Текст книги "Arctic Drift"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Dirk Cussler,Clive Cussler
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

45

The French cruise liner Dauphinewas scheduled for a weeklong voyage up the Alaskan coast before returning to its home port of Vancouver. But a major outbreak of gastrointestinal illness had sickened nearly three hundred passengers, forcing the captain to shorten the trip in fear that a large number would require hospitalization.

At just over nine hundred and fifty feet, the Dauphinewas one of the largest, as well as newest, cruise ships plying the Inside Passage. With three heated swimming pools, eight restaurants, and an enormous glass-walled observation lounge above the bridge, she carried twenty-one hundred passengers in high comfort and luxury.

Standing on the Gil Island shoreline, Dirk and Summer gazed at the gleaming white liner on approach and saw only a ship of death. The toxic carbon dioxide gas still erupted from the seven pipe outlets, expanding the vapor cloud for over a half mile in every direction. A slight westerly breeze kept the gas away from Gil Island but pushed it farther across the strait. The Dauphinewould take nearly five minutes to pass through the cloud, ample time for the heavy carbon dioxide to infiltrate the ducts and air-conditioning systems throughout the vessel. Displacing the oxygen in the air, the gas would bring quick death to every portion of the ship.

“There must be thousands of people aboard,” Summer observed soberly. “We’ve got to warn them.”

“Maybe there’s a radio in the hut,” Dirk said.

They bolted into the fishing hut, ignoring the mumblings from Trevor as they tore the small shack apart. But there was no radio. Stepping outside, Dirk looked into the billow of white gas, trying to spot the research boat. It was hopelessly concealed inside the vapor cloud.

“How much air do you have left in your tank?” he asked Summer hurriedly. “I can try to get back to the boat and call them on the marine radio, but I sucked my tank dry.”

“No, you can’t,” Summer said, shaking her head. “My tank is almost empty as well, because we had to share air. You’d never make it back to the boat alive. I won’t let you go.”

Dirk accepted his sister’s plea, knowing it would likely be a fatal attempt. He desperately searched around, looking for some way to alert the ship. Then he spotted the large barrel next to the hut. Rushing over to the grime-covered drum, he placed his hands against the top lip and shoved. The barrel resisted, then lifted with a slight sloshing sound, telling him it was nearly full. He unscrewed a cap on the top and stuck a finger in, then sniffed the liquid inside.

“Gasoline,” he said as Summer approached. “An extra supply for the fishermen to refuel their boats.”

“We can light a bonfire,” Summer suggested excitedly.

“Yes,” Dirk said with a slow nod. “Or perhaps something a little more conspicuous.”

* * *

The Dauphine’s captain happened to be on the bridge checking the weather forecast when the executive officer called to him.

“Captain, there appears to be an obstruction in the water directly ahead.”

The captain finished reading the weather report, then casually stepped over to the exec, who held a pair of high-powered binoculars to his eyes. With the whales, dolphins, and stray logs from the lumber boats, there always appeared to be floating obstructions in the passage. None of it was ever cause for concern to the big ship, which just plowed through any debris like so many toothpicks.

“Half a mile ahead, sir,” the exec said, passing over the binoculars.

The captain raised the glasses, viewing a billowing white cloud of fog in their path. Just ahead of the fog was a low-lying object in the water that sprouted a black hump and a smaller adjacent blue hump. The captain studied the object for nearly a minute, adjusting the focus on the binoculars.

“There’s a man in the water,” he suddenly blurted. “Looks to be a diver. Helm, decrease speed to five knots and prepare for a course adjustment.”

He handed the binoculars back to the exec, then stepped over to a color monitor, which displayed their position against a nautical chart of the passage. He studied the immediate water depths, finding with satisfaction that there was plenty of water on the eastern side of the strait to sail through. He was about to give the helmsman a course adjustment to veer around the diver when the exec called out again.

“Sir, I think you better take another look. There’s someone on the shore who appears to be signaling us.”

