Текст книги "Dark Watch"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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The powerful lights they’d set on the aft deck had either smashed themselves to pieces or were lost over the fantail, so all he had was his trusty dive light. He swung the beam around the antechamber. The space was cramped, painted a drab white. A set of metal stairs dropped to a solid-looking hatch that had once led to the bridge deck. Another door to the right that gave access to the interior of the main deck had also been secured. Then he saw Tory, a dark drifting shape of sodden clothes and loose limbs. Her hair fanned around her head like an anemone on a tropical reef.

In two swift kicks Juan was at her side. He slid his regulator past her slack lips and upped the airflow, trying to force the precious gas into her lungs. The other diver joined him and ripped open his dive bag. As fast as he could work, he plucked fistfuls of chemical warming packs from the bag, shook them violently to start the reaction, and stuffed them under Tory’s clothes. They had several decompression stops to make on their ascent, and this was the only way Juan could think of to protect her from the biting cold.

He took back his regulator to take a quick breath before again feeding it to Tory. A third diver joined them. A knot was forming on her head from where she’d struck it against something, most likely when the ship rotated, and a fine feather of blood stained the water around the welt. He had the spare tanks and a dive helmet. Juan placed it over Tory’s head and gave her sternum a sharp rap. Tory coughed into the helmet, a small amount of water pooling around her neck. Her eyes fluttered open, and she retched again. Juan used his regulator to purge the water from her helmet and kept his eyes locked on hers as she slowly came back. He knew she was going to be okay when she realized a stranger had his hand down her pants.

Other divers appeared. They guided Tory and Juan out of the room. One checked Cabrillo’s tanks. He’d been down the longest and working the hardest. He was okay for now but would need fresh tanks during the decompression. Once they had swum far enough from the dangling survey ship, one of the men sent word to the Oregonthat they could release the doomed vessel. A moment later, her slow downward plunge turned into a runaway plummet, and the Avalonslipped from view. The severed ends of cable trailed behind her like steel tentacles.

The team ascended in a tight group centered around Tory and Juan. The dive master shaved as much time as he dared from their stops, but it was still ten minutes before the freshest divers could guide Tory up into the moon pool and another fifteen before Juan and the others allowed deckhands to drag them onto the metal deck plating.

Juan stripped off his mask and dive hood, taking great gulps of air. The moon pool smelled of machinery oil and metal but tasted as sweet as a clear mountain morning. Max appeared at Juan’s side, handing over a mug of steaming coffee. “Sorry, old friend, no booze until all the nitrogen has dissolved out of your blood.”

Cabrillo was about to tell Hanley he would risk it for the worst case of bends in history, but he tasted the coffee and savored the sting of Scotch Max had laced it with.

He let Max help him out of his gear. Then he tried to get to his feet. “How is she?” he asked, his voice weak and thin from the cold.

Max put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “She’s with Julia. We’ll know for sure soon, but I think she’s going to be okay.”

Juan sagged back against an equipment rack with a tired and satisfied smile. At least they’d snatched one of the pirates’ victims from certain death. Then he noticed several deckhands eating premium ice cream from pint containers. He knew why. Julia needed room in the big freezer for the victims they were too late to save.

8

CONSCIOUSNESS slowly congealed for Tory Ballinger through the haze of pain. She first became aware that every inch of her body ached, but it was a shin and her head where the agony appeared centered. The rest was low-grade throbbing. She levered open her eyes, blinking rapidly to clear them of sleep. Above her a fluorescent light shone with indifferent intensity. More light streamed through a nearby porthole. Three people were leaning over her. She didn’t recognize them but somehow knew they were not a threat. The woman wore a doctor’s white coat, and her dark eyes were filled with compassion and competence. One of the men was older, early sixties, and looked kindly. His features were weathered, and his bald head was blotchy, as though he’d spent a great deal of time outdoors. The unlit pipe at the corner of his mouth reminded her of her grandfather, Seamus. It was the second man who held her attention. The lines etched into the corners of his eyes and along his wide mouth weren’t the inevitable effects of age. They had been chiseled into his skin by hard-won experience. They were the marks of someone who had struggled with life, someone who treated it as a day-to-day battle. Then she noted his eyes, blue and bottomless, with just a hint of humor, and she knew he won more of life’s battles than he lost.

