Arctic Fire (26 page)

They were about a foot from the top of the
entrance when they stopped moving. The sled must be level Pike
thought. The next thing he knew, he felt three sets of strong hands
grab him and pull them the rest of the way up. They all plopped
down hard on the ice with Mallory landing on top of him. Her limp
head snapped forward, hitting him in the nose, causing it to
bleed.

“Get these two into the Jacuzzi.” Pike heard
Cain yell. Quickly, the two Siamese twins were separated and
Mallory was carried off by two men and Pike limped along with the
help from Miles. When Pike stepped through the door and felt the
heat from the spa, he felt like he had just stepped into the middle
of the Sahara desert.

Mallory was seated on the floor propped up
against a chair. The men had her jacket off but had stopped,
hesitant and confused on just how much clothing they should remove.
Pike would have laughed at their predicament if he weren’t so
cold.

“Just leave her, I’ll take care of her.” Pike
said, staring at the shorter of the two men, “You go get us some
hot tea and something to eat. And you,” he turned to the other,
“you go find Tabatha Amies and bring her here please.” Both men
nodded and quickly left, clearly happy to be relieved of their
awkward situation.

“Dean, would you go and get us plenty of towels
please and then make sure they’re still pumping water into the
room. We aren’t out of the woods yet.”

“Sure thing Gabe.” Miles replied.

Pike took off his jacket and walked over and
grabbed Mallory and dragged her to the side of the Jacuzzi. He slid
his feet in, shoes and all, then slowly lowered himself the rest of
the way in. It felt scalding hot and every part of his body started
tingling as he began to thaw. He reached up and dragged Mallory in,
clothes and all and held her by his side, keeping her head above
water. Slowly she began to stir as the warmth spread throughout her
body.

“So this is how you got this gig huh? Hot
tubbing with the boss’s assistant.” Tabatha Amies said, walking in
the door.

“Very funny. I need your help here.”

She thought about teasing Pike some more but
from his worn look decided against it. “What can I do?” She simply
said.

“As soon as I get out of here, I’ll need you to
help Beth change and get her back to her room.”

“Okay, not a problem.”

Miles came in and dropped off the towels then
went back outside. Shortly after he left, the tea and food arrived.
Feeling like a thawed out pork chop Pike got out of the hot tub and
wrapped a towel around his shoulders, then drank some tea. By now
Mallory was awake and greedily took some tea from Tabatha. She
looked around and sized up the situation. “I take it you were the
one who got me out?” she said looking at Pike.

Pike tipped his teacup to her. “My
pleasure.”

“Gabe.” They turned to see Miles coming toward
them. “Mr. Cain would like to see you on the bridge.”

Pike frowned, not liking the urgency in Miles’
voice. “Did he say what he wanted?”

Miles shook his head. “No, just that he wanted
you there as soon as possible.”

“Okay.” Pike said wearily. “Tell him I’ll be
there as soon as I can, obviously I have to change first. Tell Mr.
Cain I should there in about twenty minutes to half an hour.”

“No problem.”

“How’s it going out there?” Pike asked as he
stood, putting down his tea.

“Great! The room is almost full and it’s already
freezing… as you well know.” He smiled at Mallory and Pike.
“Everything seems to be going according to plan and barring
anything unforeseen, the anchor should be frozen solid in place
within two hours.”

“Good to hear, please keep me posted.” Pike
nodded to all and walked out, leaving a trail of waterlogged shoe
prints.

Chapter Twenty S
even

The bow of the tug boat pitched down like a
roller coaster as it rode down the backside of the wave, smashing
straight into the base of the next. The water rolled up and over
the bow, swallowing the ship, washing over the bridge like a
submerging submarine. For a moment, all was quiet, no sound of the
howling wind in the rigging, no crashing of the waves against the
steel hull, just a hushed silence as the bridge was smothered in a
blanket of water.

Abject horror filled the eyes of the young
deckhand as he watched the ocean consume his ship. He was a sailor
experienced in coastal waters but he was a last minute replacement
in the crew and this was his first open ocean run. His eyes darted
back and forth between the captain and first officer, looking for
signs of whether or not he should be grabbing his rosary beads.

