Noah's Ark: Encounters

by Dayle, Harry

  Jake picked up a pair of binoculars and swept the horizon. “Weird. Are they ignoring us?”

  “Perhaps they can’t respond.”

  “How so?”

  “If there’s nobody on board. If they’re incapacitated. If their communications system is down. Or, maybe they’re ignoring us.”

  Jake put down the field glasses. They didn’t help; they were too far away to catch sight of their target. He wandered over to the captain’s chair and sat down, perched on the edge. “So we still don’t know who they might be.”

  “Actually, we might have a bit of a lead. Now we’re closer, the Ambush’s sonar has been able to take a much more detailed look at her.”

  “And?”

  “And…” McNair glanced around, found a clipboard and started to read from it. “She’s sixty metres in length, with a beam of eleven metres, although that’s just what’s in the water. She could be a little wider at deck level. She has one stern thruster and is travelling at eight knots. From the vibrations she’s putting out, she has a single engine, diesel.”

  “They can tell all that from sonar?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Still, that doesn’t tell us where it came from, or who’s on board.”

  “True. But from the dimensions, they ran a search in their vessel-identification database.”

  Jake looked at McNair sideways on. “You’re going to tell me they can identify her from just that information?”

  McNair chuckled, and dropped the clipboard back onto the console. “No, they can’t. But only because her dimensions are common. They came up with a few hundred possible matches. Taking into account our location, they can discount more than half of those as being too far away. Even so, that’s a lot of possible ships.”

  “You really have a database that lists every ship in the world?”

  “Every registered vessel, yes. If she’s not registered — a smugglers’ ship, or pirates for example — then we might not know about her. Although we do hold records on most unregistered pirate ships.”

  “How…Where does all this information come from?” Jake scratched the back of his head, and sat down again.

  “Friendly governments share their registration data.”

  “And unfriendly ones?”

  “That’s what you have security services for, to source that kind of intelligence.” McNair grinned. “Anyway, what it comes down to is that she’s most likely a large fishing vessel, a research ship, or a patrol boat — police or navy.”

  “Wow. You lot never cease to amaze me.” Jake stared out to sea again. He hoped it wasn’t a fishing boat they would find. The irony of losing Stieg to find more fishermen would be too cruel.

  • • •

  Grace Garet had also had trouble sleeping, although not entirely for the same reasons. Certainly the prospect of meeting other survivors held excitement for her, but she was preoccupied with the Moran case.

  She had been convinced that something untoward was going on, that someone was claiming their rations despite their absence. And yet, there was Mrs Moran herself, collecting dinner. Grace was a naturally suspicious person, she believed it stood her in good stead as a detective, and so she had challenged Mrs Moran when she had handed over her ration slip. The poor old lady had been quite taken aback, and became somewhat flustered as Grace had demanded she prove who she was. Even Grace had to admit that carrying a means of formal identification was not something anybody thought about now. With such a tiny population, and with no particular benefit to be had from impersonating someone else, there was simply no need. Even so, she had insisted, and Mrs Moran had searched her handbag and found, to her relief, that she had been carrying her passport. The document proved conclusively that Mrs Claire Moran was who she said she was. The passport had been renewed shortly before the cruise, and the photograph inside left no room for doubt.

  Grace had turned the events over in her mind for much of the night. Something about the situation just felt wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. At five o’clock she got out of bed and started writing up her notes. Max had insisted on a full written report. “If you want to be a detective, you can do the work of a detective,” he had said. “And that includes the paperwork.”

  She had an hour to kill before she had to be ready to report for duty. Max had called an early meeting of the whole team. Tensions were sure to be running high on the ship as they approached and contacted the new vessel. Security would have an important role to play.

  • • •

  The calculations and predictions proved to be accurate. At nine o’clock, the new ship was within sight.

  “Captain, HMS Ambush reports they are surfacing.” Lucya relayed the message from her position at the communications station. “Coote wants to talk to you.”

