Deadly Coast (18 page)

“What about the monitors?” Dugan asked. “We’re out of the pirate-hunting business for now, but that doesn’t mean we won’t run into some. If so, I’d still like to be able to steer from the safe room.”

“The fiber optics is OK,” Woody said. “The monitors themselves got a shaking—more than they could tolerate, I reckon. I got the boys stealing the TVs out of the officer and crew lounges. I think we can jury-rig somethin’ up.”

“Good,” Dugan said. “Which brings me back to, how long?”

“I got Edgar and his boys coming over to give us a hand,” Woody said. “I figure twelve, maybe fourteen hours.” He looked past Dugan at an approaching figure who stopped several feet away, intent on catching Woody’s eye but seemingly reluctant to intrude on the conversation. Woody shifted his stance so the man was no longer in his line of sight and lowered his voice.

“That is,” he said, “if you can keep that damn Korean off my ass. Somehow he figured out I’m the go-to guy for repairs, and he’s been followin’ me all over the damn ship. I can’t seem to shake him.”

Dugan took a quick glance at the Korean, then turned back to Woody.

“What’s he want?”

“Best I can tell, he wants me to patch up the
Ding Dong 173
, or whatever he calls that tub, so he can go back to fishing.” Woody gave Dugan a hard look. “I take it you ain’t told him he’s now officially a passenger.”

Dugan smiled. “Captain Kwok’s understanding of English seems to deteriorate rapidly when the discussion turns to something he doesn’t want to hear. Just keep politely ignoring him. I’m sure it will sink in sooner or later.”

“For the last time, Jesse, no!” Dugan said into the sat-phone, so forcefully Ward figured he might have been able to hear him even without a phone. “I got guys working over the side in the dark with flashlights, trying to get out of here as soon as possible for Somalia. I’m sure as hell not going to burn a day going in the opposite direction and then a day coming back to do a drive-by oil spill in the middle of the night. You’ll have to think of something else.”

“I have no one else,” Ward said.

“You’ve got navy ships, and helicopters, and jets, and all sorts of resources you could use for—”

“All the ships are too far away and way too obvious, as is a military chopper. I told you, I can’t risk alerting the terrorists. If there
is
something going on and they think we’re on to them, they could scramble with—” Ward caught himself. “Well, it would just be very bad, that’s all. I need you to do this for me. Trust me, OK?”

“Two days’ delay means two more dead hostages,” Dugan said. “I’m sorry, pal, but I need more than ‘trust me’ if I’m going to carry that on my conscience.”

“Tom,” Ward said, “if I don’t get some intel on this drillship, and soon, we both might have a lot more than
two
lives on our consciences.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ward hesitated. The story was so fantastic he was having trouble convincing any of his own superiors it was anything but a fairy tale. He hoped he could be more convincing with Dugan. He took a deep breath and began.

Five minutes later Dugan had stopped pacing the main deck and stood motionless, the phone pressed to his ear.

“Jesus Christ!” he whispered into the phone. “That … that can’t be true, Jesse. How could anyone … I mean … do you believe this?”

“I don’t know what I believe, but I don’t think Imamura was lying, if that’s what you mean. We have to at least check it out.”

“But why us?” Dugan asked. “We’re a day away, and even if you don’t have any navy ships close enough, a chopper from a navy ship or ashore would—”

“Make them suspicious as hell,” Ward said. “I can’t put a chopper over them until I’m ready to set it down on her helideck with an assault force, and I’ve got no grounds to board her at the moment. Not without further confirmation.” Ward hesitated. “But it goes beyond that, Tom. The few people above me in the food chain I’ve talked to about this think I’m nuts, but they didn’t sit there with Imamura. I need more proof before I’m likely to get much support for going after an American drillship chartered by a well-connected foreign ally, engaged in an outwardly legal activity in international waters. And the satellite imagery of the drillship pretty much shows business as usual. I need an excuse for getting closer—one that won’t make al-Shabaab take the virus, assuming they have it, and run.”

