Trusting Viktor (A Cleo Cooper Mystery) (24 page)

Viktor and I gasped in unison.

“You know what has to be done now?” Viktor asked.

“Uh, bring it up and hide it until we can get it off the ship, of course.”

“Of course. Problem is, in order to get the cylinder, we’d have to dock Scooter. That takes three strong people. Even if the two of us could manage, we might be seen. No, our best option is to hide it somewhere below the waterline on the
Magellan.
”

“Do what?”

“You heard me,” he said, pushing the ROV at top speed back to its cage, spinning it around, then backing it in. “Ray and his crew are responsible for ascent and docking. Anything out of the ordinary would bring about an immediate inquiry. We don’t want that.”

All I could do was shake my head. We were so close! Viktor looked at me. “Don’t worry. I’ve got the perfect place to hide it where we can easily collect it later. But we have to hurry. Bringing it up two thousand feet will take a few minutes.”

I waited as he began the ROV’s ascent, then asked, “So, where
are
we hiding it?”

“On one of the thrusters.”

“On a thruster! Are you crazy? How do you expect to
collect
it as you say? They operate constantly.”

“Correct. But if we go to the back side of the thruster, out of the propulsion stream, and avoid the intake stream, we’ll be quite safe. There is a graduated space between an arm that projects from the rear of the thruster and the hull of the ship. It is part of the housing on the thruster and doesn’t move with it. I’ll just jam the cylinder between it and the hull. Then we come back tomorrow night and pick it up,” Viktor said casually as he were talking about dropping by Pizza Hut for two large pies to go.

“How do you know this? There are several different models of thrusters used on drillships, and they’re all slightly different.”

“We did some observation right after I came aboard. Captain Powell wanted the starboard one checked for vibration, so I know exactly what they look like.”

“Have you not noticed the security boat that patrols the perimeter here 24/7?”

“Yes, yes,” Viktor said dismissively. “Tomorrow night we rent a fast fishing boat to get out here, then pretend we have steering problems that cause us to slowly cruise in a large arc beyond the patrol boat. You act like you’re working on the problem, smile, and wave to the security boat. But, meanwhile, I go over the side. I pick up the cylinder, swim back to you. We pretend the problem is fixed, go back home with our prize.”

I checked my watch. Ten minutes had gone by, so only about five were left. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I watched the ROV change direction by 180 degrees and approach the rear of one of Magellan’s gigantic thrusters. Then, just as Viktor had described it, Scooter’s jointed arm extended and shoved the precious cylinder between the graduated arm and the hull until the fit was tight. Next, the robot backed away, executed a smart turn, and began the return trip to its cage.

I left my chair and went to the door. “I’ve got to get back to run pyrolsis on samples of the reservoir. I’d really like it if you could … um … go back ashore.”

“What, without you? How will you deal with Duchamp?”

“Don’t worry about that, I’m going to call Pierce right now, let him know Duchamp’s out here. He won’t try anything with so many people around. Besides,” I said, “I’ll be right behind you as soon as I square things up out here.”

No sooner had I reached the deck below than I heard Ray and the crew clomping about above me, proving once again that life is a game of inches and seconds.

Twenty-Five

Buffeted by the wind,
which had now picked up to a steady 20 knots out of the southeast, I ducked my head so I could use both hands to pull open the door to the logging lab. I squeezed into the tight space occupied by Elton and the ever-smiling Tom. Apparently there’d been a shift change, as Jonathan was nowhere in sight.

“Listen, Elton,” I said. “We need to come up with an estimate for size of the reservoir. The execs on board will need it when they conference with Houston. We know it’s just an estimate, but we want it as reliable as possible. Got that? I need to step outside right now and make a call, but I’ll be right back.”

Detective Pierce’s cell went right to his voicemail. I left the following message: “Cleo Cooper here. Your theory about Duchamp was wrong, buddy. He’s on board the
Magellan,
where I am. I don’t know about his sons. If I were you, I’d send your friends from the Coast Guard out here for him. Oh, and just a suggestion, but the orange jumpsuit material in Hunter’s watchband would seem to me to indicate that the twins might know something about what happened to him.”

Time to get back to my other treasure hunt: natural gas.

It was exactly like Christmas morning when I handed out the preliminary reports on the size of the second reservoir and the quality of the gas it contained. Elton and I had gone over the numbers one more time before we printed the report. Immediately upon entering the room, I’d scanned the men assembled there for Davy Duchamp. As an investor, I wondered if he’d be included. He was no where to be seen.

There were collective gasps as the numbers were read. Braxton Roberts was practically crowing. “By God, this discovery is the largest domestic find since Prudhoe Bay!” That he had so recently wanted to pull out and start another well somewhere else was long forgotten.

