The Navigator (11 page)

Zavala stayed on deck wrapping up and Austin returned to the bridge. The microphone was clutched in the captain’s hand. “Still no luck?” Austin said.

Dawe shook his head. He looked worried, and he had clearly lost his patience. “We should be alongside those idiots before long.”

The captain went over to the radar screen. Another X had been drawn and connected to the previous course line. A second, intercepting course line had been drawn for the
Eriksson
.

“What are the chances the rig could sustain a direct hit?” Austin said.

“Not good. Great Northern is a semisubmersible rig. The legs offer some protection but nothing like the Hibernia platform, which is anchored in the bottom and protected by a thick concrete barrier.”

Austin was familiar with drilling platforms from his North Sea days. He knew that a semisubmersible rig is more of ship than a platform, used mostly for deep water. Four legs rest on pontoons that act as a hull. The platform is designed to be towed through the water, although some rigs can move on their own power. Once the rig is on a drilling site, the pontoons are flooded. Several massive anchors hold the rig in place.

“How many workers are on the platform?” Austin asked.

“It’s got accommodations for two hundred thirty.”

“Will they have time to move out of harm’s way?”

“They’re pulling anchors, and the service boats will start towing soon, but the rig is geared to move out of the path of slow-moving bergs that get past the ice patrol. They’re not built to dodge a runaway ship.”

Austin wasn’t so sure of the captain’s use of the term
runaway,
which implied that the vessel was out of control. His own impression was that this ship was very
much
in control and that it was being aimed directly at the Great Northern rig.

A sharp-eyed crewman pointed to the sea off the starboard bow. “I see her.”

Austin borrowed the crewman’s binoculars and adjusted the focus knob until the profile of a containership came into view. He could make out the tall letters painted on the red hull that identified the ship as belonging to a company called Oceanus Lines. Painted in white letters on the ship’s great flaring bow was the name: OCEAN ADVENTURE.

THE SHIPS moved abreast on a parallel course about a quarter of a mile apart. The
Eriksson
blinked its lights and blasted its horn to attract the ship’s attention. The
Adventure
plowed through the sea without slowing. The captain ordered the crew to keep trying to make contact visually or over the radio.

The oil rig was coming into view. The platform squatted on the sea like a four-legged water bug. Its most prominent features were a towering oil derrick and a disk-shaped helicopter pad.

“Does the rig have a chopper?” Austin asked the captain.

“On its way back from making a hospital run. Too late to do an air evacuation, anyhow.”

“I wasn’t thinking about evacuation. Maybe the chopper could put someone aboard the ship.”

“There won’t be time. The best it will be able to do is pick up some survivors, if there are any.”

Austin raised the glasses. “Don’t bring out the body bags just yet,” he said. “Maybe there’s still a chance to save the rig.”

“
Impossible!
The platform will sink like a stone when the ship slams into it.”

“Take a look around midships,” Austin said. “Tell me what you see.”

The captain peered through the lenses. “There’s a gangway hanging down almost to the waterline.”

Austin outlined his plan.

“That’s crazy, Kurt. Too dangerous. You and Joe could be killed.”

Austin gave Dawe a tight smile. “No offense, Captain, but if your Newfie jokes didn’t kill us,
nothing
will.”

The captain gazed at Austin’s determined face and his expression of utmost confidence. If anyone could pull off the impossible, it would be this American and his friend.

“All right,” Dawe said. “I’ll give you everything you need.”

Austin slipped into his foul weather jacket, yanked up the zipper, and headed down to the deck to fill Zavala in. Zavala knew his friend well enough not to be surprised at the audacity or the risk of Austin’s idea.

“Pretty simple scheme when you think about it,” Zavala said. “The odds aren’t the greatest.”

“Slightly better than a snowball’s chance in hell by my reckoning.”

“Can’t get much better than that. The execution could be a little tricky.”

A pained expression came to Austin’s rugged face. “I’d prefer it if we didn’t use the word
execution.
”

“An unfortunate slip of the tongue. What does Captain Dawe think of your idea?”

“He thinks we’d be crazy.”