She felt as though she knew the man or should know who he was. He wasn’t an actor. Perhaps he was one of those billionaire adventurers who flew hot-air balloons around the world or paid to be launched into space. He certainly had that roguish presence about him, a confidence born out by a history of success.

“Welcome back,” the female doctor said. She was American. “How do you feel?”

Tory tried to speak and managed only a hoarse croak. The older gentleman produced a cup and tenderly held the straw to her lips. The water soaked into her tongue like the first rain on a desert. She sucked greedily, relishing at how the liquid sluiced away the sticky coating in her mouth.

“I think —” Tory began but started to cough. When she was finished, she cleared her throat. “I think I’m okay. Just cold.”

For the first time she realized she was under a mound of blankets, and the one closest to her body was electrically warmed. It made her skin prick.

“When you were brought here, your core temperature was about two degrees colder than the charts say you can survive. You’re very lucky.”

Tory looked around.

“This is a shipboard infirmary,” the doctor answered her unasked question. “My name is Julia Huxley. This is Max Hanley and our captain, Juan Cabrillo.” Again Tory felt she knew the man. His name seemed so familiar. “It was the captain who rescued you.”

“Rescued?”

“Do you remember what happened?” the man named Hanley asked.

Tory thought hard. “There was an attack. I was asleep. I heard gunfire. That’s what woke me. I remember hiding in my cabin. Then I…” She lapsed into frustrated silence.

“It’s okay,” Captain Cabrillo said. “Take your time. You’ve been through a hell of an experience.”

“I remember wandering around the ship after the attack.” Tory suddenly buried her face in her hands, sobbing. The captain placed a hand on her shoulder. It steadied her. “Bodies. I remember seeing bodies. The whole crew was dead. I don’t recall anything after that.”

“It’s not surprising,” Dr. Huxley said. “The mind has defensive mechanisms that act to protect us from trauma.”

The captain spoke. “After your ship was attacked, the pirates scuttled it. We happened along before it sank too deeply for us to rescue you.”

“It was a near thing,” Max Hanley added. “A couple of days had passed since the attack. Your vessel was held steady in a highly saline band of water.”

“Days?” Tory exclaimed.

“Think of yourself as Jonah,” Juan Cabrillo said with a warm smile. “Only we had to rescue you from the whale’s belly.”

Tory’s eyes widened. “I remember you now! I saw you in my porthole. You swam down to get me.”

Cabrillo made a self-deprecating gesture as if to say it was no big deal.

“It was you who told me to go to the aft hatchway and close the watertight doors. And it must have been you who drilled holes into the hatch. I thought you were going to kill me, and I almost ran back to my cabin before I realized you had to equalize the pressure so you could get me out. That was the worst. The water level rising inch by inch. I climbed the steps up to the bridge deck to stay out of it for as long as I could, but then there was no place to go.” She paused as if feeling the agony of the freezing water all over again. “I waded in when it was already up to my chest. It took forever. God, I’ve never been so cold in my life. I’m surprised my teeth didn’t shatter from chattering so hard.” She looked up at the trio standing around her bed. “The next thing I knew was just now, waking up here.”

“Your ship began to sink much faster, and it tilted in the water as the bow section flooded. You must have been tossed against a railing or pipe and hit your head. When I finally got the door open, you weren’t breathing, and you had a gash in your scalp.”

Tory touched for the spot on her head and felt a thick bandage.

“We’ve already contacted the Royal Geographic Society,” Cabrillo went on, “and I’m sure they’ve told your family that you’re okay. A charter helicopter is standing by in Japan to get you to a proper hospital as soon as we’re in range. Are you sure you don’t remember anything else about your attack? It’s very important.”

Tory’s face scrunched with concentration. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.” She looked to Julia. “I think you’re right. My brain has blocked it all out.”

“Last night when you were brought aboard you spoke to the ship’s third officer. Her name is Linda Ross. Do you remember talking to her?”

“No,” Tory replied a little testily. “I must have been delirious.”