Captain Patrick Bair sat in his chair, timing
his sips of coffee between the swells. He looked alert yet not
overly concerned that his ship was becoming a submarine. Bair had
cut his teeth pulling log booms and pushing sawdust barges on the
Columbia River, then turned pilot, bringing cargo ships from the
mouth of the great river up to the docks in Portland, Oregon.

The First Officer, Matt Beasley, seemed as
equally unconcerned about their plight; he was huddled over the
radarscope, nibbling at a tuna fish sandwich. He too came from the
Pacific Northwest working on tugs and skippering the ferries that
criss-crossed Puget Sound.

Suddenly, like a car crashing through a brick
wall, the
Rachel B
. broke through the wave. Free of their
cocoon of water, they were instantly assaulted by a barrage of
sounds, reassuring them that they were still alive and afloat.

Bair glanced over at his first officer and they
shared a smile at the crewman’s expense. “Mr. Palmer,” Bair said,
“why don’t you go down to the galley and help Mr. Clemens with some
sandwiches? The crew’s been on station for quite a while now. The
weather’s too rough to cook anything but they’ll still be hungry
nonetheless and a cold sandwich is better than nothing.”

“Yes sir, right away.” Just as Palmer reached
the hatch, the ship lurched, like a dog pulling on its chain trying
to chase the neighborhood cat.

“Sir?” Palmer said, spinning around, looking at
the captain, fear once again filling his eyes.

“It’s all right Palmer,” Bair said reassuringly,
“that’s just the soft brake working, everything is going to be just
fine. Now go below and help Mr. Clemens with the sandwiches.” The
soft brake was a setting used on the towing winch that acted like a
buffer, allowing the cable to slip a little so it wouldn’t break
from the tension in rough seas, much like the drag setting on a
fishing reel.

“Yes sir.” Palmer said hesitantly, then
disappeared down the ladder.

Bair turned to Beasley. “It’s getting
worse.”

Beasley nodded. “We can’t make fast enough
headway to outrun this thing. The storm front is filling my entire
screen and it’s dropping down out of the North fast.” Bair felt
himself being nudged forward in his chair as the
Rachel B
.
staggered again.

“We can’t take much more of this.” Bair
continued. “The waves are too large and unpredictable; they’re
pushing us back then shoving us forward making the tow cable go
slack, then snapping it back. If the soft brake fails, we could be
in some serious trouble. It’ll rip the spindle off our deck, tear
the towing bridle off the barge, or snap the cable.”

“Not a very good selection to choose from.”
Beasley frowned.

Just then the tug jerked so hard Bair was nearly
thrown out of his seat and Beasley ended up on the floor next to
his tuna fish sandwich.

“That was the soft brake; it’s gone!” Bair
shouted. “You’ve got the bridge Matt, I’m going aft to see how bad
it is.” The captain of the
Rachel B
. dashed out the rear
hatch and scrambled down the back stairs. Twice he had to stop and
hold onto the railings as the tug lurched again and rolled hard to
port in the heavy seas. At last he was on the main deck and ready
to go outside.

“What took you so long?” Al Painter, the ship’s
engineer said, with a crooked smile. Painter was on the low side of
his 50’s with a narrow face that was always wearing a smile. He had
nearly as many years at sea as his captain but was getting ready to
retire to his gentleman’s ranch, as he liked to call it, in Oregon.
Rather than the grand scale of ribbons of white wooden fences
surrounding his palatial estate, his gentlemen’s ranch was more
along the lines of ten acres, a large barn and a couple of
horses.

Both men were looking at the winch assembly out
the porthole on the stern door hatch when it was smothered and
disappeared as a three-foot high wall of water washed across the
deck.

“You really want to go out there?” Painter
asked.

Bair shook his head. “No, but I don’t think we
have a choice. I think the soft brake is gone and we have to see if
we can fix it.”

“I’ll tell you exactly what’s wrong. That!”
Painter said, point out the porthole. In the distance between the
washes of spray and the low, swirling clouds, they could see the
bulky outline of the iceberg. “We don’t have the right kind of foul
weather gear to be towing that thing in a storm like this. That
giant ice cube out there is going to rip our stern off if we’re not
careful.”