“For all you know, they already have,” Dugan said.

“I don’t think so. We’ve had the drillship under constant satellite surveillance. There have been no boats or chopper flights from the drillship since then. There’s a fishing boat tied up alongside, which is a bit suspicious in itself, but not illegal. We think that’s how Mukhtar got there, but it hasn’t left the side of the drillship. Whatever was there is still there.”

Dugan fell silent, considering what he’d just learned.

“Tom?”

“Oh! Sorry, Jesse,” Dugan said. “I was just trying to come up with a plan. We have a few hours before we finish here. Let me think things over and get back to you.”

“All right. But call me as soon as you can.”

“Will do, pal,” Dugan replied, and hung up to resume pacing the deck.

Chapter Eighteen

Kyung Yang No. 173
Arabian Sea

Dugan picked his way across the canted upper deck of the engine room by the light of his headlamp, trailed by Woody and the Korean chief engineer. They moved cautiously over the tilted grating, watching their footing and holding on to piping and equipment to steady themselves. Dugan started down a stairway to the next level, the descent made difficult by the heavy starboard list tilting the already steep stairway at a crazy angle. He stepped off the stairway at the next level down and illuminated the ladder treads for Woody and the Korean to descend.

“Ain’t as bad as I figured,” Woody said to Dugan when all three were at the bottom. “The generator flat is above the water, and”—he examined the space below in the light of his headlamp—”only the lower level flooded above the deck plates, and just on the starboard side.” He played his light over the partially submerged electric motors of two pumps and turned to the Korean.
“What those pumps
?
”
he shouted.

The little Korean frowned, then seemed to understand.
“They are bilge pumps,”
he yelled back.
“And I am Korean, not deaf.”

Dugan suppressed a smile and interjected himself into the conversation. “What else is under, Chief?”

The Korean played his light over the water below, where the tops of electric motors showed in scattered places like small islands. “Both bilge pumps, ballast pump, sanitary pumps, cooling-water pump, refrigeration plant for fish hold”—he ticked them off on his fingers—”motors all gone.”

“Well, we won’t get any motors out here. How about work-arounds?” Dugan asked.

The chief nodded as he considered the possibilities. “General-service pump has bilge suction and crossover to ballast system. Can maybe make temporary hookup and use fire pump for cooling water, sanitary, and ballast. Reefer plant …” He shrugged.

“Yeah, I don’t reckon y’all will be needing the reefer plant since the first RPG went into the fish hold,” Woody said.

“What about the main engine?” Dugan asked. “Did the water rise high enough to get into the sump?”

The Korean shook his head. “I check before. Water not rise to shaft seal. I pull oil sample already. No water.”

Dugan nodded. “Then it’s just a matter of getting her patched up and pumped out. What do you think, Woody?”

Woody scratched his chin. “Well, best not to run them generators with this kind of list. We need to get her back up a bit straighter first. I saw two or three Wilden pumps in the foc’sle store on
Marie Floyd
, and y’all have some on your ship too. We can bring both ships right up alongside and drop air hoses down to run the pumps. We’ll rig a couple of mattresses over the holes on the outside of the hull to slow down the water.” He looked down at the water. “Ain’t that much volume, so she should pump out pretty fast. We’ll list her to port and get the holes out of the water and patch ‘em best we can—doublers or cement boxes, or both. Won’t be pretty, but she’ll be tight.”

“How long?” Dugan asked.

Woody sighed. “It’s still the middle of the damn night and we ain’t even finished with
Pacific Endeavor
, so which one do you want first?”

“I want them both first,” Dugan said.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Woody said. He looked at the Korean. “Can your men tend the pumps and rig the piping crossovers?”

“Yes, yes,” he said.

Woody turned back to Dugan. “OK, we’ll see what we can do. Maybe noon.”