Cabrillo went on despite a warning glance from Julia. “You told her your name and said you were a researcher. You went on to talk about the attack and said one of the pirates searched your cabin while you were hiding. You told Linda he wore a black uniform and black combat boots.”

“If you say so.”

“You also told her that you saw two other ships nearby. You said that you thought one of them was an island at first because it was so big. You described it as being perfectly rectangular. The other ship was smaller, and it appeared the two were going to collide.”

“If I don’t remember being trapped on the Avalonfor four days, I certainly don’t remember what happened minutes after the attack. I’m sorry.” She turned to Julia. “Doctor, I think I’d like to rest now.”

“Of course,” Julia said. “My office is just outside your room. Call if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” Tory gave Juan an odd look. It passed quickly, and she said, “And thank you for saving my life.”

He touched her shoulder again. “You’re very welcome.”

“Helluva looker,” Max remarked when he and Cabrillo were in the corridor outside the medical bay.

“Helluva liar,” Juan said.

“She’s that, too.” Max tapped his pipe stem against his big teeth.

“Why, do you think?”

“That she’s a good liar or that she lied to us at all?”

“Both.”

“Haven’t a clue,” Max said. “I’m just glad Linda had the foresight to debrief Miss Ballinger last night.”

“I wouldn’t have thought of it,” Juan admitted.

“The shape you were in, I’m amazed you even found your cabin.”

“Linda said the way Tory described the ships and the pirates’ uniforms made her think our passenger might have some military training.”

“Or she’s a researcher, just as she and the Royal Geographic Society claim, and she applies her scientific observation skills to everything she encounters.”

“Then why lie and say she doesn’t remember what happened to her when she was trapped on the Avalon?” Juan’s gaze turned somber. “No one told her how long she was down there, and yet she knew exactly how many days. There’s something more to her than she’s letting on.”

“We can’t force her to tell us, and we can’t hold her. The chopper that the RGS chartered is going to be here in a few hours.”

Juan went on as if he hadn’t heard Hanley’s comment. “And uniforms. She said her pirates wore black uniforms. The guys we tangled with last night wore mostly jeans, shorts, and T-shirts. None of this adds up.”

They entered the operations center. Linda Ross was the officer on duty. She was seated at the command station munching on a bagel sandwich. “How’d it go?” she asked around a mouthful of food, realized the gaffe, and tried to cover her mouth with a napkin. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Put yourself down for employee of the month,” Juan said. “Talking to Tory last night was a stroke of genius. Today she claims she doesn’t remember anything, not the ships, not the uniforms, not even how she passed the time after the Avalonsank. Which reminds me, she didn’t get a good look at the moon pool, did she?”

“No, Julia was quick with a hot towel to wrap her face as soon as she was lifted from the water. She really didn’t start talking until we were in medical and Hux had started to warm her up. She was still the color of a blue jay and shaking like a leaf, but she was pretty damned sure about what she saw. She made me repeat that the big ship had a rectangular silhouette. Now she doesn’t recall any of it?”

“We’re pretty sure she remembers all right, only she’s not telling,” Max said.

“Why not?”

Juan checked a duty roster clipboard. “That’s the million dollar question. Answer it, and you’ll get an employee parking spot.”

“Nice perk except my car’s about ten thousand miles away at a garage in Richmond.” Linda turned serious. “Like I told you when we spoke this morning, I got the sense that Tory was trying to brief me as though I were her case officer.”

Juan didn’t question her assessment. With her background in naval intelligence, Linda had been in on many such debriefings and would recognize the situation. “She wasn’t sure if she was going to live, so she had to tell someone what she knew.”

Linda nodded. “That’s what it felt like.”

“And now she knows she’s going to be okay, so she clams up. Sounds to me like Miss Ballinger is much more than a humble marine researcher.”

“Which would explain how she managed to survive her ordeal without losing her mind,” Max added.

Far from a simple operation to rid the Sea of Japan of piracy, Juan realized they were in the middle of something far larger. If Tory was to be believed, and there wasn’t anything much more sincere than a deathbed confession, there were two sets of pirates in these waters: those that belonged to the ragtag band they’d engaged the night before and the men in the black uniforms who had assaulted the Avalon. Tory had told Linda they had been systematic and quick. That made them sound more like commandos than the undisciplined thugs who’d tried to overwhelm the Oregon. Then there were the mystery ships Tory spotted at the moment of her attack. He didn’t know their role in all of this. And what of the hapless Chinese immigrants locked in the cargo container? Had they paid the ultimate price for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or were they somehow involved?

