Arctic Fire (23 page)

Pike left the casino after five long minutes of
acting. He had taken the elevator down to the Hoth cave and was
just jumping onto one of the carts when Miles came out of the
office.

“Hi Gabe, in here please.”

“What’s up?” Pike said as they entered Miles’
office. “Mr. Cain said there was some sort of problem and wanted me
on the bridge.”

“You need to see this before you go up there.”
Miles replied, worry lines burrowed deep into his forehead. He
flipped open his laptop and brought up a screen similar to the
control panel he saw on the bridge. He recognized the screen
showing the four anchor positions. Three were blue with the aft
port anchor flashing red.

“The safety pin that secures the anchor to its
cradle has fallen out and we can’t get it back in.”

“Okay, what does that mean?”

“The pin is used to keep the launch mechanism
for the anchor frozen. In theory, with it gone, nothing should
happen as the weight of the anchor should hold it on the cradle.
But without the pin, in these heavy seas, it’s possible the anchor
could slide off.”

“What’s the worst case scenario if this
happens?”

“The anchors as you know are sealed in their
rooms. The outside wall is only a foot thick. If the anchor breaks
free and slides forward, it will punch through the ice like it was
a wet paper a bag.”

“Can you bring up the schematics please?”

“Sure thing.” Miles tapped a few keys and
brought up a 3-D view of the anchor room, with the view slowly
circling around the anchor. “See, that’s where the pin is supposed
to be.” He said pointing to an area highlighted in red.

“Okay, expand it out a bit.”

Miles expanded the view that now showed the
entire back half of the iceberg with a view of the starboard anchor
as well.

“What’s this here?” Pike said pointing to the
center of the screen.

“Those are the winches for the anchors. Each
anchor has its own winch but for efficiency we housed them
together.”

“And these?”

“Support beams running out from the winch
housing to each anchor room. They’re used to strengthen and
disperse the load when we raise the anchor.”

“May I?” Pike asked as he took the laptop. Pike
brought up a cut-away view of the stern showing steel beams running
vertically from the two ships buried below to the anchor rooms.

“This girder work is attached to the housing
floor plate and then secured to the deck of the ships,
correct?”

Miles nodded his head. “Yes, again for support
since it’s very difficult to secure something as large and heavy as
anchors to justice.”

“Just how heavy are these anchors?” Pike asked,
worry lines now beginning to form on his face.

“These aren’t anchors to your 25 foot Bayliner
here. This barge is as big as an aircraft carrier and so are its
anchors. Each anchor weighs close to 60,000 pounds and there are
about 200 links per chain, weighing in at 360 pounds per link.”

Pike’s frown grew deeper. “Does your laptop have
modeling software?”

“Yeah, give me a second.”

“How deep of water are we in?” Pike asked while
Miles was setting up the program.

“About 12,000 feet or so. I could get you the
exact depth if you need it.

“What is the length of the anchor chain?”

“Six hundred feet.”

“Here.” Miles said as he gave the laptop to
Pike. Pike took over and started typing like a madman, muttering
numbers as he went. Every once in a while, Pike would shake his
head then mutter some more, but all the while his fingers never
left the keyboard.

After five minutes of furious typing, he turned
the laptop around for Miles to see. The worry lines that had formed
earlier were now etched like the Grand Canyon on his face.

“What is this?” Miles asked.

“It’s a computer model, projecting what will
happen if the port anchor slips off its cradle and falls into the
ocean.”

Pike pushed the button and the screen came up
showing a line drawing of the barge. It zoomed in to where the port
anchor was, then it showed it dropping. It showed the anchor in
free fall and when it reached the end of its chain, it yanked the
winches free, pulling the cross-support beam that ran from the
housing plate down to the ship, acting like a giant meat clever,
slicing off the stern of the iceberg, pulled by the enormous weight
of the anchors.

“What just happened here?” Miles asked, staring
blankly at the screen.

