Valhalla Rising (13 page)

“It’s no great loss if we can’t find the
Ancient Mariner
—she’s an old workhorse that has more than paid for herself—but the
Abyss Navigator
is state-of-the-art, fresh from the factory and cost twelve million dollars. We can’t afford to lose her.”

“We’ll find her. Her beacon signal is coming in loud and strong.”

He almost had to shout to be heard above the sounds coming from the sky. The air above the ships swarmed with aircraft flown from New Zealand, Tonga, Fiji and Samoa, most of them chartered by the international news media, covering what would become known as the most magnificent rescue operation in the history of the seas. The radios on all three ships were inundated with messages from governments, anxious relatives of the survivors, corporate officials of the Blue Seas Cruise Lines, and representatives of the underwriters who had insured the
Emerald Dolphin.
The radio traffic was so heavy that all communication among the three rescue ships was conducted by handheld portable radios or blinkers.

Burch sighed as he relaxed in his elevated captain’s chair and lit his pipe, then smiled faintly. “Do you think the admiral will turn the air blue when he hears what we did to his research ship?”

“Under the circumstances, the old sea dog will milk the publicity to the last drop.”

“Have you thought of how you’re going to explain that body lying below to the officials?” asked Burch.

“I can only tell what I know.”

“Pity the girl can’t act as a witness.”

“I can’t believe I missed her during the evacuation.”

“Actually, your problem has been solved,” Burch said, with a devious grin.

Pitt looked at the captain for a long moment. “Solved?”

“I like to run a tight, clean ship,” explained Burch. “I personally threw your friend over the side. He’s joined the other poor souls from the
Emerald Dolphin
who died during the tragedy. As far as I’m concerned, the matter is closed.”

“Skipper,” Pitt said, with a twinkle in his eye, “you’re okay. I don’t care
what
they say about you.”

The harried radio operator came from the radio room. “Sir, a message from Captain Harlow of the Australian missile frigate. If you wish to leave station, he will stand by to pick up bodies and stay with the cruise liner until tugs arrive to tow her to port.”

“Acknowledge and express my deepest gratitude to the captain and his crew for their gallant assistance.”

A minute later, the operator returned. “Captain Harlow wishes you Godspeed and calm seas.”

“I imagine it has to be the first time in history a guided-missile frigate took on five hundred civilian passengers,” said Pitt.

“Yes,” said Burch slowly, as he turned and gazed at the burned-out leviathan.

The downpour of rain had done little to alleviate the fire. Flames still flickered and smoke spiraled into the sky. Except for a small space around the bow, the entire ship was blackened and scorched. The steel plates were buckled and her superstructure was little more than a labyrinth of charred, twisted and contorted frameworks. Nothing organic was left. Everything that could burn had been reduced to ugly piles of ashes. It had been a ship that its architects and builders swore could never burn. Fire-retardant materials had been used throughout. But they’d never counted on the dynamic heat that had fanned itself into a firestorm that could melt metal.

“Another one of the great mysteries of the sea,” Pitt said, his voice distant.

“Ship fires occur with alarming frequency around the world every year.” Burch spoke as if he were lecturing to a class. “But I’ve never heard of one more baffling than the blaze on board the
Emerald Dolphin.
No fire on a ship that large should have spread so fast.”

“Second Officer McFerrin suggested that it spread out of control because the fire-warning and control systems were inoperative.”

“An act of treachery, do you think?”

Pitt nodded at the smoldering, gutted hulk. “It defies logic that it was a series of unfortunate circumstances.”

“Captain,” the radio operator interrupted again, “Captain Nevins of the
Earl of Wattlesfield
would like a word with you.”

“Put him on the speaker.”

“Go ahead, sir.”

“Captain Burch here.”

“Captain Nevins here. I say, if you chaps are going to try for Wellington, I’ll be most happy to shepherd you along the way, since that’s the closest major port to disembark the survivors.”

“That’s very kind of you, Captain,” replied Burch. “I accept your offer. We’ve set a course for Wellington, too. I hope we don’t slow you down too much.”

“Wouldn’t do for the heroes and heroines of the hour to sink along the way.”

“Our pumps are keeping ahead of the flooding. Barring a major typhoon, we should make Wellington in good shape.”

“As soon as you get under way, we’ll follow.”

“How are you managing with eighteen hundred people on your ship?” asked Pitt.

“We have most of them in two of our empty cargo holds. The rest are scattered throughout, some in half-empty containers. We have enough food in the galley for one proper meal. After that, everyone, including my crew and I, will go on a rigid diet until we reach Wellington.” Nevins paused for a moment. “And, oh yes, if you could pass between my ship and the Aussie frigate, we’d like to give you a send-off. Over and out.”

Burch looked bemused. “Send-off?”

“Maybe they want to say aloha and throw streamers.” Pitt laughed.

Burch picked up the ship’s phone. “Chief, are you ready and able to get under way?”

“I’ll let you have eight knots, no more,” answered House. “Any more speed and she’ll leak like a rusty bucket.”

“Eight knots it is.”

T
o the ship’s crew and the NUMA scientists, haggard and dead-tired from twelve hours of nonstop physical and mental exertion, it was an ordeal just to stand on their two feet, but stand they did, straight and proud as Pitt lined them up on the work deck. The ship’s crew was grouped on one end of the deck while the scientists, men and women intermingled, stood opposite. Everyone was there. Burch insisted that the entire engine room crew turn out. Chief Engineer House balked at leaving the pumps unattended, but the captain prevailed. Only the helmsman stood alone in the pilothouse, steering the survey vessel between the
Earl of Wattlesfield
and the Australian guided-missile frigate that lay to no more than two hundred yards apart.