He couldn’t understand why Tory refused to cooperate. If she was as lucid during her rescue as he thought she was, then she’d remember what he’d written on the dive slate. He’d told her he was part of a security firm tasked to combat piracy. Did that agenda somehow interfere with whatever she was doing? It didn’t seem likely, but how could he not consider it? None of it made sense.

He decided it was best that they get her off the Oregonas soon as possible so they could resume the hunt on their own. He had every confidence that his people would unravel this mystery and get to the bottom of what was really happening.

Mark Murphy wasn’t on watch, but Cabrillo was glad to see him at the weapons station. Today he wore a concert shirt from a band called Puking Muses. Given Mark’s taste in music, Juan wasn’t surprised he’d never heard of them and was again thankful his cabin was nowhere near that of the young weapons specialist. Juan caught his eye. Murph took off his headphones, and even from across the room Cabrillo could hear his music, some techno-industrial sound played at a volume that could crack plaster.

“Up for a little research, Murph?”

“Sure thing. What have you got?”

“I’m looking for a ship that’s large enough to be mistaken for an island and has a completely rectangular silhouette.”

“That it?” Murphy was clearly looking for something a little more to go on.

“It would have been in this area four days ago.”

Cabrillo misunderstood Murphy’s disappointment. He wanted more of a challenge. “So I’m looking for either a big container ship, a supertanker, or perhaps an aircraft carrier.”

“I doubt it’s a carrier, but punch it into the search parameters anyway.”

Any station on the bridge had access to the Oregon’s mainframe computer, so Mark remained at his seat as he pulled up a maritime database for tracking shipping in the Sea of Japan. He remained hunched over his keyboard, his foot tapping the rhythm of the music pouring in over his headphones.

“What’s the status on the chopper from Japan?”

“ETA is three hours,” Linda answered. Because there was so much traffic in the area – five ships were within the Oregon’s one hundred mile radar – they couldn’t risk exposing themselves by fully exploiting her mammoth engines. The tramp steamer was only making twenty-two knots, delaying the rendezvous with the chartered helicopter.

“Okay, I’m going back to my cabin to inform Hiro Katsui that his consortium owes us two million bucks. Call me if Mark gets a hit or when the chopper’s ten miles out.”

“Aye, Chairman.”

The screen saver had been pinging geometric shapes across the liquid crystal screen for an hour and a half as Juan sat at his desk, staring sightlessly at his computer. So far he had written exactly eleven words of his report to Hiro. Even discounting Tory’s reticence, nothing fit the way Juan expected. Had a commando team attacked the Avalon,and if so, why? The most likely answer was to prevent the crew from seeing what was taking place on the other two ships. Could Mark be right about an aircraft carrier, and this was a government operation?

The problem was the only naval force in the area that had any carriers was the United States. China wanted to buy an old Russian flattop, but as far as Juan knew, they were still negotiating, and there was no way pirates could have gotten their hands on one. He was sure it was some other type of vessel that Tory saw. He didn’t discount the possibility that her ship was attacked by trained commandos, only he had no idea how they fit with the pirates Hiro had hired the Corporation to wipe out. Were they working together?

His intercom buzzed. “Juan, it’s Julia. Can you come down to my office?”

Thankful to escape the answerless questions swirling round and round in his head, he left his cabin and made his way down to medical.

He found her in the trauma bay, an equipment-packed room as modern as any level-one ER. The temperature was a cool sixty-five. A sheet-draped body lay on a gurney under brilliant lights. Julia wore green surgical scrubs. Her gloved hands were smeared with blood. Powerful ventilators prevented odors from building up inside the room, yet Juan could still sense the lingering smell of decay.

“One of the Chinese immigrants?” he asked, nodding at the shrouded form.

“No, one of the pirates. Want to take a look?”