The captain grabbed the binoculars a second time and looked ahead. The ship had advanced enough that he could now clearly see Dirk in his blue dry suit swimming along a floating Y-shaped log. Wedged into the log’s joint was a fifty-five-gallon drum. He watched as Dirk waved to the shore, then pushed away from the log and disappeared under the water. The captain swung his gaze toward the shore, where he spotted Summer wading up to her chest in the water. She held a shard of wood over her head that appeared to be burning. He watched in disbelief as she flung the burning stick out into the channel toward the floating log. When the burning embers hit the water, the surface immediately ignited in a thin burst of flames. A narrow trail of fire slowly snaked to the floating log, engulfing the driftwood in a flickering blaze. It took just a few additional seconds for the gasoline vapors inside the barrel to ignite, erupting in a small explosion that sent the shattering drum careening across the water. The captain stared bewildered at the fiery scene, then finally came to his senses.

“Full astern! Full astern!” he shouted, waving his arms in excitement. “Then someone get me the Coast Guard.”

46

Dirk surfaced twenty yards from the burning gasoline and lazily swam in the direction of the cruise ship, occasionally raising one arm and slapping it down to the surface in the diver’s signal for distress. He cautiously eyed the carbon dioxide cloud, which was still burgeoning a few dozen yards behind the burning log. He could hear shouts from the shore and glanced over to see Summer yelling and waving at the ship to halt.

He looked north to see the massive ship still bearing down on him. He began to wonder if anyone was awake on the bridge and had even seen his pyrotechnic display. Questioning his own safety in the path of the ship, he turned and swam a few strokes toward the shore. Then he heard the distant wail of an alarm sounding on board. The water near the vessel’s stern caught his eye as it churned into a turbulent boil. Dirk realized the fiery signal had in fact been seen and that the captain had reversed engines. But he began to wonder if it was too late.

The Dauphinecontinued gliding toward the toxic cloud without any appearance of slowing. Dirk swam harder to avoid the oncoming bow of the ship as it bore down on him. Its towering presence drew over him, the bow cutting the water just yards away. All but giving up hope that the ship would stop, he suddenly detected the liner shudder and falter. The ship’s bow eased up to the dying line of flames, then ground to a halt. With a pained slowness, the Dauphinebegan backing up the strait, moving a hundred yards to the north, before drifting to a stationary position.

A small orange launch had already been lowered over the side and quickly raced toward Dirk. As it pulled alongside, two crewmen reached over and roughly yanked him aboard. An austere-faced man seated at the stern growled at him.

“What kind of fool are you? Greenpeace?” he asked in a French accent.

Dirk pointed to the billowing white vapor to the south of them.

“Sail into that and you’ll be a dead man. You be the fool and ignore my warning.”

He paused, staring the crewman in the eye. Flustered and suddenly unsure of himself, the Frenchman remained quiet.

“I have an injured man ashore who requires immediate medical attention,” Dirk continued, pointing to the fishing hut.

Without another word, they raced the launch to shore. Dirk jumped off the boat and ran to the hut, which was now blazing hot from the stove fire. Summer was seated with her arm around Trevor, talking to him on the cot. His eyes looked brighter, but he still mumbled in a state of grogginess. The launch crewmen helped carry him to the boat, and they all returned to the Dauphine.

After Trevor was hoisted aboard in the launch, Summer accompanied him to the ship’s medical station while Dirk was escorted to the bridge. The ship’s captain, a short man with thinning hair, looked Dirk up and down with an air of disdain.

“Who are you and why did you set fire in our path?” he asked pointedly.

“My name is Pitt, from the National Underwater and Marine Agency. You can’t proceed down the strait or you’ll kill everyone aboard. That white mist ahead of you is a lethal cloud of carbon dioxide gas being discharged by a tanker ship. We had to abandon our boat and swim to shore, and my sister and another man barely escaped death.”

The executive officer stood nearby, listening. He shook his head and snickered.

“What an absurd tale,” he said to another crewman loud enough for Dirk to hear.

Dirk ignored him, standing toe-to-toe with the captain.

“What I have said is true. If you want to risk killing the thousands of passengers aboard, then go right ahead. Just put us ashore before you proceed.”

The captain studied Dirk’s face, searching for signs of lunacy but finding only stone-cold reserve. A crewman at the radar station broke the tension.

“Sir, we’re showing a stationary vessel in the fogbank, approximately one-half mile off our starboard bow.”

The captain digested the information without comment, then looked again at Dirk.

“Very well, we shall alter course and avoid further progress through the strait. Incidentally, the Coast Guard is on their way. If you are mistaken, Mr. Pitt, then you will be subject to their prosecution.”

