Deadly Echoes (32 page)

“So you're saying that next low tide, twelve hours from now, this ship could rupture?” Davis asked.

“That depends,” Buck said. “We're at low tide right now, so as the tide turns and starts coming in, the situation may stabilize briefly. This is all just a theory, but if it were up to me, I'd get divers down there to examine the hull, see where it's buckling and how bad. Then talk to your marine architects. They'll give you what you're looking for. All I'm doing is guessing.”

“I already have divers getting into position. I've also got two more tugs on the way from Valdez as well as all the spill-response vessels and equipment we own,” Gunnison said. “Two of my other tugs are headed south to escort an empty tanker that was inbound to Valdez. It's the Huntington
Orion,
sister ship to the
North Star.
We'll have it standing by to take on all the oil from this ship.”

“How long does it take to pump a million barrels of oil?” Buck asked.

“Anywhere from sixteen to eighteen hours.”

“Does all the oil have to be pumped out to get the ship free?” Donovan asked. “What if you pumped off a third of the weight, or only the oil in the forward tanks? Could that buy you time to get the ship floating again before another low tide?”

“Again, a question for the engineers and architects,” Buck said. “Though, I would suggest that if you've got a sister ship to this one within helicopter range, get some of the crew flown from the
Orion
to the
North Star,
at least enough to help run this ship.”

“I'm on it,” Davis replied and began talking into his radio.

“How far out is the
Orion?”
Donovan asked. “And how long would it take to get her in position?”

“She's still south of the Hinchinbrook entrance, which is every bit of sixty nautical miles, so we're talking six or seven hours,” Gunnison replied. “That's just to get here, add another couple of hours to get it into position and get everything hooked up, so we're talking eight hours, minimum. There's still the problem of rewiring the damage to the bridge, though hopefully we'll have those issues resolved by then.”

“If I looked at the schematics correctly,” Buck said, “there are twelve separate compartments filled with oil. A tear in the inner and outer hulls would compromise no more than four of those containers. How much oil are we talking about if we look at the immediate threat?”

“Three hundred thousand barrels or about fifty thousand barrels more than the
Exxon Valdez
spill. At that point, we also have a ship with a ruptured hull that puts the other seven hundred thousand barrels at risk.” Davis turned his attention out the front of the ship as the Coast Guard helicopter lifted from the deck, pivoted ninety degrees, and departed to the south.

Davis rejoined the group. “I just spoke with Captain Joseph Flemming, the master of the
Orion,
he's assembling a small crew to transfer to the
North Star
and assist. The Coast Guard helicopter is on their way out to get them. Plus, I've just learned we've got
another helicopter inbound, it seems Eco-Watch is bringing out the FBI.”

Donovan broke away from the group and walked to the section of blown-out windows to look for his helicopter. As he stepped around the glass from the shattered windows, he spotted what looked like a photograph buried face down under a pile of crazed glass. He fought the impulse to reach down and pick it up as Buck and the others were looking directly at him. He had no choice but to wait.

Lauren couldn't believe how much had changed since she and Michael had departed the inlet in the
da Vinci
a little less than three hours earlier. The ceiling had lifted a bit, though the weather was still blustery with intermittent rain and snow showers. Amid the whitecaps she spotted three Coast Guard ships, which Janie told her were cordoning off the area to any unauthorized vessels. The entire vicinity had been designated a no-fly zone to restrict air traffic. News helicopters from Anchorage had been moved back five miles. The last thing the salvage operation or the Coast Guard wanted was crowded airspace and a horde of spectators. Lauren knew their arrival was being broadcast live, courtesy of the long lenses mounted on the helicopters. She could only hope that their presence would be depicted in a positive light.

Floating containment booms encircled the
North Star.
Lauren counted two massive tugboats, plus three other support vessels poised to react to an oil spill. Inside the boom, a service ship was connected to the tanker by multiple hoses, making her wonder if they'd already began pumping oil off the tanker. Lauren watched as Janie swung around the superstructure and then brought the helicopter in until its skids kissed the metal in the exact center of the landing pad.