  “Put him on the speaker.”

  She punched some buttons, and the submarine captain’s voice boomed out, heard by the full complement of officers on the bridge.

  “Good morning, Arcadia. Coote here! We’re coming up for some fresh air, and to get a better look at our new friends.”

  “Morning, Coote.” Jake was standing at the front window, binoculars in hand once more. “Any luck on narrowing down the vessel type?”

  “Young Eagle-eyes is on the case as we speak, old boy. We’ve got excellent visuals. Stand by…”

  There was a tense silence as everyone waited for Coote to report back.

  “I believe we have a name. She’s called Lance. Ralf is looking her up now.”

  “She’s bigger than I expected,” Jake said. “Taller. And she’s blue. Erica will be pleased.”

  “Sorry? Ah, here we are. Lance: research vessel, operated by the Norwegian Polar Institute. Also served as a coastguard vessel in the Barents Sea.”

  Lucya looked up from her console. “Yes! That’s why I know the name. I’ve seen her before, when I was patrolling the Barents. We suspected her of spying, but could never prove anything. She had some very advanced sonar equipment on board.”

  “Indeed!” Coote bellowed. “According to our information she has two wet labs, two further labs, a rather fancy echo sounder — capable of detecting a single fish at kilometre range — some split beam transducers, and a highly advanced sonar. Eagle-eyes is getting quite excited, although I must admit it’s mostly gobbledygook to me. Let’s see…winches, motion sensors, a veritable floating research centre.”

  “All very impressive,” Jake said, putting down his binoculars and returning to his chair. “But do we know if there’s anyone on board?”

  “Well, they appear to have stopped, which is unsurprising as they must now be able to see us. So I would say yes, there is. We are trying to detect the presence of any heat signatures with our infrared sensors, but we are still a bit too far away to get an accurate measure. Now, the main reason for my call. I suggest myself and some submariners make the initial approach. You know how I feel about this from the rafts we’ve picked up. Never know how the chaps might react.”

  “I agree. But I’d like to be with you. As captain, and as chairman of the committee, it’s my duty.”

  “Of course, old chap. In that case, I’ll see you on the Ambush as soon as the ramp is in place.”

  The speaker went dead, the conversation over.

  “Jake, are you sure you want to go?” Lucya looked worried. “Shouldn’t we leave it to the professionals?”

  “If a bunch of gun-toting navy men turn up, it’s going to look pretty hostile to whoever is on that ship. Someone needs to be the friendly face of the community. Chuck, you have the helm. The Ambush will talk you in, slow and steady as we get closer.”

  Chuck nodded once.

  “Dave, keep a good lookout. With all eyes on the Lance, someone needs to be making sure we don’t run into anything else. Lucya, you’re in charge until I get back.”

  Jake took a look around at his skeleton crew. It was a great relief to him that he could have such confidence in them. He walked towards the door, but
Lucya called after him.

  “Before you go! I’ve got Silvia on the phone. She says she has something important to show you.”

  “Tell her I’ll see her on my way down.”

  • • •

  Silvia Brook’s office was, as usual, a hive of activity. The hotel manager, previously responsible for all non-sailing personnel on board, now had the task of overseeing all the teams and accommodation. The workload was enormous and she had taken on two assistants to help her. As new teams were created, personnel were sourced from the crew and passenger list, jobs were handed out, and cabins were sometimes reassigned if the position warranted it. The aim was to get almost everyone working in some capacity or other.

  Despite the imminent encounter with the Lance, it was business as usual for Silvia. She and her assistants were building up the recycling team. With finite resources on board, and with waste mounting up, it had become a priority. They had found a materials expert to lead the new group, and with his help they were working through the census data to find suitable team members.

  “Ah, Jake. Glad you could come. I thought you should see this.” Silvia handed him a page of paper the moment he was through the door.

  He took the sheet and began to read, his eyes scanning the handwritten text, stumbling on some of the more scrawled words.

  “Oh, I see. Vicky Mitchell’s census form.”