Bud sat next to me, patting me on the back from time to time like a proud parent. I hated to dampen their high spirits, but since it was my job as an outside consultant to bring objectivity into the picture I stood, tapped on the table for attention, and said, “If I could just remind everyone: we have some waiting still to do and some numbers to be crunched.”

“But we aren’t expecting any big changes to our projections,” Roberts declared firmly. “And what about SunCo? We will still beat them to the punch, won’t we?” They all looked at me since I was still standing.

Quickly sitting, I pointed to Duncan Powell, who stood and said, “We’ve kept up our observations of SunCo’s activity and it’s clear that after reconnecting to their riser, they’re drilling again. More than that, we don’t know. We don’t even know if they’ve made a strike.” He paused. “However, there’s no way they could catch us even if they had.”

There was more cheering. You can’t blame a bunch of guys who are about to make a whole lot of money for getting excited.

Fine for them. And good for me. I was a winner here, too, after all. But it was nice also that they were distracted. At this moment my mind was on treasure number two and my need to catch up with Viktor and make plans to retrieve it.

A quick stop at the radio operator’s office let me know that a Sikorsky would be arriving in about thirty minutes. Arrangements were made for me to hitch a ride back to Beaufort. Then realizing I hadn’t eaten since I’d shared ice cream this morning with Coester, I headed for a drink machine in a quiet area up near the bow.

Icy cold and spicy, the soda tickled my nose and gave me the sugar rush I needed. But I had to get off the ship and away from any danger Duchamp might pose. Suddenly I realized the wind that had been so strong earlier today had dropped out altogether. I stepped to the rail and looked to the horizon.

A waning gibbous moon reflected a streak of hammered silver over the black, gently heaving swells that belied the massive currents just under the surface. I watched their progression until they boiled and roiled against the hull. Standing there, it seemed odd to have realized such a goal—the gas deposit—and yet feel nothing. I told myself the enormity of my good fortune just hadn’t sunk in yet.

Another swallow of soda slipped cool and sweet down my throat. I thought I heard voices. Taking a step back into the shadows under some stairs leading up to a pair of lifeboats, I listened.

“I’m telling you, Davy, get the fuck off this ship now. The radio operator told me he just received word that the Coast Guard is making arrangements to pick you up. We don’t need this kind of publicity. I don’t know why you came out here in the first place. We agreed—”

“Calm down, Braxton.” Duchamp’s voice held menace. “We agreed to nothing. I know what I’m doing, and we can still accomplish our goal here.”

“No, we can’t! You said it yourself. Your man couldn’t find the cylinder. Give it up! We don’t need it anymore. When you came to me with this harebrained scheme, I agreed to help you by putting your people onboard
only
because I figured if the well didn’t come in, we still had the Russian treasure and your deal with the Chinese, which you agreed to share for a percentage of the company. Well, the well did come in, there’s no Russian treasure, and a man is dead!”

“Now just a damn minute—”

“No! Stop right there, Duchamp. I don’t know how to make it any clearer: I was only going along with you to save the company. That’s not necessary any longer. I don’t want to hear another word about it, and I especially don’t want the Coast Guard back out here picking you up, making things public and jeopardizing the entire operation—”

“Shut up! Keep y
our voice down. I’ve already taken care of everything. There
is
a treasure, and you’ll get your share. And for your information, a chopper’s already on the way to pick me up.”

I didn’t hear Braxton Roberts’s reply, but I could tell by his footsteps that he was heading my way. Remembering the reflector bands on my hard hat, I jerked it off and squished myself farther underneath the stairs. He was within 10 feet of me when he turned back and said, “And for God’s sake, don’t call me or contact me in any way.” Then he was gone, and I slumped with relief.

That little conversation certainly explained a lot, but what did Duchamp’s “taken care of everything” mean?

With my hard hat still in my hands, I eased over to the edge of the stairs trying to figure out Duchamp’s next move. Problem was, I didn’t hear anything so I tiptoed behind some barrels and listened again. That’s when Davy Duchamp seemed to materialize out of thin air, grabbing me by the throat and jerking me off my feet.

“You stupid witch! I knew I’d find your dumb ass alone if I waited long enough.”

“Hey, knock it off, moron!” I answered with a false bravado as my hard hat hit the deck. Struggling to regain my footing—an impossibility, as my feet were barely touching the deck—I landed a few ineffectual punches on my captor’s brawny arms. He responded by shoving me hard into the bow rail.

“Moron? You’re calling me a moron?” he repeated contemptuously. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me? How much you almost cost me and my people? Not to mention bringing the police down on me and my boys! Questioning
us
about a death we had nothing to do with!”

“Er, you didn’t?” I gasped, trying with both hands to prize his steel fingers from my neck.