“That’s the worst case scenario if the anchor
breaks loose and falls. The winches are designed to lift the
anchors, not lower them. They have no brakes. When it goes, it
goes. When the chain reaches the end, it’s not stopping. The
housing and winch platforms weren’t designed to stop 35 tons of
free falling steel. So when the starboard anchor goes, it will yank
both winches out of their housings and probably drag the starboard
anchor with it. It will literally rip the stern off the barge.”

“Wow,” was all Miles could say.

“Can we cut the chain?”

“No.” Miles shook his head. “We don’t have the
proper equipment on board to cut through that thickness of
steel.”

“Can we weld the anchor onto the cradle?”

Again, Miles shook his head. “There’s not enough
surface area that would make the weld strong enough to hold against
the tension.”

“All right, let’s get up to the anchor room to
see what we can see.” Pike said.

“Right. Follow me.”

By now, Pike was used to seeing his breath
panting out like stream from a locomotive in the ice passageways
and he was familiar with climbing the ladders in the confines of
the missile silo tubes that connected the decks; but what he wasn’t
used to was the amount of physical labor it took. He
thought
he was in shape until he took this job.

“You know you guys couldn’t have put a few more
elevators in this thing.” Pike said, gasping for breath after
climbing up the last set of ladders.

“You know, you’re not the first person to say
that,” Miles smiled, “come on.” Pike followed Miles as they entered
through a plain wooden door into the anchor room.

Stepping into the room, Miles turned on the
light and Pike stopped dead in his tracks; he was amazed at the
sheer size of the anchor itself and awed by the two-foot size links
of the chain that held it. The anchor was lying at an angle on the
cradle, but even then, it was still taller than he was. In
amazement he slowly walked around to the front and gawked at the
two flukes that were big enough to use as a bed, and marveled that
it was well over six feet at the base. It looked to be every bit
the 35 tons Miles said it was.

“Here,” Miles said, calling Pike over to the
other side. This is where the pin was supposed to be. As you can
see, the anchor has shifted just enough that we can’t get it back
in.”

Pike nodded as he examined the anchor and
cradle. Just then the iceberg rolled enough to the left that he had
to reach out and grab the chain to steady himself. At the same
moment, they heard the groaning of metal. Both men instantly jumped
back from the anchor and a split second later there was a loud
snap. Pike felt his heart stop as he stood in horror and watched as
the front half of the anchor slipped off the cradle and fall onto
the ice floor with a dull thud.

Large fissures spiraled out in the ice from the
point of impact like streaks of lighting. Pike and Miles stared at
each other, just waiting for the floor to give way at any second or
for the anchor to slide the rest of the way off its cradle and mow
them down like a runaway freight train.

Barely breathing, Pike carefully slid under the
taunt chain and moved gingerly back to the door and stood by
Miles.

“What are we going to do?” Miles whispered,
afraid the sound of his voice would crack the ice.

“I don’t know,” Pike whispered back, “I’m trying
to think.”

The ship rolled again, leaning even farther this
time and with another sickening thud, the anchor slid the rest of
the way off the cradle and gently nudged the front panel of ice,
creating another spiraling art display. Pike held his breath as he
saw cracks forming and shooting up the wall. It was horrifyingly
beautifully to watch as the fissures formed. Some shot out like
lightning bolts while other slowly crawled up the wall like
slithering snakes in sand. Even with the storm raging outside, he
would never forget the hideous sound the crackling ice made. As the
anchor slid forward and kissed the wall, he prayed that the
one-foot thick piece of ice was enough to keep the 35-ton monster
at bay.

“Think, think, think.” Pike said out loud.
‘What’s below us?”

Miles nervously fumble with his computer pad as
he took it out of its case. “Nothing,” he reported. “It’s solid ice
all the way down to the keel except for piping carrying the
juice.”

“Okay, no help there. How about above us?” Pike
asked, never taking his eyes off the anchor. He watch with morbid
fascination as one large fissure ran straight up the middle then
split out like a T, eight feet up and stopped two feet short of
either edge.

Miles brought up another screen then showed it
to Pike. “There’s not much on the stern. You’ve got the golf tee,
the swimming pool and sunbathing area.”