M/T Marie Floyd
Arabian Sea

“You told me noon,” Dugan said, looking at his watch.

“I told you
maybe
noon,” Woody replied. “And now I’m tellin’ you fifteen hundred for sure. And you’re damned lucky to get that.”

“All right, all right,” Dugan said. “Sorry to lean on you, but we need to get moving as soon as possible.”

“Get moving
where
, is the question.” Blake stared across the mess-room table at Dugan. “Why the hell are you taking off for parts unknown in a Korean fishing boat?”

“I can’t tell you,” Dugan said. “It’s something I have to do and this was the only way I could figure to do it without slowing our operation down. As soon as you show up off Harardheere, you can demand that they stop executing hostages or threaten to match the executions man for man, but they won’t believe it until they see what you’ve got. It’s going to take you four and a half days to get there as it is, and I don’t want to add any time to that.”

“I understand that part,” Blake said. “What I don’t understand is why you’re going and how you intend to join back up with us.”

“And the answers are, I can’t tell you and I don’t know,” Dugan said. “And if I don’t get to Harardheere, it doesn’t matter. You know the plan. Start without me. Getting our captives there and setting up the deal is the important thing.” Dugan looked at Woody. “And speaking of that, you know what you have left to do, right?”

“Well, I thought I did until you explained it to me ten times, but now I’m all fucked-up,” Woody said.

Dugan turned red and Woody raised his hands in a calm-down gesture. “Yes, I got it down. The tank mods are already finished on
Marie Floyd
, so I can put everybody on finishing up
Pacific Endurance
. Don’t worry.”

Dugan nodded, mollified, and Woody continued. “But I’ll tell you something else, for whatever it’s worth. I don’t know where the hell you’re headed, but I’ll be damned if I’d sail off with those Koreans without someone to watch my back. That chief’s OK, but I think Captain Kwok just wants to get the hell out of Dodge, and if you think he’s gonna cooperate when it’s just you and him and his crew, you might want to rethink that. As soon as you have a difference of opinion, I reckon you’re either gonna become a passenger or be dumped over the side.”

Dugan nodded. “I was thinking the same thing myself.”

Vince Blake stood on the port bridge wing of the
Marie Floyd
staring down at the
Kyung Yang No. 173
as she got underway. Dugan and the three Russians waved up at him from the afterdeck and Blake returned the wave, as the fishing boat slipped from between the two ships and headed east.

Blake waved across to the captain of
Pacific Endeavor
and got a nod in reply, then started the agreed upon separation maneuver.

“Dead slow ahead,” he called into the wheelhouse.

“Dead slow ahead, aye,” parroted the third mate.

“Rudder amidships,” he called.

“Rudder amidships, aye,” the helmsman confirmed.

He stood watching on the bridge wing until he was well clear of the other ship, then set the new course and began to gradually increase speed, knowing
Pacific Endeavor
would soon fall in a mile away on his port beam. There would be no intentional slow steaming now, not that it mattered much. Two tired old tankers near the end of their economic life weren’t greyhounds of the sea, but he hoped they could maintain thirteen knots. Four and a half days at that speed—and five lives.

An hour later and at full sea speed, he let his mind wander to the
Luther Hurd
, and Lynda Arnett, and Jim Milam, and the rest of the crew. He wondered again if he was doing the right thing, and then suppressed those doubts. If he could do nothing for his own crew, at least he could help others. He glanced at the digital readout of the speed log and nodded. Thirteen-point-two knots. Not bad.

On a whim, he walked to the console, picked up the phone, and hit a preselect.

“Engine Room, Chief speaking,” a voice answered.

“This is the old girl’s last run, Chief,” Blake said. “I’d like all she’s got.”

Blake listened patiently to a long tale about exhaust temperatures, overload protector settings, and a variety of other things about which he knew little as he awaited the words he knew were coming.

“… but I’ll see what I can do,” the chief said.