A minute later, a thumping noise approached, and an orange-and-white U.S. Coast Guard helicopter from Prince Rupert appeared out the port window.

“Captain, if you would, please advise the pilot to avoid flying into or above the white cloud. It might prove enlightening if he also did a flyby around the northwest coast of Gil Island,” Dirk requested.

The captain obliged, advising the Coast Guard pilot of the situation. The helicopter disappeared for twenty minutes, then reappeared above the cruise ship and called on the radio.

“ Dauphine, we have confirmed the presence of an LNG tanker at a floating terminal on the north coast of Gil Island. It appears you may be correct about an unlawful discharge of gas. We are issuing marine hazard warnings through the Canadian Coast Guard and Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Advise you to alter course to the channel west of Gil Island.”

The captain thanked the Coast Guard pilot, then configured an alternate route around Gil Island. A few minutes later, he approached Dirk.

“It would seem that you have saved my ship from an immeasurable tragedy, Mr. Pitt. I apologize for our skepticism and thank you for the warning. If there is anything at all I can do to repay you, please let me know.”

Dirk thought for a minute, then said, “Well, Captain, at some point I would like to have my boat back.”

* * *

Dirk and Summer had little choice but to remain aboard the Dauphineuntil she docked in Vancouver late the following evening. Trevor was back on his feet by the time they reached port but was sent to the hospital for overnight observation. Dirk and Summer stopped for a visit before catching a train to Seattle.

“Are you finally thawed out?” Summer asked, finding Trevor under a mountain of blankets in the hospital room.

“Yes, and now they are trying to cook me alive,” he replied, happy to see her so soon. “Next time, I get the dry suit.”

“Deal,” she said with a laugh.

“Have they nailed the LNG tanker?” he asked, turning serious.

“The Dauphinesaw her headed to sea as we skirted around Gil Island, so they must have cut and run once they saw the helicopter. Fortunately, the Coast Guard chopper had their video camera rolling and so captured them at the floating terminal.”

“No doubt they’ll be able to trace the ship back to one of Goyette’s holdings,” Dirk added. “Though he’ll find a way to palm off the blame.”

“That’s what killed my brother,” Trevor said solemnly. “They almost got us, too.”

“Did Summer tell you that she deciphered your brother’s message on the Ventura?” Dirk said.

“No,” he said, suddenly sitting up in bed and staring at Summer.

“I’ve been thinking about it ever since we found the Ventura,” she said. “It came to me on the ship last night. His message wasn’t that they choked. It was that they suffered from choke damp.”

“I’m not familiar with the term,” Trevor said.

“It comes from the old mining days, when underground miners carried canaries with them to warn of asphyxiation. I had run across the term while investigating an old flooded quarry in Ohio that was rumored to contain pre-Columbian artifacts. Your brother was a doctor, so he would have been familiar with it. I believe he tried to write the message as a warning to others.”

“Have you told anyone else?” Trevor asked.

“No,” Summer replied. “I figured you’ll want to have another chat with the chief of police in Kitimat when you return.”

Trevor nodded but turned away from Summer with a faraway look in his eyes.

“We’ve got a train to catch,” Dirk said, eyeing the clock. “Let’s try a warm-water dive together real soon,” he said to Trevor, shaking his hand.

Summer moved in and gave him a passionate kiss. “Now, remember, Seattle is only a hundred miles away.”

“Yes,” Trevor smiled. “And there’s no telling how long I’ll have to stay in Vancouver arranging a new boat.”

“He’ll probably be behind the wheel before we see ours again,” Dirk lamented as they walked out.

But he would be proven wrong. Two days after they returned to the NUMA regional office in Seattle, a flatbed truck showed up carrying their research boat left behind off Gil Island. It had a full tank of gas, and on the pilot’s seat was an expensive bottle of French burgundy.

47

By presidential directive, the U.S. Coast Guard cutter Polar Dawnsteamed stridently across the maritime boundary with Canada just north of the Yukon. As it moved east across the corrugated gray waters of the Beaufort Sea, Captain Edwin Murdock stared out the bridge window in silent relief. There was no armed Canadian flotilla there to challenge him, as a few aboard the ship had feared.

