Noah's Ark: Encounters (10 page)

Ten

J
AKE
SLEPT
FITFULLY
. The prospect of meeting other survivors made it hard to relax. His mind played out different scenarios, and half the time he didn’t know if he was dreaming or not. He was also plagued by images of Stieg, and repeatedly saw him drowning, crying out for help as he was swept away by a turbulent swell.

By 5:30 he was wide awake, soaked in sweat, and too on edge to consider sleeping again. He got out of bed as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb Lucya, but she opened her eyes and looked right at him as soon as his feet hit the floor.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Not really,” he said. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep either. Too much to think about.” She whispered the words, conscious of the sleeping child and the thin walls.

“It’s a big day. An important day. We could learn a lot.”

“Or be very disappointed.”

He shrugged. “I’m going to take the early shift. Do you mind sorting Erica out this morning?”

“Of course not. You should be on the bridge.”

Jake took a quick shower, rinsing away the sweat and the bad dreams. He put on his best uniform. With power and therefore an endless supply of clean desalinated water, the ship’s laundry was still running. Detergent was rationed though, and most clothing was washed without soap of any kind. Instead, tennis balls were added to the huge machines. He’d been told that the effect was the same, the balls beat the dirt and grease out of the clothing, but it didn’t feel the same to him. If he was meeting survivors, he wanted to look his best.

When he arrived on the bridge, it was brilliantly lit by a rare glimpse of the rising sun, shining through a break in the swirling grey cloud and streaming through the rear-facing windows. It was moments like this, with the light reflecting off the flat, calm ocean and sending tiny stars of sparkling light dancing across the ceiling, that he felt he could accept his job. He knew he was never a sailor, not really, but in these occasional instants of beauty and tranquillity, he could understand his father’s love of the sea.

“Good morning, Captain.” McNair pulled his feet off a console and stood to greet him.

“Morning. So?” He didn’t need to elaborate.

“Our friends maintained a steady speed throughout the night, and we are steadily catching them. Another three to three and a half hours and we’ll be with them.”

Jake walked to the windows at the front of the room. He could see nothing except a vast expanse of ocean disappearing over the horizon. “Still nothing on the radio?”

“No. Dead as a dodo. The
Ambush
has been trying to hail them on all common frequencies, and Officer Levin’s distress beacon broadcasts round the clock. Neither her automated radio scans nor those of the submarine are picking up anything at all.”

Jake picked up a pair of binoculars and swept the horizon. “Weird. Are they ignoring us?”

“Perhaps they can’t respond.”

“How so?”

“If there’s nobody on board. If they’re incapacitated. If their communications system is down. Or, maybe they’re ignoring us.”

Jake put down the field glasses. They didn’t help; they were too far away to catch sight of their target. He wandered over to the captain’s chair and sat down, perched on the edge. “So we still don’t know who they might be.”

“Actually, we might have a bit of a lead. Now we’re closer, the
Ambush
’s sonar has been able to take a much more detailed look at her.”

“And?”

“And…” McNair glanced around, found a clipboard and started to read from it. “She’s sixty metres in length, with a beam of eleven metres, although that’s just what’s in the water. She could be a little wider at deck level. She has one stern thruster and is travelling at eight knots. From the vibrations she’s putting out, she has a single engine, diesel.”

“They can tell all that from sonar?”

“Oh yes.”

“Still, that doesn’t tell us where it came from, or who’s on board.”

“True. But from the dimensions, they ran a search in their vessel-identification database.”

Jake looked at McNair sideways on. “You’re going to tell me they can identify her from just that information?”

McNair chuckled, and dropped the clipboard back onto the console. “No, they can’t. But only because her dimensions are common. They came up with a few hundred possible matches. Taking into account our location, they can discount more than half of those as being too far away. Even so, that’s a lot of possible ships.”

“You really have a database that lists every ship in the world?”

“Every registered vessel, yes. If she’s not registered — a smugglers’ ship, or pirates for example — then we might not know about her. Although we do hold records on most unregistered pirate ships.”