“Thanks, Chief. I appreciate it,” Blake said, before cradling the phone.

Five minutes later, he smiled as he watched the RPM indicator creep up, and the speed log output move to thirteen-point-eight knots. If they could pick up a favorable current, they might beat his ETA. Four lives lost was better than five.

M/T Luther Hurd
At anchor
Harardheere, Somalia

Gaal adjusted the explosive collar around the chief engineer’s neck, preparing him for his turn as display hostage. Milam glared at him, his hatred palpable. Gaal had insisted that he and Diriyi take over the tasks of changing the collars, citing his concern that the rest of the holders were so perpetually stoned on khat that they risked blowing themselves and the hostages up. Diriyi had acquiesced reluctantly, feeling the task was beneath him. Sensing that, Gaal had assumed most of the work himself, and the hostages grew to hate him even more.

Gaal pulled the last strap tight and nodded to a waiting pirate, who came over and jerked his head toward the door. The chief engineer started his trek up to the flying bridge, the exercise now routine. Gaal ignored the glares of the other hostages and fell in behind the chief and his guard, and followed them into the passageway and up the central stairs. He exited the stairwell at D-deck and walked a dozen steps down the passageway to the captain’s office, and entered without knocking.

Diriyi was on the sofa, staring at his sat-phone on the coffee table in front of him. He looked up as Gaal entered. “I think something is wrong,” he said. “Mukhtar should have called hours ago.”

Gaal shrugged and dropped into the easy chair across from Diriyi. “It’s probably nothing,” he said. “Maybe he’s having trouble with his phone.”

“No. There are other phones, and he’s eager to confirm the naval vessels are still in place watching us,” Diriyi said. “Also, he knows I’m eager to know when he’s done, so we may finish our business and leave. Things have been greatly complicated by Zahra and those other fools and their executions.”

“Don’t worry, Diriyi,” Gaal said. “I know the Americans. They’re single-minded and focused on us. They’ll do nothing unless we provoke them by executing
our
hostages. They care nothing for the others.”

Diriyi looked unconvinced. “Perhaps,” he said. “But all the same, I wish Zahra and those other idiots had not complicated the situation. What can they be thinking?”

M/T Phoenix Lynx
At anchor
Harardheere, Somalia

“A mother ship?” Zahra asked. “You’re sure? Maybe it’s just late checking in.”

“I don’t think so,” Omar said. “No one has heard from them in over two days. And she vanished in the same area as all the rest.”

“How many now?”

“All the bands are reporting disappearances. Over a hundred now, I think,” Omar said. “Do you think it’s the work of Mukhtar and his fanatics?”

“Who else? The naval forces are eager to show the world how effective they are. If they’d done it, they’d trumpet the news.” Zahra shook his head. “No. The only ones who might do this secretly are the fanatics. What’s our man on the drillship say? If Mukhtar is targeting us, he should know.”

“His report is long overdue,” Omar said. “I fear he’s been discovered. What should we do?”

Zahra said nothing for a moment. “How close is our remaining mother ship?”

Omar shrugged. “At her speed, perhaps three days from the drillship. Less, of course, for the launches she supports.”

“And the other bands?” Zahra asked.

“More or less all at the same distance, but some have faster mother ships. Why? What’re you thinking?”

“That there’s little point in wandering around aimlessly to be picked off by Mukhtar at his leisure,” Zahra said. “If we combine forces, perhaps we can end his interference once and for all.”

Omar stroked his beard, then nodded. “It might work. We could rendezvous at sea and pick the two fastest mother ships to carry the men, then use them to support a larger force of attack boats. It’ll take a little time to organize, but we could strike by surprise and overwhelm him.”

Zahra smiled and reached for his phone. “I know it’ll work. I’ll confer with the leaders of the other bands. I think it’s time we pay Mukhtar a little visit. And while we’re at it, we can relieve him of his treasure.”