The little survey ship seemed dwarfed between the two much larger ships. She sailed proudly, the NUMA flag flying on her radar mast and a huge stars-and-stripes streaming stiffly on the stern jack staff.

Pitt and Burch, standing beside each other, stared up, startled to see the crew of the frigate turn out as if for a formal military review. Then suddenly, as the
Deep Encounter
entered the gap between the two ships, the silent tropical air was shattered by the whoops of the ships’ air horns and the cheers of the more than two thousand survivors who lined the rails of the containership and frigate. Pandemonium broke out across the water. Men, women and children all waved wildly and shouted words that went unheard in the din. Shredded newspaper and magazines were thrown in the air like confetti. Only at that moment did everyone on board the
Deep Encounter
fully realize what their magnificent exploit had achieved.

They had gone far beyond the rescue of over two thousand people; they had proven that they were willing to sacrifice their lives to save other humans. Tears flowed unashamedly from the eyes of everyone.

Long afterward, the men and women of the survey ship could never describe it accurately. They were too moved to fully absorb the event. Even the tremendous rescue effort seemed like a nightmarish dream in a distant past. They might never forget it, but they could never do it justice with mere words.

Then, almost as one, each head turned and gazed for the last time at the lamentable image that only twenty-four hours before had been one of the most beautiful ships ever to sail the seas. Pitt stared, too. No man of the sea likes to see a ship die dreadfully. He could not help but wonder who had been responsible for such a hideous act. What was the motive?

“What is it worth to read your thoughts?” asked Burch.

Pitt looked at him blankly. “My thoughts?”

“I’ll bet my grandmother’s rosary beads that curiosity is eating you alive.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“The same question that’s on all our minds,” explained Burch. “What motive would a madman have for murdering twenty-five hundred helpless men, women and children?”

“As soon as she’s towed into Sydney Harbor, an army of marine fire insurance company investigators will sift through the ashes and find the answers.”

“They won’t find much to sift.”

“Don’t underestimate them,” said Burch. “Those guys are good. If anyone can ferret out the cause, they can.”

Pitt turned and smiled at Burch. “I hope you’re right, Skipper. I’m just glad it’s not on my shoulders.”

By the end of the week, Pitt would be proved wrong. Never would he have predicted that he would be the one called upon to solve the mystery.

T
he first tug to reach the
Emerald Dolphin
was the Quest Marine Offshore Company’s
Audacious.
At 190 feet in length, with a beam of 58 feet, she was one of the largest tugs in the world. Her twin Hunnewell diesel engines provided a total of 9,800 horsepower to drive her propulsion units. Since she’d had the advantage of being stationed in Wellington, the closest port, she had beat out two other big tugs from Brisbane.

The
Audacious’s
master had run her hard, like an overweight greyhound after the rabbit, homing in on the position updates provided by the Aussie missile cruiser. He’d kept radio silence during the race across the South Pacific, a routine ploy among tugboat captains racing toward the same wreck, because the winner received the Lloyds Open Form for salvage and 25 percent of the stricken vessel’s value.

Now that Captain Jock McDermott was in sight of the smoldering cruise liner and the Australian guided-missile cruiser, he opened contact with the Blue Seas Cruise Lines officials, who after half an hour of bargaining accepted the “no cure, no pay” contract, naming Quest Marine as the principal salvage contractor for what was left of the
Emerald Dolphin.

Closing on the liner that still glowed red, McDermott and his crew were stunned at the devastation. A pile of incinerated rubble floating on a restless turquoise sea was all that was left of the once-beautiful cruise liner. She looked like a photo of Hiroshima after the horrendous firestorm from the atomic bomb: blackened, misshapen and shriveled.

“She ain’t worth nothin’ more than scrap,” spat the
Audacious’s
first officer, Herm Brown, a former professional rugby player who’d gone to sea when his knees gave out. He stood under a shaggy mane of blond hair, his beefy legs showing under his shorts and a hairy chest visible through the unbuttoned shirt pulled taut by his shoulders.

McDermott pulled his spectacles down over his nose and peered over the lenses. A sandy-haired Scotsman with a narrow beaklike nose and hazy green eyes, he had spent twenty years in oceangoing tugs. But for the jutting jaw, and eyes that seemed to focus like light beams, he might have passed for Bob Cratchit, Scrooge’s bookkeeper. “The directors of the company won’t be happy with this job, that’s for sure. I never thought a ship that big could burn itself into nothing more than a heap of soot.”

The ship’s phone buzzed and McDermott picked up the receiver. “Captain of the tug, this is Captain Harlow of the cruiser off your port beam. Whom am I speaking to?”

“Captain Jock McDermott of the Quest Marine tug
Audacious.
”

“Now that you’ve arrived, Captain McDermott, I can leave station and head for Wellington. I’ve got five hundred survivors on board who are anxious to set foot on land again.”

“You’ve had a busy time of it, Captain,” McDermott replied. “I’m surprised you didn’t depart two days ago.”

“We’ve been busy picking up the bodies of the cruise liner’s victims who died in the water. I was also asked by the International Maritime Commission to remain nearby and report on the wreck’s position after it became classed as a menace to navigation.”

“She no longer resembles a ship.”

“A pity,” said Harlow. “She was one of the most beautiful vessels afloat.” Then he added, “Is there anything we can do to help you get her under tow?”

“No, thank you,” answered McDermott. “We can manage.”

“She looks in a bad way. I hope she stays afloat until you reach safe harbor.”

“Without knowing how badly her hull was damaged by the heat, I won’t bet the farm on it.”

“Burning her guts out considerably lightened her. Riding high out of the water should make her an easy tow.”

“No tow is easy, Captain. Be prepared for a welcoming committee and a horde of reporters when you reach Wellington.”

“I can’t wait,” Harlow responded dryly. “Good luck to you.”