Juan said nothing as Julia peeled back the sheet. Death never looked more ignoble, especially with the large sutured Y-incision Julia had cut to examine inside the chest and abdomen. The pirate was young, twenty at most, and skinny to the point of starvation. His hair was lank black, and his fingers and the bottoms of his feet were thickly callused. The pair of sneakers he’d worn when boarding the Oregonwere probably stolen during a previous raid and were the first he’d ever owned. There was a single neat bullet hole in the middle of his forehead, an obscene third eye that was puckered around the edges.

Cabrillo couldn’t discount the brutality of what the pirates had done, but he also couldn’t help feeling a little pity as well. He had no idea what circumstances drove the boy to crime, but he felt the kid should have been with his family, not laid out on a slab like a dissected specimen.

“So what have you learned?” he asked after Julia drew the sheet back over the corpse’s head.

“This guy’s dead.”

“Well, since you performed an autopsy, I assumed he would be.”

“What I mean is if he hadn’t taken a shot to the skull, he would have died anyway, probably within the next few months.” She waved him over to a computer workstation. On the screen were spectrograph lines of a sample Julia had run. He had no idea what he was looking for. His puzzled expression prompted an explanation.

“Hair sample run through optical emission spectrometer.” The Corporation had bought the million-dollar piece of equipment not only for Julia’s medical bay but also for analyzing trace evidence. It had been key a year earlier tracking a missing shipment of RDX explosives. “During my exam,” Julia explained, “I noticed some pretty significant symptomatology. For one, he was about to suffer complete renal failure. Also, he’s anemic as hell; his gums are severely inflamed with late-stage gingivitis. I noted lesions all along his digestive tract and bloody crusts in both nostrils. It made me think of something, and the hair sample proved it.”

“What’s that?”

“This guy had had long-term exposure to toxic levels of mercury.”

“Mercury?”

“Yep. Without treatment, the mercury, like other heavy metals, builds up in tissue and hair. It eventually shuts the body down, but not before causing madness as it deteriorates the brain. I bet if you recheck the video of the pirate attack, you’ll see these guys fought with little regard for their own lives. The level of mercury contamination would have impaired this one’s judgment to the point where he’d fight on, no matter what.”

“Some of them tried to escape,” Juan pointed out.

“Not all of them had such elevated or prolonged exposure.”

“What about the Chinese?”

“I only checked one for toxicity, and she came up clean.”

“But this guy’s riddled with mercury?”

“You could fill a couple of thermometers off him. I checked two of his compatriots quickly and found the same thing. I bet they’re all suffering to one degree or another.”

Juan ran a hand across his jaw. “If we find the source of the mercury, we might find the pirates’ lair.”

“Stands to reason,” Julia agreed, stripping off her gloves with a sharp snap. She removed her surgical cap and redid her ponytail with a well-practiced twist. “You can get mercury poisoning by eating contaminated fish, but the risk’s mostly to children and women who want to conceive. But with the levels I’m seeing here, I’d put my money on these guys basing themselves someplace close to a contaminated industrial site or an old mercury mine.”

“Any idea if there are such mines in this area?”

“Hey, my job’s medical mysteries and patching you cutthroats back together,” Julia teased. “You want geology lessons, call on someone else.”

“How about their ethnic background? That might help narrow the search.”

“Sorry. The fifteen pirates I have on ice are a veritable United Nations. This one looks Thai or Vietnamese. Three others are either Chinese or Korean, two Caucasians, the others are Indonesian, Filipino, and a mix of everything else.”

“Super,” Juan said acidly. “We have the luck to run across a bunch of politically correct pirates who believe in diversity. Anything else?”

“That’s it for now. I need a few more days to finish up everything.”

“How’s your other patient?”

“Sleeping. Or at least pretending to so she doesn’t have to talk to me. I get the feeling she wants off this tub ASAP.”

“Why am I not surprised? Thanks, Hux.”

Juan had only just gotten back to his cabin and ordered a lunch of steak and kidney pie when Mark Murphy knocked at his door. “What do you have, Murph?”

“I think I found her.”

“Have a seat. So is it a bulk carrier of some kind or a container ship?”

“Neither.” Mark handed over a thin file. Inside was a single photograph and a half-page description.