  “Yes. Keep reading.”

  “Thirty-one years old, married, degree in marine biology? That could be useful.” He lowered the paper and raised his head, looking towards the ceiling. “Stieg…before he…he was talking about an idea he had for farming fish in the swimming pools, so we wouldn’t be reliant on what we could catch. No idea if it was feasible, but it sounds like Mrs Mitchell would be an ideal candidate to lead such a project, or at least investigate its viability.”

  “Good idea,” Silvia said, looking at her watch. “Keep reading.”

  “Hobbies…interests…favourite books…liked to work out before she was pregnant…oh!” He looked up, a big grin on his face. “Her mother was Korean. She speaks fluent Korean!”

  • • •

  Capturing and greeting life rafts had become something of a speciality for Jake, Coote, and submariners Ewan and Eric. Meeting the Lance was a different affair altogether. They were joined on the conning tower of the Ambush by submariner Brian Thomas.

  They made their approach from the Lance’s starboard side, with the Ambush sandwiched between her and the Spirit of Arcadia. The Lance had, as Coote suggested, cut her engine, but she had not dropped anchor and drifted freely.

  “That is one weird-looking boat,” observed Eric as they closed from behind.

  The five of them stared up at her. The rear end was dominated by what appeared to be a huge white scaffold. Four towers supported a platform that was as wide as the ship, and as high as the roof of her central section, which incorporated much of the accommodation as well as the bridge. The front third of the vessel was empty save for a tall A-frame winch support, the highest structure on board. The combination of the scaffold and the midship section gave her an unbalanced appearance, as if she should tip up on her back, sending her bows rearing out of the water.

  “A helipad,” Ewan said, pointing to the surface atop the scaffolding. “Not much use now. Don’t suppose there are any helicopters left anywhere.”

  “What’s with the winch?” Jake asked. “It’s gigantic. It looks like they’re transporting the Eiffel Tower!”

  “For trawl nets, I expect,” Coote said. “Research vessels like this are all about surveying fish stocks. Sometimes that means catching the blighters. I tell you what though, that looks rather handy!” He pointed to a bright orange lifeboat suspended from the side of the helipad rigging. It was fully enclosed, and apparently in perfect condition.

  “My dad worked on ships with lifeboats like that,” Jake said. “Given the size, the Lance must have a crew of what…fifteen? Twenty?”

  “Twenty,” Ewan confirmed. “Two rotating crews of ten each, so it can work around the clock. According to our data. Which is not saying much. I don’t trust that computer.”

  “Now, now, Mr Sledge,” Coote said. “What would the Admiralty say if they heard you questioning their work?”

  “They never will hear me, will they? And you know as well as I do, that database is well out of date.”

  “If you are referring to the incident with the Portuguese fishing boat, then I will concede that yes, the information available could have done with a freshen up. An embarrassing moment for all concerned indeed.”

  Jake looked behind him to the Spirit of Arcadia. It had been decided that nobody be allowed on the outside decks during the meeting of the ships, a safety precaution mainly brought about by their experience with the mutated virus. That didn’t stop the masses from lining the windows though. As ambassador, representing all of those faces looking down at proceedings, Jake began to feel the pressure of the situation.

  Coote must have read his mind. “Don’t let it get to you, old boy. History won’t record the words you speak today, only that you were here.”

  Behind them, the propellers of the cruise ship spun up in reverse, bringing their already glacial progress to a graceful halt. They were sliding up alongside the Lance. Those on the Arcadia looked down at her; those on the submarine looked up.

  “I know she’s only small, but she looks quite impressive from here,” Jake said, his voice shrinking away. “For once, I’m glad you two are armed.”

  “Must say, bit odd that there’s no welcoming party!” Coote boomed, not in the least bit intimidated by the looming hulk of the blue-and-white hull. His voice resonated between the Lance and the massive side of the cruise ship, fading with every echo until finally there was complete silence.