“Nice landing,” Martinson said.

“Piece of cake when the ship's standing still,” Janie replied, giving Lauren and the others the signal they could open the doors.

Lauren turned to Janie. “My plan is to get Donovan and Buck off this ship and head back to Anchorage.”

“The Coast Guard said I can wait here until the next inbound
chopper arrives, then I have to leave. I can loiter in the area for a little while, but then I might have to go to Valdez and refuel.”

“Do whatever you need to do, but let's try and cooperate with the authorities,” Lauren said, happy to be leaving the chopper. Even though Janie had tried to clean it up, Erica's bloodstains were still visible in the aft cabin. Lauren still hadn't taken the time to analyze her emotions at the sight of Donovan coming to her rescue the way he did. She cleared her head and stepped off the helicopter onto the deck of the
North Star,
as did the three other passengers. Besides Agent Martinson were Agents Boswell and Williams, both forensic-evidence specialists sent to collect and document as much of the crime scene as they could. Martinson looked around until she spotted what she was looking for, and then pointed toward several shell casings lying against the deck edging. Agent Boswell, mindful of the rotor wash, bagged the evidence, and then the four of them were escorted from under the spinning blades by a Coast Guard seaman.

“Follow me,” the seaman said above the noise of the helicopter. “I do need to point out that the situation onboard is highly unstable. If the abandon ship order is given, you are to meet me at the starboard lifeboat station. See the enclosed orange lifeboat up there with the small round portholes? That's ours. It'll keep us alive in any kind of sea state—just don't be late.”

Lauren took in the view from deck level. The lifeboat seemed tiny against the enormity of the ship. The size of the
North Star
was almost overwhelming, and she knew the bulk of the one-thousand-foot-long supertanker lay underwater. Looking aft, six stories up from the deck were the row of windows that marked the bridge. Another level higher was the small radar stanchion where Buck and Jason had boarded. The small entourage fell in behind the Coast Guard crewman and headed for the bridge.

“I understand there are victims in two different locations?” Martinson asked the crewman.

“Yes, the mess hall and the bridge.”

Martinson turned to Boswell. “You start in the mess hall. I
want lots of pictures. We'll go to the bridge and join you as soon as we can.”

As they reached the bridge superstructure, Boswell peeled off. Lauren, Agent Martinson, and Agent Williams began the trek up the stairs. They walked onto the bridge directly into the middle of what looked like an intense discussion. Lauren spotted her husband standing next to Buck and a Coast Guard officer. Two other men were squared off, the heavier man was jabbing his finger onto the chart table as if to make his point.

“Gentleman, I'm FBI Special Agent Martinson.” She held up her credentials and instantly silenced the room. “Captain Hughes, I'm well aware that this is your ship, but this is a crime scene, specifically an FBI crime scene, and I'll need you to move this meeting somewhere else so my technician can process the scene.”

“Agent Martinson, I'm Tim Gunnison, I'm with SERVS, and for the moment I'm in charge of this situation, and with all due respect, there's a bigger crime in progress here.” Gunnison held out a stack of 8 x 10 color photos. “These are pictures my divers took of the ruptured hull of this tanker. We have a full-blown crisis on our hands and every warning light and bell is located on this bridge. We need to know the second things start to go from bad to worse.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gunnison,” Agent Martinson replied, then turned to the man across from him. “Then you must be the Alyeska representative?”

“Yes, ma'am, Larry Davis, and I'm going to have to insist we remain on the bridge as well as the technicians trying to repair the damage done to the electronics. We could lose this entire ship and a million barrels of oil if we don't stay on top of this.”

“All I want is for you gentleman to take your pictures and charts, and walk twenty feet over there to a place where there isn't blood on the carpet and continue doing your jobs. Now, which one of you is Mr. Buckley?”

“I am,” Buck said.

“Mr. Buckley, I understand you witnessed this man's death?”

“That's correct.”