Zavala fixed his eyes on the massive containership plowing through the gray seas on a parallel course and his agile mind calculated speed, direction, and water conditions.

“The captain’s right, Kurt,” Zavala said. “We
are
crazy.”

“Then I assume you’re in.”

Zavala nodded. “Hell, yes. I was bored lassoing icebergs.”

“Thanks, Joe. The way I see this thing, it all comes down to risk assessment versus reward.”

Zavala understood exactly what Austin was getting at. “How many guys are on the oil rig?”

“Captain says two hundred plus, in addition to those on the ship.”

“The math seems pretty simple. The risk is high but not insurmountable, and we might be able to save more than two hundred lives.”

“That’s the way I look at it,” Austin said. He slipped on a flotation vest and tossed another to Zavala. They sealed the deal with a firm handshake. Austin gave a thumbs-up to the captain, who’d been watching their discussion from the bridge.

UNDER CAPTAIN DAWE’S tight command, the ship came around and stopped at an angle to the wind that would allow Austin and Zavala to launch the bright red, sixteen-foot inflatable boat on the lee side of the ship. The ship cut the full impact of the wind, but the boat still tossed on the mounding seas like a rubber duck in a bathtub.

Austin was fitted out with a pocket radio attached to a hands-free microphone and earpiece. Captain Dawe would keep him up to date on the progress of the oil rig’s anchor-hauling crews. If the platform got all its anchors up in time to move out of the way of the oncoming ship, or if there were any deviation in the ship’s course, he would call Austin, who could then abort his plan. If the ship–platform collision seemed imminent, Austin could go from there.

Austin hung from the ladder with the wave crests splashing at his feet, then stepped off and landed square-footed in the boat. It was like jumping onto a wet trampoline. He would have been bounced out, but he grabbed the safety grips on the pontoons and hung on to the violently pitching boat.

When the inflatable had stabilized under his weight, Austin started the seventy-five-horsepower motor. With the outboard grumbling and snorting in the waves, Austin gripped the ship’s ladder and steadied the boat so Zavala could join him. Zavala stepped into the bouncy inflatable with his usual catlike grace, cast off the bow and stern lines, and shoved the boat away from the ship.

Austin turned the tiller over to Zavala, who goosed the throttle and pointed the blunt bow on a course to intercept the
Ocean Adventure
.

FROM THE SIX-STORY-HIGH BRIDGE of the
Ocean Adventure,
Captain Irwin Lange had a gull’s-eye view of almost the entire length of the ship under his command. He had been at his lofty post when the helicopters had dropped out of the sky and landed on top of the container stacks. His initial reaction had been one of astonishment. That quickly changed to anger as he gazed through the big windows that overlooked the long deck.

The captain took pride in his Teutonic imperturbability. His stolid character was mirrored in firmly set facial features that almost never changed from their expression of genial self-competence. This was different. His lantern-jawed frown deepened. The helicopters had landed without
his
permission. His logical mind quickly dismissed the possibility that the helicopters were in trouble. One helicopter, maybe. But not
two
.

This was not right. Not proper. Peering through his binoculars, the captain became even more incensed as a dozen or so figures jumped from the helicopters and fanned out under the whirling rotors. All were dressed in black. He only caught a glimpse of the interlopers before they disappeared over the edge of the stack. But in that brief instant he saw that they were carrying weapons. His anger turned to dismay.

Pirates!

Lange took a hard swallow.
Impossible.
Pirates operated in far-off places like Sumatra and the China Sea. There had been pirate attacks off the coast of Brazil and West Africa. But he found it inconceivable that sea marauders would operate in a frigid, fogbound area like the Grand Banks.

In his many years of sailing the Europe-to-America route, the captain’s only brush with pirates had been a video produced by an insurance-trade group. The shipping company that owned the ship under his command had distributed the video to its captains with instructions to watch it with their officers. The video showed fierce-eyed Asian pirates attacking a tanker in small, fast boats.

Lange desperately tried to recall the lessons the video tried to instill.

Vigilance is the best defense against piracy.
No one warned about pirates dropping from the sky!

