by Matt Lincoln
“Furthermore,” Hills grumbled, “the shipping containers on that ship were massive, right? Easily several tons each. When you think about it, attacking such a large cargo ship doesn’t make sense to begin with. It’s not like they can just pick one of those things up and go. Those containers require heavy machinery and cranes just to lift and move around. How were they supposed to get one onto their boat?”
“Oh yeah,” Chapman suddenly chimed in. “That ship of theirs was a shock, too. We haven’t encountered any reports of them operating such a huge vessel. They tend to use bigger boats than most pirates, but still. We were surprised when we saw the video of the attack. I almost wouldn’t have believed that it was them if they hadn’t been flying that flag.”
“So, they suddenly reappear,” I turned in my chair to face them, “with a huge new ship and a bunch of giant rocket launchers, and sink a massive cargo boat that they didn’t really have any chance of robbing?”
“That about sums it up,” Hills scoffed bitterly.
A beat of silence fell over the room as everyone tried to make sense of the strange situation.
“Maybe… they’re under new management,” Chapman muttered as he drummed his fingers over his leg distractedly. “If someone new is in charge, it could explain the sudden escalation, the big new shape, the show of power. Maybe attacking the ship was just their way of putting on a display of their power.”
“It would make sense,” I admitted. “Criminal enterprises tend to have pretty unstable management. A power struggle could explain at least some of this.”
“Well, we won’t know for sure until we get out there and have a look at the ship itself,” Holm remarked as he stood up out of his chair to stretch. “Speaking of which, we should get going. It’ll be easier to work while there’s still plenty of sunlight.”
“Out to where the boat sank, you mean?” Chapman asked as he stood up as well. “Are we taking divers out with us?”
“We are the divers,” I deadpanned as I stood up as well. Holm was right. The sooner we got out there, the better. It was driving me crazy not to know what was going on, and I was itching to get to the wreck and see for myself what had caused a group of pirates to destroy this ship completely.
“Wow, really?” Chapman grinned. “That’s cool. I guess it makes sense, being that you’re based out of Miami and everything.”
“If you’re heading out right now, I’ll call ahead and alert the Coast Guard,” Diane called as she picked up her phone off her desk. “They might still be conducting search and rescue around the area. I’ll let them know to expect you, so they aren’t alarmed.”
“Thanks,” I replied before stepping through the door.
The four of us made our way out of the office and toward the elevator. As we left, I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins at just the thought of getting into the water. I was going to find out what it was that Lieu was keeping from us, one way or another.
7
Ethan
“Yeah, I have a diving certification too,” Chapman casually mentioned as Holm and I finished gearing up.
We were out on the water, right above the wreckage site. There were still a few Coast Guard boats nearby, though, at this point, they’d mostly started to focus on recovery rather than rescue. At over twenty-four hours since the boat went down, it was now much more unlikely that anyone they found in the water would still be alive.
They cleared out of our way to allow us to work, with a warning that we might run into some corpses while we were investigating the wreck. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it was to be expected, considering the circumstances. It also wouldn’t be the first or even second time I’d run into a body while diving, so it wasn’t something I couldn’t handle.
As we began to get suited up, I’d noticed that the kid seemed to know a lot about the equipment and was examining everything with an interest that only someone with experience would show. I’d asked him off-handedly if he’d ever dived before and was surprised to hear that he was fully certified for deep-sea dives.
“You should have said something,” Holm told him as he finished putting his diving fins on. “You could have come down to the wreck with us.”
“It’s fine,” he replied with a shrug. “I’ve never actually been part of a search and recovery mission. Even though we travel around a lot, we don’t get a lot of cases regarding international waters.”
“Well, that would be our jurisdiction,” I noted as I double-checked to make sure I had everything I needed.
“It does seem cool,” Chapman remarked as he peered over the edge of the boat into the clear blue water. “Besides the lack of experience, though, it probably wouldn’t be safe to leave Charlie up here alone. Usually, one of us ends up getting shot if we split up.”
“One of us?” Hills scoffed from where he was leaning against the helm. “You mean you?”
“It’s not always me.” Chapman frowned before turning back to Holm and me. “It’s usually me, but not always! Anyway, you’re not supposed to dive right after flying, right?”
“Oh, that is true,” Holm muttered before getting his regulator ready. “Alright, we’ll come back up as soon as we're done then.”
“Remember,” I added, “You can communicate with us using the radio transmitter right there.”
I nodded toward the device mounted on the helm.
“We’ll be able to hear you, but we obviously won’t be able to reply since we’ll have our regulators in.”
“Got it,” Chapman replied. “I hope we don’t have to use it, though.”
“Ideally, you won’t,” I replied before putting my regulator into my mouth and backing to the edge of the boat. I gave the two agents a short wave before Holm and I both fell back into the water.
As we swam deeper into the water, I found myself wishing that we had a way to communicate with each other while we were down there. It would make things easier, especially during situations like a fight where we might need backup.