Juan glanced at the picture and gave Murphy a questioning look. “You sure?”

“She’s on her way to Taiwan from Oratu, Japan, where she was used for a refit of a Panamanian tanker that threw a prop during a storm.”

Juan looked at the picture again. The vessel was 800 feet long and 240 feet wide. Just as Tory had described, the ship was completely rectangular, with no rake to her bow or stern and nothing protruding from her deck to alter her flat profile. Juan read what Mark had managed to learn about the odd craft. She was the fourth-largest floating drydock in the world. Built in Russia to service massive Oscar II–class submarines like the ill-fated Kursk,it had been sold to a German salvage firm a year ago but had then been sold again to an Indonesian shipping company who chartered it out like a service station wrecker.

Juan’s pulse quickened.

Using a drydock to hijack an entire ship at sea was truly inspired but also frightening in scope and sophistication. His deep fear about a leader uniting pirates across the Pacific into a coherent group might well be the tip of the iceberg. With a drydock this size, they could snatch nearly any ship they wanted.

He pictured how they’d pull it off. First a team of pirates would need to board their intended target in order to subdue the crew. Then they would sail their captured ship to rendezvous with the drydock. Under the cover of night, and only when weather conditions were favorable, because it would be dicey work, the drydock would ballast down so the bottom of its open hold was lower than the keel of their stolen ship. Big winches at the stern of the drydock would then reel in the vessel. The bow doors would swing closed, ballast pumped out, and the tugs towing the drydock would continue on their way. Without a direct overflight, no one would ever know that inside the drydock was the booty of the most audacious pirate ring in history.

“Pretty slick, hey boss?”

“Yeah.”

“They come along and swallow up their victim.” Mark gave an animated pantomime of the action as he spoke. “Haul it to their secret base. They’d have all the time in the world to offload the cargo before dismantling it. Rather than scavenge like hyenas, these guys are taking down their prey like lions.”

“Why dismantle the ship?” Cabrillo mused aloud. “Why not make some changes to it, alter a few characteristics, paint a new name on her stern, and either sell her off or sail her for themselves?”

“I hadn’t thought of that, but that makes even more sense.”

“So what do we know about the company that owns the drydock? Wait, what’s it called?”

“The drydock?” Murphy asked and Cabrillo nodded. “Maus.”

“German for mouse. Cute. So, the company?”

“Occident and Orient Lines. O&O. They’ve been around for like a hundred years. Used to be publicly traded, but in the past decade most of the shares have been bought up by entity or entities unknown.”

“Shell companies?”

“So hollow even their names ring false. D Commercial Advisors LLC. Ajax Trading LLC. Equity Partners International LLC. Financial Assay —”

“LLC,” Juan finished for him. Then a thought struck. “Wait. Assayis a mining term. Julia said the pirates were dying of mercury poisoning, and we both think they might be based near an abandoned mercury mine. I wonder if this Financial Assay owns mines in the region.”

“I haven’t even started digging into the shell companies yet. I thought you’d want to know about the drydock right away.”

“No, you’re right, but you’ve got a lot more to research. I want to know who owns the Maus– not the corporate veil but the actual guy who holds the pink slip.”

“What are we going to do about the drydock? If what that British woman said is true, there might be a stolen ship in her hold and maybe some crew held hostage.”

“The most powerful tugs in the world can’t tow a vessel the size of Mausat more than six or seven knots. How long do you think their head start’s gonna last when we’re pushing fifty?”

Murph grinned like a teenager given the keys to a Ferrari. He got up to leave.

Juan came to a quick decision. He knew at some point he was going to have to split his forces. The Oregonwas a perfect platform for espionage operations, but he needed the flexibility of people on the ground with access to jet travel. He had no idea where this case was going to take him. Most likely Indonesia, if that was where O&O still kept an office, so now was the time to get assets en route.

“Do me a favor and find Eddie Seng. Tell him to pack up some gear. We’ll be going international, so nothing that can’t pass airport security. Have him pick two of his men. We’re hitching a ride on Tory Ballinger’s helicopter to go hunting hyenas and lions.”

“But where?”

Juan tapped Mark’s report. “Have an answer by the time we land in Japan.”