military is not so kind to
piraty
, so I think they will not be so kind to us.”

“You’re out of uniform, how will they know?”