“How…Where does all this information come from?” Jake scratched the back of his head, and sat down again.

“Friendly governments share their registration data.”

“And unfriendly ones?”

“That’s what you have security services for, to source that kind of intelligence.” McNair grinned. “Anyway, what it comes down to is that she’s most likely a large fishing vessel, a research ship, or a patrol boat — police or navy.”

“Wow. You lot never cease to amaze me.” Jake stared out to sea again. He hoped it wasn’t a fishing boat they would find. The irony of losing Stieg to find more fishermen would be too cruel.

• • •

Grace Garet had also had trouble sleeping, although not entirely for the same reasons. Certainly the prospect of meeting other survivors held excitement for her, but she was preoccupied with the Moran case.

She had been convinced that something untoward was going on, that someone was claiming their rations despite their absence. And yet, there was Mrs Moran herself, collecting dinner. Grace was a naturally suspicious person, she believed it stood her in good stead as a detective, and so she had challenged Mrs Moran when she had handed over her ration slip. The poor old lady had been quite taken aback, and became somewhat flustered as Grace had demanded she prove who she was. Even Grace had to admit that carrying a means of formal identification was not something anybody thought about now. With such a tiny population, and with no particular benefit to be had from impersonating someone else, there was simply no need. Even so, she had insisted, and Mrs Moran had searched her handbag and found, to her relief, that she had been carrying her passport. The document proved conclusively that Mrs Claire Moran was who she said she was. The passport had been renewed shortly before the cruise, and the photograph inside left no room for doubt.

Grace had turned the events over in her mind for much of the night. Something about the situation just felt wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. At five o’clock she got out of bed and started writing up her notes. Max had insisted on a full written report. “If you want to be a detective, you can do the work of a detective,” he had said. “And that includes the paperwork.”

She had an hour to kill before she had to be ready to report for duty. Max had called an early meeting of the whole team. Tensions were sure to be running high on the ship as they approached and contacted the new vessel. Security would have an important role to play.

• • •

The calculations and predictions proved to be accurate. At nine o’clock, the new ship was within sight.

“Captain, HMS
Ambush
reports they are surfacing.” Lucya relayed the message from her position at the communications station. “Coote wants to talk to you.”

“Put him on the speaker.”

She punched some buttons, and the submarine captain’s voice boomed out, heard by the full complement of officers on the bridge.

“Good morning,
Arcadia
. Coote here! We’re coming up for some fresh air, and to get a better look at our new friends.”

“Morning, Coote.” Jake was standing at the front window, binoculars in hand once more. “Any luck on narrowing down the vessel type?”

“Young Eagle-eyes is on the case as we speak, old boy. We’ve got excellent visuals. Stand by…”

There was a tense silence as everyone waited for Coote to report back.

“I believe we have a name. She’s called
Lance
. Ralf is looking her up now.”

“She’s bigger than I expected,” Jake said. “Taller. And she’s blue. Erica will be pleased.”

“Sorry? Ah, here we are.
Lance
: research vessel, operated by the Norwegian Polar Institute. Also served as a coastguard vessel in the Barents Sea.”

Lucya looked up from her console. “Yes! That’s why I know the name. I’ve seen her before, when I was patrolling the Barents. We suspected her of spying, but could never prove anything. She had some very advanced sonar equipment on board.”

“Indeed!” Coote bellowed. “According to our information she has two wet labs, two further labs, a rather fancy echo sounder — capable of detecting a single fish at kilometre range — some split beam transducers, and a highly advanced sonar. Eagle-eyes is getting quite excited, although I must admit it’s mostly gobbledygook to me. Let’s see…winches, motion sensors, a veritable floating research centre.”

“All very impressive,” Jake said, putting down his binoculars and returning to his chair. “But do we know if there’s anyone on board?”

