Sabotage (11 page)

“What do you do if a vessel shows up unidentified?” Rove asked.

Selvaggio jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Stay far, far away.”

Kent chuckled as the captain meandered over to a device in a corner of the room, an object with a series of concentric rings on a pedestal.

“Here's one of the ship's most sophisticated pieces of equipment, the gyro compass. A spinning disc rotating in azimuth ensures that the compass needle always points to a location in space directly above the Earth's meridian. The compass seldom exceeds a single degree in error. In case of gyro failures, we also have backup magnetic compasses.

“While the compass aids helmsmen with bearings, most of the ship's navigation happens through auto-steering. We can preprogram waypoints into the system, plug in our desired arrival time, and the internal programming directs the ship according to our specifications, stopping at each waypoint.

“In a sense, the autopilot has its own intelligence. It adapts to weather, sensing how storms, winds, currents, or choppy seas affect cruising. Sensors relay the information to the central system, which compensates by adjusting rudders. If we plug in a waypoint but a storm interferes, autopilot computes our drift and the corresponding required rudder correction, sending a signal to the vessel's steering motors. The bridge team can monitor any of this, since the console indicates rudder angles.”

Selvaggio beckoned their small group to one of the wings of the bridge. They came close to the window, standing on a ledge protruding over water. “In the side wings here, we can observe the ship lengthwise, making our job easier when we intend to pull into port or, when maneuvering a ship that can fit, pass through the Panama Canal. For angular control, we can adjust the side propellers to spin in opposite directions. Funny thing about that. I park a floating city for a living, yet my wife won't let me drive our car into the garage because I scrape the paint.”

Fawkes sniggered.

“Now if you'll focus your attention here, this monitor shows the depth of the ship, and by live video feed, the keel. It's important to keep close watch on those, particularly when entering shallow ports. Scraping the bottom would be a bit more costly than a new paint job on a car.”

“I'm stonkered,” Fawkes said. “It doesn't make sense they'd be in the bridge. Depth monitors should be placed in the galley.”

“Oh?” Selvaggio said.

“It's a simple study of variable weight. The biggest cause of mass fluctuation stems from the kitchen. Chefs prepare food, which passengers eat, making the ship heavier.”

“A very astute observation, Mr. Fawkes.” The captain played along. “Would you care to venture a guess as to our maximum food capacity?”

“It would be a shot in the dark.”

“Four hundred tons.”

“Then I raise a valid point,” Fawkes said.

Rove asked, “What's your most difficult port of entry?”

“Fjords are often dicey; Oslo can be a challenge. Under windy conditions, I personally find navigating the narrow channel into Saint Petersburg the most difficult. But nothing is ever too bad. I grew up in Sicily. Watching the ships sail by the island, I knew the ocean was my life. I always wanted to be a sailor. Naturally, I started small, working on tugboats and schooners before moving to larger ships. There's no preparation like experience, yet I had it easy compared to the new generation of officers. Cruise lines place rookies through intense training simulators before they ever set foot on the bridge.

“If you were wondering about safety onboard the
Pearl Enchantress,
I should mention that one of the most interesting aspects of our ship's safety protocol is our method of responding to fire. The ship contains 6,500 smoke and heat detectors, one in each stateroom, as well as 800 call points. Our Hi-Fog System provides 14,000 sprayers, which extinguish fires by injecting dense, highly pressurized water into the air, thereby reducing oxygen levels to squelch flames but still allowing people to breathe should they tread in an area of fire. Think of them as advanced sprinkler heads. This network of foggers supplements the 824 water, power, foam, and carbon dioxide fire extinguishers onboard. We have a total of 635 fire hoses—that's eight miles in length—and almost 900 fire doors. Drenchers stand at the ready to douse fires on any balcony. Fire doors, both sliding and hinged, assist in containment.”

“And if you have a fire in the engine room?” Rove queried.

“Cylinders containing halon occupy machinery space, electrical substations, galley hoods, and ducts.”

Fawkes said, “In other words, there's a snowball's chance in hell of a fire on this cruise ship.”

