Sea of Terror (16 page)

Unfortunately, the weather was gray and somewhat cool... not cold, but not exactly bikini weather, either, and Harper hadn't showed up. Doherty and Petrovich had waited there for twenty minutes and had just decided to give up and go inside.

"So?" Petrovich said. "We're changing course. Ships do that."

"No ... I mean we're going the wrong way."

"What, are you the ship's captain?"

"No, jackass. Look."

He pointed aft, past the loom of the ship's smokestack. The Queen's wake curved off toward the left.

"So?"

"Don't you get it? We're headed west, out of the English Channel. From here, we're supposed to turn south-- that's toward the left, okay? Why are we turning right?" He frowned, concentrating. "I think we're speeding up, too. Feel the engines?"

"No."

"Then look at that spray, forward. We're hitting the waves harder, now."

"Look, I'm getting cold," Petrovich said. "Let's go in and get some coffee."

"No," Doherty said. "Stay put. I have a feeling"

"You had a feeling with the police and ambulance at the dock yesterday."

"Damn it, this is different." He could feel it in his bones.

Bridge, Pacific Sandpiper 49deg 21' N, 8deg 13' W Saturday, 0837 hours GMT

The Sandpiper was slowing perceptibly but very gradually as her engines pounded in full reverse. Captain Jorgenson had stood up from his chair and now leaned against the bridge forward console, peering out over the scene of destruction ahead.

"Helm!" he snapped. "Come left two points."

"Come left two points, aye, aye, sir," the helmsman replied, turning the wheel.

Jorgenson kept studying the route ahead, judging wave action, wind, and the Sandpiper's own staggering inertia and momentum. Maneuverable for her tonnage she might be, but the huge vessel still couldn't stop on the proverbial dime. The last thing Jorgenson could afford now was to ram the sinking warship ahead, or become entangled in the mass of floating wreckage surrounding her, or come so close aboard that further explosions or munitions detonations damaged his command. By shearing off two points, he ensured that they would keep the Ishikari well to starboard yet still be close enough to rescue men in the water.

"Mr. Dunsmore," he said.

"Sir!"

"Put the Cat into the water. Put three volunteers on board. Have them start getting those people out of the water."

"Yes, sir." The exec reached for a telephone handset and punched out a number. "Should we arm her?"

"The Cat" was a twenty-foot, highspeed powerboat stored in an ingenious launch tube over the Sandpiper's stern. The boat could be armed with a machine gun, at need, and was intended as a small auxiliary unit in case the Sandpiper was attacked by pirates.

"No, Number One," Jorgenson said after a brief hesitation. Breaking out a weapon and ammunition would take precious time, time those men in the water didn't have.

There could be no possible reason to arm a rescue craft.

"Captain Jorgenson!" a voice called from the radio shack.

"Yes, Sparks?"

Robert Orly, the ship's chief communications technician, leaned out of the radio room door. "Sir, we have acknowledgments of our SOS. Campbeltown has asked if we need SAR assistance. The Atlantis Queen reports that she has changed course and is on her way to assist. ETA ... about one hour, forty-five minutes. We also have an acknowledgment from that ALAT helicopter. They say they're on the way as well."

"Very well." Jorgenson wondered what kind of helicopter the ALAT contact might be. It was over a hundred miles from the Sandpiper's position, and the Sandpiper was a good 175 miles from Brest, the nearest fair-sized French city. Helicopters weren't known for their long range.

Well, if necessary, the Sandpiper could provide plenty of deck space forward if the French helicopter ran low on fuel and needed to set down. And a helicopter would be invaluable in a search for survivors.

"What's the ETA on the helicopter, Sparks?"

"Forty minutes, sir. Maybe a bit less, depending on headwinds."

"Very well. Let them know their assistance is appreciated, and that we can provide a landing platform should they run low on fuel."

"Yes, sir. What should I tell Campbeltown?

Jorgenson considered the question. The British frigate had left the convoy four hours ago but hadn't been going at flank. If her skipper cranked her up to top speed-- thirty knots--they'd be back here in a bit over two hours.

And the Campbeltown was a warship, with very little free space on board for survivors off the Ishikari. The only reason to bring her back would be if there was a threat--a military threat--to the Sandpiper The Campbeltown would be of little help in a rescue operation.