“No! But not to worry, ’cause you’re the only person standing between us and what’s rightfully ours. And now I can use you.”

“What?”

“For the first time in our brief but miserable acquaintance, you are exactly what I need: a diversion. Goodnight, Ms. Cooper!” And just like that, Davy Duchamp tossed me overboard like so much garbage.

Remarkably, as I plummeted to the warm Atlantic 22 feet below, my brain was still in analytical mode
and
I was thinking of someone other than myself. Shouldn’t I get points for that? What had Davy meant when he said I was the only person standing in his way? Had he found Viktor before he left the ship? Had he killed him too? For that matter, was I really going to die?

Then I hit the inky black water.

I suspect the impact would have been much the same had I hit a concrete sidewalk, but maybe not, since I was pretty sure I was still in one piece as I kicked and fought my way back up. Thank God for safety training. I’d hit the water feet first with relaxed joints, but I still couldn’t feel my legs. As though in a dream, I heard myself gasping for air when I surfaced. Alarms were blaring, the water had turned from black to ice blue, and any second now, the
Magellan
, outlined in a blaze of lights, was about to plow me over. Technically I was being pushed into it by the ripping currents brought about by a tide change in full swing, but this wasn’t the time for semantics.

I barely got my arms up over my head before I collided with the hull and was sucked under with a force far greater than I’d ever have imagined. Leaving the lighted water behind, I was dragged, rolling and tumbling, down, down, down 40 feet until I reached the bottom of
Magellan’s
hull. It all happened in a few seconds, yet they were the longest ones I’d ever experienced.

I had one thought and one thought only, which was to get out of the flow of water being pulled into the thrusters! I’d seen diagrams of how they worked—videos complete with arrows showing the flow of water through the gigantic 12-foot circles of steel enclosing five spinning propeller blades—and knew whatever went into those blades would come out on the other side with quite a different molecular arrangement. There wouldn’t be enough left of me to make a decent sausage patty.

Since I had been standing slightly to starboard of the point of the bow, apparently I missed being pulled into the first of the three thrusters. Briefly, the possibility of survival crossed my mind. Just then, the propulsion stream of that first thruster hit me and I was tossed about like a T-shirt in a washer. Water churned by 7,000-horsepower motors practically washed my eyeballs from their sockets. I don’t know how many times I bounced off the hull, hearing crunching noises each time I hit. I tried to relax my body to lessen the impact of the blows, but I was utterly helpless to shift my direction out of the stream of water toward one of the side mounted thrusters.

Being enveloped in total darkness, not even knowing which way is up as you’re hurtling toward the ultimate meat grinder was a horror so intense it was paralyzing. My lungs burned. The desire to breath, to suck in anything, was overpowering. I could feel my life slipping away. I just hoped to die before I was sucked into a thruster. Even as a few brain cells valiantly kept firing, trying to keep me conscious, I simply gave up, rolled into the fetal position, and waited for the inevitable.

Then something warm and comforting enveloped me; it felt like someone cradling my balled-up body in their arms. Instantly my brain fired up to wide-damn-open and I groped for the source of my hope. Opening my stinging eyes, I saw a face mask. It was attached to the person jamming a respirator into my mouth.

Viktor! Hungrily, I sucked in several deep breaths and felt the life flow back into my limbs. The desire to live returned with a vengeance and I fought to help him as he doggedly pulled me from the propulsion stream, out from under
Magellan
’s hull, and we began our ascent.

After a few powerful kicks of his strong legs and fins, Viktor stopped. We fought the current while I took another buddy-breath. Then he took the respirator back, grabbed my hips with both hands, and, kicking hard, propelled me straight up until I could see the emergency lights on the surface above me. Only at that moment did he let me go.

I wasn’t even surprised. Call it sudden insight arising from a near-death experience, call it whatever you want—but for a few seconds, everything came crystal clear. Just before I resumed my struggle to the surface, I looked back down. The headlight from Viktor’s mask grew faint, then blinked out.

This time when I surfaced, I was on the port side of the
Magellan
and the current was carrying me diagonally away from and down the length of the ship. I needed to get someone’s attention before I was swept out of the lighted area. Fortunately, the alarm had been cut off. I let out a howl like I was facing down a band of al-Qaeda.

All the men on the rail who’d been looking past me instantly turned my way. Several life rings hit the sparkling blue water about 10 feet from me … up current. That’s when I realized my arms weren’t working right, there was blood in the water and I was fast becoming too weak to stay afloat. Even adrenalin has its limits.

I was giving it my all, but with every feeble stroke I was losing ground and sinking into unconsciousness. Then I saw a familiar figure running along the rail ahead of me. Without a pause, he dove off the edge, life ring in one hand, life vest in the other. Bud! The only man I know who can save your life and give you choices while doing so.