“That’s why I have you Scotty.”

Painter frowned, he hated it when Bair compared
him to the miracle working engineer from
Star Trek
. Bair
reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet then flipped
it open. “Beam me up, there’s no intelligent life here.” Both men
laughed.

Painter sighed. “The teeth of the slip gears
have probably been torn off by the sheer weight of that brute out
there.”

“Can you fix it?”

Painter smiled. “Why do you think they call me
the miracle worker?”

Ten minutes later both men were standing by the
hatch with their survival suits on.

“Are you ready for this?” Bair asked.

“No, but let’s go anyway.” Painter picked up his
tool bag as Bair placed one hand on the handle and looked at
Painter, who gave him a tentative nod. Timing between the pitching
swells, Bair opened the door and both men quickly stepped out and
snapped themselves to the safety line.

Stepping from the relative calm of the cabin
onto the deck was like moving from sanity and plunging into chaos.
Sensing their presence, the wind swirled and howled around them
like an angry banshee chasing its tail. The ocean, not to be
outdone, assaulted the two men, alternating between pelting them
with spray that felt like it was fired from a shotgun to rolls of
water that pounded at their legs like a linebacker sacking a
quarterback.

Driven by purpose, they ignored the raging
elements as best they could as they carefully inched their way
along the deckhouse toward the winch on the stern of the tug.
Suddenly, the
Rachel B
. was slammed on her starboard side by
a massive wave that pushed the stout vessel hard over to port. The
men quickly found themselves submerged up to their waists in
foaming, freezing water and watched as the port side of the tug was
engulfed in water.

Gripping tightly to the rail, Bair stayed on his
feet. As the swirling waters subsided, he stole a quick glance back
to make sure his engineer was all right. He saw Painter wearing a
grim smile on his face, then heard him shout above the wind, “This
is fun.” Bair just shook his head then turned back around.

They finally reached the end of the deckhouse
where they faced the most dangerous part of their trip: crossing
the twenty feet of open deck to reach the winch.

“I’ll go first.” Bair shouted above the roar of
the wind. “When I signal, you run to me as fast as you can.”

“No argument there,” Painter replied.

Bair stood like a statue staring at the ocean,
reading, interpreting, looking for a sign of when he could cross.
After nearly a minute of waiting, Painter was just about to ask his
captain if he had fallen asleep, when suddenly Bair sprinted across
a level deck and easily made it to the winch.

Now it was Painter’s turn as he waited at the
corner of the deckhouse staring intently at his captain, like a
base runner looking for his coach’s signal to steal second base.
After only twenty seconds, Bair gave the signal and Painter dashed
to second base, minus the slide.

Bair’s relief at the two of them making it
safely across the open deck was short lived as he looked forward
and shuddered, seeing a massive wall of water looming in front of
them.

“Hang on!” He managed to shout just as the bow
of the tug dipped down into the trough. The
Rachel B.
plunged into the base of the wave, then clawed up the other side
and pushed her way through the wave halfway up. The bow split the
swell in half, sending rivers of water running down both sides of
the superstructure.

Bair looped his arm around the winch housing
just before the water swept his feet out from under him. He felt
his shoulder pop from the strain but managed to keep his grip. “Al,
you okay?” He shouted as he spit out a mouth full of water. When he
didn’t hear a ready answer from his engineer, he desperately looked
around, only to find an empty deck. “Al!” he shouted as
helplessness washed over him as real as any storm wave.

“What’s all the shouting about?” Painter said,
stepping out from behind the winch.

“I thought you were washed overboard.” He
replied, his knees suddenly feeling weak from the relief. “That
wave nearly got me.”

“When I saw the wave, I moved in behind the
winch for protection. Us engineers are smart that way.” He
smiled.

“Yeah, how smart are you going to be when I have
you inspect the bilges.” Bair shot back. “I’m going to check the
deck bolts on the winch to see if there’s any damage there. Get
that access panel off and let’s find out if the soft break can be
fixed.”