  Coote and Jake stood shoulder to shoulder, flanked by Eric and Ewan on either side, with Brian standing behind. Coote took a step forward, cleared his throat, and addressed the faceless, lifeless craft.

  “Hello there!” The words once again bounced back and forth across the cavern created by the parallel ships. “Do come out and say hello! My name’s Coote, captain of HMS Ambush. Terrible name, but don’t let that—”

  Before he could finish, a single gunshot rang out, and a tiny hole exploded in his breast pocket. A trickle of red seeped down his chest. “Oh!” he said weakly.

  Coote dropped to the floor, and then all hell broke loose.

  Eleven

  THE SUBMARINERS ACTED on an instinct honed by years of training and regular drills. It was that instinct that saved Jake’s life. He heard someone scream “Down!”, but whoever it was didn’t wait for him to follow the instruction. A hand on the back of his neck pushed him firmly towards the ground.

  His knees buckled beneath him. At the same instant, the world around him exploded in a cacophony of noise. Even before he hit the deck his senses were bludgeoned by pounding detonation after pounding detonation. He was vaguely aware of gun barrels being pointed towards the Lance. With every deafening shot the weapons appeared to spit fire.

  By the time he crashed to the floor of the conning tower, Jake’s ears had surrendered entirely. Whatever was happening now, they supplied only a high-pitched buzzing sound to his brain.

  The floor underneath him moved and groaned.

  Coote.

  The man was trying to breathe. He was also bleeding profusely. Jake rolled onto his back, freeing the captain. He placed a hand over the wound and applied pressure, recalling Grau Lister’s words from the regular first-aid courses he had been obliged to attend. Overhead, the submariners’ rifles pumped out shot after shot. With no visible targets at which to aim, it was difficult to judge the efficacy of their actions.

  More shots rang out, fired from the Lance. A bullet whistled past Jake’s left ear, ricocheted off the tower and flew out to sea. Another ripped through the flesh of Eric’s shoulder, sending him flailing backwards, his weapon still discharging, a streak of bullets flying into the sky.<
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  Brian and Ewan were on their knees now, sheltering behind the rim of the conning tower. Rounds from the hostile ship clanged into the huge black fin, but the seven-inch-thick steel hull shrugged them off like flies.

  Jake reached to his belt with his free hand and found his radio. He still couldn’t hear, but he didn’t need to. He pressed the transmit button and shouted as loud as he could: “Get us out of here! Move!” He suspected the order was redundant, but he had to do something. The bridge had a perfect view of what was happening and he knew Lucya would already be doing everything in her power to get them away.

  Coote coughed. Blood spilled from his mouth, splattering across Jake’s perfectly prepared dress uniform.

  His hearing began to return. He became aware of sounds, although it was as if someone was holding pillows across his ears. There was the rumble of an engine. He chanced a glance over the rim of the tower and saw the tip of the Lance’s giant winch turning away from them. With no frame of reference he had no idea if they were retreating, or if the Lance was pulling away. Either way, the gun battle was becoming less intense. There were discernible pauses between shots.

  He looked down at Coote. The man was unconscious, and losing blood fast. Jake made a snap decision. He sprang to his feet but remained low, crouching below the level of the tower’s surround. He released his hand from the chest wound, and put both hands under Coote’s shoulders.

  “Ewan!” He screamed as loud as he could. Ewan heard, and saw immediately what Jake was trying to do.

  “Too dangerous!” he mouthed. Jake was not deterred. With his back to the Spirit of Arcadia, he heaved the older captain towards the walkway that connected the vessels. Ewan shook his head violently. A bullet smacked into the handrail of the connecting ramp, narrowly missing Jake’s neck. Ewan span on his heels and fired three rounds towards the Lance. He steadied himself on his knees, targeted the bridge, and fired again. Three more shots. Blood misted one of the windows, and at the same moment the engine of the research ship roared. A swirling torrent of wash erupted from the rear and the blue boat lurched forwards, picking up speed.