Their mission had begun innocuously enough several months earlier with a proposal to seismically map the periphery sea ice along the Northwest Passage. However, this was well before the Atlantaand Ice Research Lab 7 incidents. The President, concerned about fanning the flames of Canadian indignation, had initially canceled the voyage, but the Secretary of Defense had finally convinced him to proceed with the mission, successfully arguing that the Canadians had previously given implicit approval. It might be years, he asserted, before the U.S. could challenge Canada’s internal waters claim without overt provocation.

“Skies clear, radar screen empty, and seas at three-to-four,” said the Polar Dawn’s executive officer, a rail-thin African-American named Wilkes. “Perfect conditions in which to run the passage.”

“Let’s hope they continue for the next six days,” Murdock replied. He noticed a glint in the sky out the starboard bridge window. “Our upstairs escort is still holding the trail?” he asked.

“I believe they are going to keep an eye on us for the first fifty miles into Canadian waters,” Wilkes replied, referring to a Navy P-3 Orion reconnaissance plane that lazily circled overhead. “After that, we’re on our own.”

Nobody really expected the Canadians to oppose them, but the ship’s officers and crew were well aware of the heated rhetoric that had been erupting from Ottawa the past two weeks. Most recognized it for what it was, empty posturing by some politicians attempting to capture a few votes. Or so they hoped.

The Polar Dawnmoved east through the Beaufort Sea, skirting along the jagged edge of the sea ice that occasionally crumbled into a mass of irregular-shaped floes. The Coast Guard vessel towed a sled-shaped seismic sensor off the stern, which mapped the depth and density of the ice sheet as they steamed by.

The waters held clear of traffic, save for the occasional fishing boat or oil exploration vessel. Sailing through the first brief Arctic night without incident, Murdock slowly began to relax. The crew settled into their varied work schedules, which would serve them for the nearly three-week voyage to New York Harbor.

The sea ice had encroached closer to the mainland as they sailed east, gradually constricting the open waterway to less than thirty miles as they approached the Amundsen Gulf, south of Banks Island. Passing the five-hundred-mile mark from Alaska, Murdock was surprised that they still hadn’t encountered any Canadian picket vessels. He had been briefed that two Canadian Coast Guard vessels regularly patrolled the Amundsen Gulf, picking up any eastbound freighters that hadn’t paid their passage fees.

“Victoria Island coming into view,” Wilkes announced.

All eyes on the bridge strained to make out the tundra-covered island through a damp gray haze. Larger than the state of Kansas, the huge island pressed a four-hundred-mile-long coastline opposite the North American mainland. The waterway ahead of the Polar Dawnconstricted again as they entered the Dolphin and Union Strait, named for two small boats used by Franklin on an earlier Arctic expedition. The ice shelf crept off both shorelines, narrowing the open seaway through the strait to less than ten miles. The Polar Dawncould easily shove through the adjacent meter-thick ice if necessary, but the ship kept to the ice-free path melted by the warm spring weather.

The Polar Dawnforged another hundred miles through the narrowing strait as its second Arctic night in Canadian waters approached. Murdock had just returned to the bridge after a late dinner when the radar operator announced first one and then another surface contact.

“They’re both stationary at the moment,” the operator said. “One’s to the north, the other almost directly south. We’ll run right between them on our current heading.”

“Our picket has finally appeared,” Murdock said quietly.

As they approached the two vessels, a larger ship appeared on the radar some ten miles ahead. The sentry vessels remained silent as the Polar Dawncruised past, one on either flank. As the Coast Guard ship moved on unchallenged, Murdock stepped over to the radar station and peered over the operator’s shoulder. With a measure of chagrin, he watched as the two vessels slowly departed their stations and gradually fell in line behind his own ship.

“It appears we may have trouble passing Go and collecting our two hundred dollars,” he said to Wilkes.

“The radio is still silent,” the exec observed. “Maybe they’re just bored.”

A hazy dusk had settled over the strait, painting the distant shoreline of Victoria Island a deep purple. Murdock tried to observe the ship ahead through a pair of binoculars but could only make out a dark gray mass from the bow profile. The captain adjusted course slightly, so as to pass the ship on his port side with plenty of leeway. But he would never get the chance.