“To put it mildly. So what about flooding? Watertight doors and cross-sectional dividers prevent flow from one side of the ship to the other. Then you ask, what if we're slow to shut the doors? What if crew members don't recognize the disaster until too late? Have a look. This computer receives live data from our smoke and heat detectors. We can hone in on any one of thousands.” He jiggled a mouse and in a series of clicks called up the penthouse. “Here's your stateroom. If a problem came up, a red light would blink in the exact location of the threat, instantly alerting us. Looks like your stateroom is safe and sound.

“Should the need to abandon ship arise, a near impossibility, our lifeboats, tenders, and other rescue vessels would carry passengers to safety. A marine evacuation system drops inflatable rafts, which float alongside the ship. The rafts alone, not counting lifeboats, are enough to float eighteen hundred people.”

“Have you ever needed to deploy lifeboats?” Rove asked.

“Never in my career. Several years ago, I captained a ship that caught fire in one of the live theaters. The company should never have allowed pyrotechnics aboard a ship. Anyway, personnel didn't even require an audience evacuation before gaining control over the flames. A minor incident, and the worst I've encountered.”

“You're lucky. Have you ever encountered pirates?”

“Pirates are generally more interested in seizing merchant ships than cruise liners. They want cargo. But even if they did try to hijack a ship, our helo deck is equipped with a high-power parabolic sound reflector, a long-range acoustic device or ‘sonic gun.' If we sensed a threat, we could aim it at any oncoming craft. No one outside the target line would feel anything abnormal, but the pirates would hear a piercing shriek. The deafening sound, calibrated to match the resonant frequency of the human skull, would cause the bone in their heads to rattle in a most painful way. If they continued pursuit, the amplified sound waves would eventually split their eardrums and cause disorientation.”

Rove nodded. “The Coast Guard and Navy use the same technology, often for a different purpose. Handheld sound reflectors have helped us communicate on deck when machinery noise gets loud.”

“It's an ingenious tool, but Pearl Voyages has never encountered any hostile vessels. To date, no reason to use the reflector. But I've heard stories from friends at other cruise lines. For instance, before buying out Pearl Voyages, our competitor at the time had a ship touring the Hawaiian Islands when a group of eco-terrorists in a speedboat threatened to fire shotgun shells into the ship's hull. The fanatics were protesting the pollution caused by large vessels. This happened to the company Sapphire Pacific, who now owns Pearl Voyages.”

“I wasn't aware Pearl Voyages had been sold.”

“Happened four years ago, against the wishes of Clifford Pearl. Since they started capturing market share, he'd been obsessed with beating them. Sapphire Pacific made attempts to acquire Pearl Voyages as early as the eighties. Our board of directors wanted it to happen. Pearl was so stubborn on the issue—said they'd ruin the reputation he'd built—that he was finally ousted. Not much changed. Anyway, Sapphire Pacific's ship, the
Meridian Maiden,
focused the parabolic sound dish toward the approaching speedboat. It wasn't long before the environmentalists veered away.

“Another event happened five years ago, when a madman flying a seaplane came frighteningly close to my Alaska cruiser. Loungers on the sundeck reported seeing a passenger curled into a ball, poised to somersault out and land in our ship's pool. Thank goodness he never jumped. Imagine cleaning up that mess.”

“Poor soul didn't realize there's no such thing as a free buffet,” Fawkes said.

“How did you handle the plane?” Rove asked.

“We barely had time to react. The plane came out of nowhere, climbing over the hill of a tiny Alaskan islet. By the time we noticed, the seaplane was practically scraping our mast. Under normal circumstances, if we can see the oncoming planes in advance, we notify the military. We're prepared to respond to anything. And there's a near-zero probability we'd even need to.” Selvaggio paced back to the center of the room and clapped an Able Seaman's shoulders. “You rest in capable hands, friends. Our bridge team trains diligently to earn the honor of serving here.”

“Aside from simulators, how do deck officers train?” Rove asked. “Do they still study celestial navigation?”