“Well, they appear to have stopped, which is unsurprising as they must now be able to see us. So I would say yes, there is. We are trying to detect the presence of any heat signatures with our infrared sensors, but we are still a bit too far away to get an accurate measure. Now, the main reason for my call. I suggest myself and some submariners make the initial approach. You know how I feel about this from the rafts we’ve picked up. Never know how the chaps might react.”

“I agree. But I’d like to be with you. As captain, and as chairman of the committee, it’s my duty.”

“Of course, old chap. In that case, I’ll see you on the
Ambush
as soon as the ramp is in place.”

The speaker went dead, the conversation over.

“Jake, are you sure you want to go?” Lucya looked worried. “Shouldn’t we leave it to the professionals?”

“If a bunch of gun-toting navy men turn up, it’s going to look pretty hostile to whoever is on that ship. Someone needs to be the friendly face of the community. Chuck, you have the helm. The
Ambush
will talk you in, slow and steady as we get closer.”

Chuck nodded once.

“Dave, keep a good lookout. With all eyes on the
Lance
, someone needs to be making sure we don’t run into anything else. Lucya, you’re in charge until I get back.”

Jake took a look around at his skeleton crew. It was a great relief to him that he could have such confidence in them. He walked towards the door, but Lucya called after him.

“Before you go! I’ve got Silvia on the phone. She says she has something important to show you.”

“Tell her I’ll see her on my way down.”

• • •

Silvia Brook’s office was, as usual, a hive of activity. The hotel manager, previously responsible for all non-sailing personnel on board, now had the task of overseeing all the teams and accommodation. The workload was enormous and she had taken on two assistants to help her. As new teams were created, personnel were sourced from the crew and passenger list, jobs were handed out, and cabins were sometimes reassigned if the position warranted it. The aim was to get almost everyone working in some capacity or other.

Despite the imminent encounter with the
Lance
, it was business as usual for Silvia. She and her assistants were building up the recycling team. With finite resources on board, and with waste mounting up, it had become a priority. They had found a materials expert to lead the new group, and with his help they were working through the census data to find suitable team members.

“Ah, Jake. Glad you could come. I thought you should see this.” Silvia handed him a page of paper the moment he was through the door.

He took the sheet and began to read, his eyes scanning the handwritten text, stumbling on some of the more scrawled words.

“Oh, I see. Vicky Mitchell’s census form.”

“Yes. Keep reading.”

“Thirty-one years old, married, degree in marine biology? That could be useful.” He lowered the paper and raised his head, looking towards the ceiling. “Stieg…before he…he was talking about an idea he had for farming fish in the swimming pools, so we wouldn’t be reliant on what we could catch. No idea if it was feasible, but it sounds like Mrs Mitchell would be an ideal candidate to lead such a project, or at least investigate its viability.”

“Good idea,” Silvia said, looking at her watch. “Keep reading.”

“Hobbies…interests…favourite books…liked to work out before she was pregnant…oh!” He looked up, a big grin on his face. “Her mother was Korean. She speaks fluent Korean!”

• • •

Capturing and greeting life rafts had become something of a speciality for Jake, Coote, and submariners Ewan and Eric. Meeting the
Lance
was a different affair altogether. They were joined on the conning tower of the
Ambush
by submariner Brian Thomas.

They made their approach from the
Lance
’s starboard side, with the
Ambush
sandwiched between her and the
Spirit of Arcadia
. The
Lance
had, as Coote suggested, cut her engine, but she had not dropped anchor and drifted freely.

“That is one weird-looking boat,” observed Eric as they closed from behind.

The five of them stared up at her. The rear end was dominated by what appeared to be a huge white scaffold. Four towers supported a platform that was as wide as the ship, and as high as the roof of her central section, which incorporated much of the accommodation as well as the bridge. The front third of the vessel was empty save for a tall A-frame winch support, the highest structure on board. The combination of the scaffold and the midship section gave her an unbalanced appearance, as if she should tip up on her back, sending her bows rearing out of the water.

“A helipad,” Ewan said, pointing to the surface atop the scaffolding. “Not much use now. Don’t suppose there are any helicopters left anywhere.”