There were full-face diving masks that didn’t require a regulator to be placed inside the mouth and therefore allowed the diver to speak while underwater, but those kinds of masks weren’t practical for deep-sea search and recovery dives. For one, they were prohibitively expensive, and while MBLIS was doing much better financially than it had been as of late, a few sets of high quality, full-face diving masks could easily run into the thousands. It just wasn’t in the budget.
The more pressing concern, though, was the fact that full-face masks were inherently more dangerous. Breathing into what was essentially an enclosed plastic box over your head would ultimately lead to CO2 buildup, regardless of how safe or cutting-edge a mask claimed to be. While they might be fine for shorter, shallower dives, trying to reach the ocean floor wearing one was an almost surefire way to get yourself killed.
So, ultimately, we had no choice but to rely entirely on hand signals and gestures to communicate while underwater.
Even with the sun high in the sky, it was still difficult to see once we reached a certain depth. I switched on the flashlight built into my suit when we were about three hundred yards from the wreck. I could see it from where we were, though not very clearly.
The boat itself was a large white blob in the distance, marred in several places by charred black craters and holes where the rockets must have impacted. Strewn all around the boat were multicolored squares, and as we got closer, I realized what I was looking at was the various shipping containers that had been on board.
The containers themselves were huge, about the size and length of a school bus, and made of metal. Though some were still intact, others had cracked open, their contents spilling out around the ocean floor.
I looked around as we reached the boat, unsure where we should even start. Even though I’d seen the video, I hadn’t quite understood just how big the ship was until I was right in front of it. If I had to estimate, I would guess that the entire thing was about a thousand feet long from e
nd to end, maybe three times the size of a football field. The shipping containers were scattered everywhere as well, piled up around and on top of the wreck, some lying several yards away while others were stacked precariously on top of each other.
Of the ones that had popped open, they all appeared to contain the kinds of goods Lieu claimed they had been transporting. One was filled with what looked like patio furniture covered in really unappealing pink and green fabric. Another was filled with identical square boxes with a picture of a blender printed on the outside.
However, several containers weren’t open at all, and some were crushed beneath other containers, completely unreachable to us. If what we were looking for was inside one of those, we’d have no way of finding out what, if anything, had been on the boat to provoke the attack.
I was cautious as I swam through the wreckage. A sunken boat wasn’t likely to be stable, and if something should suddenly shift while I was swimming by, I might very easily find myself being crushed to death by a giant container filled with home goods.
Holm and I swept the ship first, carefully checking in and around every open container still sitting atop the massive deck. It looked like about half the cargo had fallen off as the ship sank, as nearly half of the flat cargo deck was empty. The containers had shifted and been tossed around during the boat’s demise, so the other half of the cargo was lying around on the ocean floor. After we were done checking the ship, we’d work our way outward toward the containers lying around the perimeter of the wreck. It was so big, though, that the thought of searching every inch of it seemed incredibly daunting.
We’d nearly made it to the other end of the ship when I suddenly heard a low groaning noise. I turned to look at Holm, and from the expression on his face, I could tell he’d heard it too. The groaning got louder, and I realized with a start that it was the ship making that noise as it slowly rolled onto its side. A moment later, there were a series of pops and a loud rumble as one of the stacks of containers suddenly started to shift and tilt directly toward us.
Holm and I swam up and away as my earlier fear came true, and the shipping containers began to tumble and fall. The groaning grew into a screech as the boat continued to tilt, probably helped along by the weight of the containers as they slid off the side.
There was a loud ringing in my ears, and I couldn’t tell if it was the sound of the containers falling or the blood rushing through my own ears as my heart rate quickened. The sudden motion of the water was making it difficult to swim, and I struggled to recall every bit of my SEALS dive training. I knew very well that panicking this deep underwater could be fatal. If I started to hyperventilate, I could suffocate around the regulator. If I lost my sense of direction, I might accidentally swim down instead of up, or worse, directly into the path of one of the falling containers.
I forced myself to remain as calm as I could as I swam away from the danger. My flashlight moved around wildly, making it difficult for me to see where I was going. In the back of my head, a traitorous little voice was mocking me, reminding me of just how painful my death would be if I inadvertently took a wrong turn and got trapped beneath one of the containers.
As I moved, I made sure to keep an eye on Holm. I could see the light from his flashlight just ahead of me, moving erratically as he too struggled to swim away. Even underwater, the noise was intense, and I could feel waves pressing against us, shoving us backward as the containers fell and displaced the surrounding water.
Once I felt confident that we were far enough away from the unstable containers to be safe, I turned around and watched as they settled haphazardly onto the ocean floor. As they did, I frowned behind my mask. It had been tedious enough as it was trying to make sure we scoured everything without missing a spot. Now that half the containers had effectively shifted into a new position, it was nearly impossible to tell where we had and hadn’t searched.