"Tell her thanks, but we have the Atlantis Queen on the way." The Queen would have tons of space on board, not to mention a large and modern infirmary for the injured. "Tell her we may need her as an escort later."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

"And radio Barrow and let them know what's going on."

"Right away, sir."

Jorgenson began going over everything in his mind again. Had he missed anything? Other ships and aircraft would be on the scene within a couple of hours or so. In the meantime, a French helicopter and a British cruise ship would be able to provide all of the search-and-rescue support necessary.

The sinking escort was less than four hundred yards off the port bow, now, and drawing very slowly closer.

Chapter 9

North Atlantic Ocean 49deg 2V N, 8deg 13' W Saturday, 0850 hours GMT

inui was swimming slowly out from the sinking ship, going nowhere in particular except away from the flames. If he was going to die, he preferred drowning to being roasted alive in the inferno behind him.

His life jacket kept him afloat. For perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes, now, he'd been considering removing the jacket and allowing himself to sink, to accept a relatively quick and merciful death, but his orders, his omi, his duty to those above him, kept him moving. His orders were to allow himself to be picked up by the Pacific Sandpiper if possible, to join the KKD activists already on board and assist them with the hijacking.

The problem was, he couldn't see the Sandpiper now, even when the ocean swell carried him to the top. Smoke and flame blanketed the sky, his eyes burned with fuel oil, and all he could really see besides the smoke was water.

And then a hand grabbed the back of his life jacket. He spun, lashing out.

"Easy, Inuisan! It's me!" a familiar voice said in Japanese. It was Yano, and he was in the now-inflated life raft, leaning over the side to haul Inui on board.

Weakly he turned and tried to climb into the raft, a task that would have been frankly impossible without Yano's help. He landed in the bottom, panting hard. "It is . .. good to see you! You found the raft!"

"It hit the water not far from me, and opened automatically," Yano told him. "I had to shoot another man in the water who tried to climb on as well."

Inui nodded, then managed to sit up. He was only a little higher above the surface, now, but as the raft rode another passing swell he could see the Sandpiper, beyond the sinking Ishikari and partly obscured by smoke. "We'll have to paddle that way," he said, indicating a direction well away from the Sandpiper, "so we can stay clear of the Ishikari."

"Yes. And quickly. The ship is going down swiftly, and we don't want to be caught in the back-current!"

There were two folding plastic paddles stowed inside the emergency rafts. Yano had broken out one to begin his search for Inui. Inui unshipped the other and assembled it, and together the two men began paddling a^way from the dying ship.

Deck Twelve Terrace, Atlantis Queen 49deg 21' N, 8deg 13' W

Saturday, 0852 hours GMT

"This is nuts," James Petrovich said. He looked at his watch. "Can we go back inside yet? Please?

For fifteen minutes now, or a bit more, the Atlantis Queen had been bounding ahead on her new course.

"What's the matter?" Fred Doherty said, grinning. "Cold?"

"As a matter of fact, yes!" Petrovich plucked at the T-shirt he was wearing. "I'm not exactly dressed for this!"

"We're going somewhere in one hell of a hurry," Doherty said. "You know, I think we should go see if Sandra's up.

Maybe we can talk to the captain, see what's going on. Maybe even set up an interview."

"Anything, man, if it means getting out of this wind!"

Doherty shook his head. "You kids, these days. You have it too soft."

"Okay. I. .. what the hell?"

Doherty was looking aft, past the ship's smokestack. An aircraft was approaching from astern.

"What?"

Doherty pointed. "Helicopter. What's it doing way the hell and gone out here?"

Petrovich shrugged. "C'mon! We're not exactly at the ends of the earth. We're, what? A hundred, a hundred fifty miles from shore, maybe?"

"That's a long way for most helicopters. Quick! Get a shot!"

Petrovich perched his camera on his shoulder and panned back and forth, peering at his viewfinder screen as he tried to pick up the approaching helicopter. "Got him!" The cameraman pressed the roll button and began filming.

"And there he goes!" Doherty said. "Jesus, that guy is booking!"