Sunbathing area, on an iceberg? Pike frowned at
how ridiculous that sounded as he forced himself to take his eyes
off the wall and look at the pad. He started to turn back and stare
at the wall when something caught his eye. “What’s this here? Is
that what I think it is?

“That’s your plane if that’s what you mean.”

Pike grabbed the pad and stared at it. “Is this
the exact location of the plane? Is it is sitting directly above
us?”

“Yes.”

“And the pool? This is its correct
location?”

Miles nodded his head.

“How thick is the ice above us?”

“Five feet.” Miles could hear the growing
excitement in Pike’s voice. “What is it? What are you
thinking?”

“I can’t tell you yet. You’d think I’m crazy.
Come on, we need to get up on deck,” he said as he rushed out the
door.

Chapter Twenty F
ive

Stepping out of the health spa onto the sundeck,
Pike felt like he had been transported into another world. Gone was
the relative quiet, peace and warmth of the indoors. He suddenly
felt like he was living in a
National Geographic
special as
he trudged forward, assaulted by blasts of arctic air hurled at him
by eighty mile an hour winds.

Gone were the sounds of civilization, the beeps
and bells of the casino, the sound of people talking, the humming
and clattering of mechanical things. The only sound now was the raw
roar of nature.

The gale howled as it whipped across the deck,
taking everything with it that wasn’t fastened down. In its anger,
the wind sent the snow flying sideways, flashing by like tracer
bullets, reflecting the light from the building. It also chopped
mercilessly at the ocean, making it bleed white spray as it severed
the tops off the waves.

Pike shivered as he leaned into the wind,
bracing himself against its wrath, taking careful, measured steps
that led him to the swimming pool. Nearly exhausted from his short
battle with nature, he leaned against a palm tree and stared at the
pool. How odd he thought; it reminded him of a miniature version of
the ocean, reflecting its anger and turmoil, spilling over its
sides. Looking around, he saw that everything else on the deck was
covered either in snow or a thin layer of ice with small drifts
forming around the few deck chairs that hadn’t blown away.

With the white blanket of snow, it looked like a
Christmas scene, but not a cheery one, surrounded by friends and
family. This was a dark Christmas, one with no joy. The first
Christmas with your children gone, with your loved one serving
overseas or the first time there is no present under the tree from
them because they’re gone. The tree is still there, the lights are
still on but the smiles are strained and empty.

Between the gusts of snow, Pike saw the one
shiny ornament from that tree, the one thing that might bring them
all hope and the reason he was out there: the
Yankee
Clipper
. Pike slowly made his way over to the plane. Twice, he
nearly fell as the wind and waves conspired against him, a classic
one-two punch rolling the iceberg and hitting him with heavy
gusts.

Reaching the plane, he walked around it,
inspecting it and the surrounding area. He tugged on the tie-down
straps, checked the wheel chocks on the launch platform, then
brushed the snow and ice away and inspected the launch controls.
Satisfied that she was weathering the storm, he unzipped his jacket
and pulled out his c-pad, tugged his gloves off with his teeth then
tapped in a few commands. He surveyed the area, getting his
bearings, checked the pad, then nodded and quickly retreated to the
warmth and safety of the spa.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Miles
asked.

Pike took off his fur-lined parka and stamped
his feet, and rubbed his hands together, trying to warm up. Cain
and Mallory walked up and Mallory handed Pike a cup of coffee.
“Thanks,” he said as he just held the cup for a moment, enjoying
the heat and letting it warm up his cold fingers. He took a sip and
smiled. “It’s even a mocha.”

“Gabriel?” Cain said.

“Sorry, this warm cup feels so good, and yes, it
will work.” He took another quick sip. “It has to work.”

“Your idea is really, crazy you know,” Mallory
said, skeptical of the whole thing.

“I know, but what other choice do we have? I’ve
talked to the captain and the storm will get worse before it gets
better. The anchor has already slipped off its cradle and is
resting against the front wall; it’s not a matter of
if
it
will crash through, it’s a question of
when
.”