Turn the ship into a citadel
. Too late to lock all the doors.

Don’t fight the pirates
. Not a chance. There was nothing more lethal than flare guns on board. None of the German officers or largely Filipino crew was trained in weapons use.

Stay calm
. Well, that was
one
thing he was good at.

He turned to the bridge crew, which had been equally as startled at the sudden arrival of the helicopters.

“I believe the ship is being attacked by pirates,” he said with the same unemotional tone he might have used to announce that a squall was imminent.

The stricken face of his first officer suggested that the younger man had none of his captain’s composure. “
Pirates!
What should we do?”

“Do not offer resistance under any circumstances. I’ll call for help.”

He picked up the radio microphone but the ship’s radio speaker crackled as he was about to make a distress call.

“Calling the captain of the
Ocean Adventure,
” a voice said. “Do you hear me?”

Lange said, “This is the captain speaking. Who is this?”

The speaker ignored Lange’s question. “We are rounding up your crew. We are monitoring your radio transmissions and advise you not to call a Mayday. Do you understand me, Captain Lange?”

How did they know his name?

The captain gulped out the words. “Yes, I understand you.”

“Good. Wait where you are.”

The captain’s immediate thought was for the welfare of his twenty-man crew. Maybe if he warned his men they could hide. He picked up the ship’s telephone and called the engine room. No answer. He tried the ship’s mess hall. Silence. He fought back a growing sense of panic and tried the officers’ lounge. Again no answer.

Heavy footsteps pounded on the bridge wing. A gang of armed men burst into the cabin. Four men wore identical black uniforms, caps, and masks hiding their faces except for their hard eyes. The fifth man was dressed in jeans and a foul weather jacket, and his face was uncovered. The captain recognized him as a Filipino named Juan who worked in the engine room.

The captain assumed Juan was a captive until he noticed the pistol in the crewman’s hand. The Filipino saw the consternation in the captain’s face, and his mouth widened in a gap-toothed grin. The captain realized that Juan was working with the pirates. That’s how they managed to take control so quickly. That’s how they knew his name. Juan must have guided the attackers directly to the engine room and other parts of the ship.

One man went over to the control panel and pushed the helmsman aside.

“What are you doing?” Captain Lange said.

The man punched coordinates into the ship’s computer, using numbers printed on a piece of paper. The captain saw that he had put the ship on autopilot. The man finished his task and barked a command.

“You and others. Down to the deck.”

Lange stuck his prominent jaw out in defiance, but he did what he was told and ordered the rest of crew to do the same. The cold breeze sweeping the open deck easily penetrated the captain’s light jacket. He would have been chilled in any case by the sight that greeted him. The rest of his crew was being herded along by armed men. A second Filipino crewman, like Juan, seemed to be working with the pirates.

Prodding the crew with their weapons, the pirates marched the frightened group to the aft deck. More pirates were gathered there around an object about as tall as a man. It was wrapped in canvas and was being trussed with several lengths of heavy rope.

Lange’s eyes went to the pirate who was examining the knots in the rope. He was tall, several inches over six feet, dwarfing the other hijackers, and he had arms that seemed too long even for his powerful body. The man turned around and Lange saw that his face was uncovered. He gazed at the captain with angelic eyes.

“You did well to follow my orders, Captain,” the man said. Lange recognized the voice that had warned him against calling a Mayday. The tone was surreal in its jovial warmth.

“Who are you?” the captain said. “Why are you on my ship?”

“Questions, questions,” the man said with a shake of his head. “It would take much longer to explain than we have.”

The captain tried another tack. “I will cooperate with you, only, please, do not harm my crew.”

The mouth that was almost feminine in its softness widened in a smile. “Don’t worry. We intend to leave you and this ship much as we found it.”

Lange was no dummy. The fact that the man had chosen to bare his face meant he wasn’t worried about witnesses identifying him later. At a nod from the gang’s leader, a hijacker jabbed the captain with his gun and told him to lie facedown on the deck with his crewmen. His hands and feet were tightly bound with tape.