The helicopter passed up the starboard side of the Atlantis Queen, less than a hundred yards away and apparently on exactly the same heading as the cruise ship. Doherty didn't recognize the helicopter's type, but it was big, with a high-up engine mount and a pair of large air intakes to either side, the type of helicopter used for transporting cargo or passengers rather than a military gunship. It had French markings, but so far as he could tell it looked like a civil aircraft, rather than military.

It was close enough that he could glimpse several people on board, looking back at him through portholes in the aircraft's body.

Not military, not coast guard ... or whatever organization served as a coast guard for France. Doherty was curious. He wondered what the range of that type of helicopter was, and what the hell it was doing this far out in the Atlantic Ocean.

As quickly as it had appeared, the aircraft roared off toward the northwestern horizon at a speed Doherty guessed was well over 150 miles an hour. Petrovich panned with its passing, staying on it as it dwindled to a speck and vanished. "Got it," he said.

"Let's find the captain ... or a ship's officer and see what's going on."

"Another one of your hunches."

"Okay, okay, the thing at the dock yesterday didn't pan out so well. Forget that. I have a feeling about this one."

They hadn't been able to see much of anything from the Promenade Deck yesterday--just emergency vehicles and a lot of British cops. Yellow crime scene tape had been strung around the perimeter, and no one had been willing to talk to the news team. They'd tried several more times to invoke privilege of the press in order to reach the scene and question people, but each time polite but firm soldiers or Ship's Security officers had turned them back.

"That's what you always say. You need to stick with the program, man. Spoiled rich rock stars and actresses, that's the ticket."

A loud, two-tone chime sounded from a nearby speaker mounted above the entrance to the Atlantean Grotto. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Cruise Director," a woman's sultry voice announced. "May I have your attention, please?"

"Uh-oh," Doherty said. "This'll tell us something."

"Captain Phillips has asked me to tell you that the Atlantis Queen has changed course to give aid to a ship in distress at sea. The ship is on fire and possibly sinking about twenty-five miles ahead of us, and we should reach her within the next hour and fifteen minutes, or so, where we will render what aid we can until rescue vessels can arrive.

"The captain asks me to tell you that this rescue will not delay our voyage. We can easily make up any lost time in our passage south to Gibraltar. He does ask, however, that passengers refrain from using the Promenade-- that's the outside area on the Aphrodite Deck, also known as Deck Three--until further notice. Ship's personnel may be bringing survivors on board onto the Promenade Deck, and we may also be lowering the vessel's lifeboats to help with rescue operations.

"The captain also requests that any passenger on board with medical experience--especially people with EMT or emergency room training, as well as doctors and nurses-- please identify yourselves to a ship's steward or ship's officer if you wish to be of assistance. The ship's medical staff would appreciate any volunteer help available.

"We trust that this incident will not offer any inconvenience or discomfort to our passengers, but by the ancient and sacred law of the high seas, any ship at sea is required to give aid to any other ship in distress. The crew and staff of the Atlantis Queen wish to thank you for your patience and for your understanding. That is all."

"Wow!" Fred Doherty said. "You hear that? What'd I tell you! What did I tell you?"

"You smell a hot news story."

"Hot? Hell, yeah! The Titanicl The Lusitanial The Andrea Dorial This could be real big, and we're in exactly the right place to catch it all! Interviews! Hot news footage! Story at ten!" He leaned on the terrace railing, peering at the horizon in front of the ship's bridge. He wasn't sure, but he thought he could see something, a black smudge, perhaps, beneath the overcast on the horizon. Smoke from a burning ship, perhaps?

This could be his ticket to a producer's slot with one of the major network newsrooms, the break he'd been praying for ever since he'd gotten out of college and taken his first news job with that joke of a dinky little local TV station in Wisconsin.

"Let's go talk to the captain," Doherty said. They would need press access to the Promenade Deck, and possibly the bridge and the ship's infirmary as well.

All it would take was one little disaster and his future career was assured.

North Atlantic Ocean 49deg 2V N, 8deg 13' W

Saturday, 0910 hours GMT

It still bothered Inui that he could remember nothing of the blast itself. The shock wave, he decided, must have stunned him, even knocked him unconscious for a moment. He expected his mind to work, however, and it irritated him that he seemed to have missed a rather spectacular flight from the Ishikari"s forward deck into the sea.