“I'll expect a full statement.”

“Of course.”

Martinson turned to Donovan. “Then you must be Mr. Nash. I need a word with you, in private. Now.”

Lauren gave him a subtle nod that he should go.

“You too, Dr. McKenna, both of you, follow me. Mr. Buckley, don't leave the bridge.”

Martinson led the way up one flight of stairs and out onto the roof of the bridge. Above them were the disabled radar antennas. Lauren could see dozens of holes where Buck's shotgun had disabled the motors. From this vantage point, Martinson stood silent, taking in the entire scene, the radar platform, SERVS ships, the containment booms, the Coast Guard vessels, and the enormous tanker itself. Donovan turned up his collar to fight off the brisk wind and light rain that was still falling.

Martinson turned and faced them. “Everything I've seen and heard today feels like it's almost the truth, but not quite. I think the two of you know far more than you're telling me, and it's time for the real story.”

“I can't think of anything I've missed.” Lauren offered.

“Mr. Nash. You didn't have a hunch. You were tipped off about this weren't you? Whoever did this enticed you into action so they could film you and use it against you. You were badly outmaneuvered here today, and your organization took a serious hit—but that's your problem, not mine. What I want, right now, is the entire truth or both of you and the rest of your little group will be facing serious obstruction charges. The director's words, not mine. Now, who are these people and why are they doing this?”

Martinson's satellite phone rang, and she stepped away while she answered the call.

“What in the hell is happening?” Donovan said as the FBI agent walked out of earshot. “What film? What don't I know?”

“The terrorists filmed aspects of what happened today,” Lauren said. “They spliced it together to make it appear as if Eco-Watch
attacked then hijacked the tanker and released it to CNN. I turned over a copy of the recordings from the
da Vinci.
The images aren't good enough for the FBI to identify Garrick, but Nikolett and some of the other men are clearly visible.”

“So we're running out of time.”

“Buck fired some shots at them as they were boarding the helicopter. Looks like he might have hit someone. If that person shows up at a hospital or a morgue, it might shorten the time we have to find Garrick ourselves. In addition, the FBI is going to put someone on Erica, monitor her because she's an eyewitness. First thing they're going to want to know is who she is, and for me, that poses a huge problem. I'm supposed to have alerted the CIA if I knew of her whereabouts—and I didn't.”

“Damn it!” Donovan said.

“She's off the phone,” Lauren said evenly, but the anger that flared in her eyes couldn't be missed. “If at all possible, let me do the talking. I know what lies I've already told.”

“I'm running out of patience,” Martinson said. “The woman who was shot and flown to Anchorage has now disappeared. She received treatment for a superficial gunshot wound, not deemed serious. She also had two cracked ribs, presumably from the twenty-five-foot fall she took from the deck of this ship. After all of that, she managed to sneak out of the hospital. My agent at the hospital tells me that all of the information she gave admissions was false. Did she have help from you two? Tell me who she is and where she's headed.

“Erica?” Lauren shrugged. “I have no idea. As I explained earlier, she was a volunteer.”

“We've identified the woman who shot her. She's one of the assassins who tried to kill you in Paris.”

“These people are nothing if not thorough,” Lauren continued. “They kill everyone who isn't inside their inner circle. That's why we know nothing about them, no descriptions, and no names. Nothing. These people are ghosts.”

“So you really have no idea who's doing this to you?”

“Not a clue,” Lauren said, hating all the lies and half-truths. She was in Alaska, separated from her daughter, exposed to assassins, lying to federal agents about the woman her husband had slept with—hating every moment of what she'd become. The cost of living in Donovan's world just kept getting higher and higher.

“Special Agent Martinson!” A Coast Guardsman called from the top of the stairway. “Ma'am, you have a priority phone call on the bridge. Mr. Nash, the chopper that's inbound from the
Orion
is twenty minutes out—we're going to need your helicopter clear of the pad by then.”

“We'll pick this up later,” Martinson said over her shoulder as she headed for the bridge.