In the fading daylight, they closed within two miles of the larger ship when a sudden spray of orange light burst from its gray shadow. The Polar Dawn’s bridge crew heard a faint whistling, then saw an explosion in the water a quarter mile off their starboard bow. The startled crew watched as the spray of water from the blast rose forty feet into the air.

“They fired a shell at us,” Wilkes blurted in a shocked voice.

A second later, the long silent radio finally crackled.

“ Polar Dawn, Polar Dawn, this is the Canadian warship Manitoba. You are trespassing in a sovereign waterway. Please heave to and prepare for boarding.”

Murdock reached for a radio transmitter. “ Manitoba, this is the captain of the Polar Dawn. Our transit route has been filed with the Foreign Affairs Ministry in Ottawa. Request you let us proceed.”

Murdock gritted his teeth as he waited for a response. He had been given strict orders not to provoke a confrontation at any cost. But he had also been given assurances that the Polar Dawn’s passage would be uncontested. Now he was getting shot at by the Manitoba, a brand-new Canadian cruiser built expressly for Arctic duty. Though technically a military vessel, the Polar Dawnhad no armament with which to fight. And it wasn’t a particularly fast ship; certainly it was incapable of outrunning a modern cruiser. With the two smaller Canadian vessels blocking the rear, there was no place to run anyway.

There was no immediate answer to Murdock’s radio call. Only a silent pause, and then another orange flash from the deck of the Manitoba. This time the shell from the warship’s five-inch gun landed a scant fifty yards from the Coast Guard ship, its underwater blast sending a concussion that could be felt throughout the vessel. On the bridge, the radio crackled once more.

“ Polar Dawn, this is Manitoba,” spoke a voice with a kindly charm that was incongruous to the situation at hand. “I must insist that you heave to for boarding. I’m afraid I have orders to sink you if you don’t comply. Over.”

Murdock didn’t wait for another orange flash from the Manitoba.

“All stop,” he ordered the helmsman.

In a heavy voice, he radioed the Manitobahis concession. He quickly had the radioman send a coded message to the Coast Guard sector headquarters in Juneau, explaining their predicament. Then he quietly waited for the Canadian boarders, wondering if his career was all but over.

* * *

A heavily armed team of Canadian Special Forces pulled alongside the Polar Dawnwithin minutes and quickly boarded the ship. Executive Officer Wilkes met the boarders and escorted them to the bridge. The leader of the Special Forces team, a short man with a lantern jaw, saluted Murdock.

“Lieutenant Carpenter, Joint Task Force 2 Special Forces,” he said. “I have orders to take command of your vessel and bring her to port at Kugluktuk.”

“And what of the crew?” Murdock asked.

“That’s for the higher-ups to decide.”

Murdock stepped nearer, looking down on the shorter lieutenant. “An Army soldier who knows how to pilot a three-hundred-foot ship?” he asked skeptically.

“Ex-Merchant Marine.” Carpenter smiled. “Helped push coal barges up the Saint Lawrence in my daddy’s tug since I was twelve.”

Murdock could do nothing but grimace. “The helm is yours,” he said finally, standing aside.

True to his claim, Carpenter expertly guided the Polar Dawnthrough the strait and across the western reaches of Coronation Gulf, nosing into the small port of Kugluktuk eight hours later. A small contingent of Royal Canadian Mounted Police lined the dock as the ship tied up at a large industrial wharf. The Manitoba, which had shadowed the Polar Dawnall the way to port, tooted its horn from out in the bay, then turned and headed back into the gulf.

The Polar Dawn’s crew was rounded up and marched off the cutter to a white dockside building that had formerly been a fish house, its weathered exterior peeling and blistered. Inside, several rows of makeshift bunks had been hastily set up to accommodate the imprisoned crew. The men were confined in relative comfort, however, their captors providing warm food, cold beer, and books and videos for entertainment. Murdock approached the Mountie in charge, a towering man with ice blue eyes.

“How long are we to be confined here?” the captain asked.

“I don’t really know myself. All I can tell you is that our government is demanding an apology and reparations for the destruction of the Beaufort Sea ice camp and an acknowledgment that the Northwest Passage is rightly part of Canada’s internal waters. It’s up to your government leaders to respond. Your men will be treated with all consideration, but I must warn you not to attempt an escape. We have been authorized to use force as necessary.”

Murdock nodded, suppressing a smile. The request, he knew, would go over in Washington like a lead balloon.