Selvaggio looked entertained. “Tell me, is the Coast Guard stuck in the age of Columbus? I suppose next you'll ask whether we teach recruits to read sextants. We store star charts for good measure, but I doubt the modern training mandates learning to read them. Advanced GPS has rendered celestial navigation obsolete. To be fair, all senior officers onboard know how to read the charts. It's the new generation who rely almost entirely on global positioning satellites and electronic charting.”

Adjusting his spectacles, Fawkes approached the navigation console and ogled the main joystick, a stub no larger than a pen cap. “It's hard to believe this floating colossus bends at the will of a twig.”

“You get used to it.”

Fawkes piped in again, with a look that boded wit. “Imagine the navigational nightmare if every passenger stood on one side of the ship. We'd sail in circles.”

“Not if we threw them overboard,” Kent said, his intended comedy lost in the grimness of his expression.

Selvaggio said, “In all seriousness, it wouldn't make a difference if a parade of elephants mobbed one side of the ship. Stabilizers keep us level, and the mass of fuel and water onboard far outweighs our passengers, even after they've gone to the buffet.”

“What about power?” asked Rove. “How big are your generators?”

“Large enough to power a city of sixty thousand people. I would take you to the engine room to show you firsthand with the chief technical officer, but I'm afraid that's no longer allowed for safety reasons. I doubt you'd want to go down there anyway. It feels more like a jail than a cruise ship. No passenger ever goes below deck four.”

“I don't imagine you find any plush carpets down there.”

“Up here, it's nice. I can't complain about my work. Twenty-four-hour food, a private swimming pool for crew.”

“And a postcard view of the sea.”

“We do enjoy a remarkable view,” Selvaggio said. “Thirteen nautical miles to the horizon from deck fourteen. At any rate, I've gotten carried away. You've heard nothing but numbers for the past half hour. Could I interest either of you in a cigar? Nothing like lighting up at the bow.”

Rove said, “Maybe after dinner.”

“Ah, yes. You must be famished. Our private dining room in the Venetian Mask restaurant awaits. Shall we?”

Fawkes asked, “Dare I ask what Chef Greco has prepared?”

“Stuffed lobster tails, Mr. Fawkes.”

The steward pinched his fingers together, kissed them, then threw them open.

“Aragosta, ma certo
.
”

 

NINE

Austin's bike skidded to a halt in front of Stanford's largest dormitory. Located between a small forested area and a lake, Roble Hall felt secluded despite its central location. He jogged up the steps and peered inside to find Victoria waiting in the lounge. Hearing his knock, she answered.

Unshielded by her aviators, the aquamarine of her irises reflected a deeper sapphire when shadows darkened them, shocking against her black hair and delicate golden tan. Catching their glints, Austin felt like a patron admiring stones in a jewelry display. He sensed an iron will and a voracious lust for living.

A nightgown of silk chiffon with ivory lacing outlined a svelte figure of six feet, one with hips that swayed ever so slightly, gracefully, as she walked. The arch of her back held an immovable shoulder line. He'd seen many slender bodies in the student population, but few as lithe or lofty. Her standing height took him by surprise.

Austin had expected the same glacial remoteness from her. It wasn't melted butter, but her voice carried more warmth than he had hoped for.

“I'm ready to listen,” she said. “Come in. We had a bad start.”

“I laid into you like an interrogator. Could have shown a little more tact.”

“I could have listened.”

“Don't blame you for your reluctance. Frankly, I was curious to meet the daughter of a genius. You know, to see if she had giant glasses, red freckles, and buckteeth.”

“The verdict?”

“It was hard to say at the time. You did have giant glasses, which could have been hiding the red freckles, and I didn't know if you had buckteeth because you never turned my way.”

“Very entertaining.”

Smells of burned popcorn and microwaveable pizza accosted him when he entered the lounge, as did the noise. Undergraduates crowded around a high-definition television, spellbound by their movie, watching as a torpedo closed in on a submarine on-screen. “We have no more decoys!” a panicked crewman, sweat rolling down his cheeks, was shouting over an epic soundtrack. “What do we do now?” The scene cut back to the cigar-shaped missile only meters from its target. “Now?” came a relaxed German voice. “Now, we die.” Water burst through the bulkhead. A chorus of cheers erupted when the villains' vessel was no more.