On the plus side, it looked like several of the containers had come open during the shuffle. At least now, we’d be able to investigate the contents of a few more of them.
As I swam back toward the containers, one, in particular, caught my eye. It was bright red, but what was interesting about it was the fact that its contents hadn’t spilled out, even though the lid had broken off and it was currently lying on its side. I went closer to investigate and quickly realized why. Unlike the other containers, the cargo inside of this one was tightly wrapped in several layers of translucent yellow plastic, which was what had prevented the contents from escaping. I might not have thought much of it had it not been for the fact that none of the other containers we’d searched had been packed in a similar manner.
I turned and signaled to Holm to indicate that I had found something. Then I pulled my dive knife from where it was strapped to my leg and moved closer to the container to begin cutting through the plastic.
Whoever had packaged whatever was in here had wanted to make sure it was secure. That much was evident from how it took several swipes with the knife to make any progress in freeing the cargo. The knife wasn’t dull, either. Dive knives were designed to be quick and efficient. If you suddenly found yourself tangled up in something while underwater, for example, the last thing you would want would be a crappy, dull knife.
The cargo was wrapped up tightly, though, and it took a couple of minutes for me to cut enough of the plastic away so that I could pull one of the objects inside free. It was a cardboard box with “Morphine Sulfate” printed across the front, along with a lot of other text underneath that I assumed went into detail about the chemical composition of what was inside.
I turned to look at Holm, who had joined me a little earlier as I was still working through the plastic. This was certainly different from the normal household goods that all the other containers had been filled with.
The waterlogged cardboard was flimsy and breaking apart, so it didn’t take me any effort to rip it open. Inside were three large bottles marked the same way at the front of the box, filled with a dark brown liquid.
We might have just stumbled upon what it was that caused the pirates to sink the ship.
Just as I thought that, the transmitter in my ear crackled to life. I tensed, expecting to hear some kind of message from the agents up on the boat. Instead, all I could hear were muffled voices and the sounds of wind blowing.
Holm turned to look at me, one of his eyebrows raised in confusion. So he’d definitely heard it too, and by the look on his face, he was just as clueless as I was.
The line was still open, and I could hear someone saying something about a dive. I didn’t recognize their voices well yet, but it sounded like Hills was speaking. Had they accidentally turned the radio on without meaning to?
I hoped that was the case, but somehow my gut was telling me otherwise. Something about this just felt wrong.
I strained my ears to listen and flinched in surprise when one of the voices suddenly screamed to get down before being followed with the sound of a barrage of bullets being fired.
Crap, I thought to myself urgently as I gestured for Holm to go back up. We hadn’t been able to hear very clearly what was going on up on the surface, but whatever it was obviously wasn’t good.
There was a clatter and a thump as we began to make our way back up, and a moment later, a much clearer voice called out through the speaker.
“You need to come back up!” one of the agents yelled. It was the younger one, Chapman. “We’re being attacked!”
I wished that I could respond that we were already on our way, but the transmitter only worked one way. There was another loud thunk, as though something had just fallen, and then silence.
I swore internally. Why now, of all times? And where the hell was the Coast Guard? I clenched my teeth together or tried to before my regulator stopped me. Holm and I rushed to the surface, desperate to make it back before our new teammates were slaughtered.
8
Charlie
“Maybe you should have gone down with them,”
Charlie muttered as he looked over the side of the boat, down into the water where the agents had disappeared. He was a good swimmer, and he was no stranger to boats, at least not after joining MBLIS, but diving was something else. The idea of being that far underwater, with only a tiny little device in your mouth to keep you from meeting a dark, watery grave, gave him goosebumps. He was just fine sticking to solid ground.
Junior, however, was certified to do that stuff. A part of him just wasn’t really pleased that the Miami agents were the ones looking at the wreck and gathering evidence while he and Junior sat up top, twiddling their thumbs. The other two agents seemed like decent enough guys, but Charlie didn’t know them, and therefore he didn’t trust them.
“Then you’d be up here all by yourself,” Junior replied without looking up from his tablet. “That's really not safe. What if you got attacked while you had no backup? And besides, I was only sort of kidding when I said that one of us always gets injured when we try to do things solo. I don’t know if I want to risk it while underwater.”
Charlie snorted out a laugh. Junior had a point. And it probably would have been even duller if he’d been the only one up here by himself.
Still, he felt frustrated. Even though it knew it was important to get down there and look at what exactly was on the boat, it didn’t make sitting around feeling useless any easier.
“I guess you’re right,” Charlie grumbled as he leaned back against the side of the helm. “I just don’t like that we have no idea what those two are doing down there or if they’re even doing a good job.”
“It’ll be fine,” Junior sighed, finally looking away from the tablet and looking up at Charlie from where he was sitting against the side of the boat. “They’re MBLIS agents. And like Miranda said, they’ve got years of experience on us. I’m sure they’ll do a thorough job.”
“Well, trust is earned,” Charlie replied as he looked back out over the water. He’d always thought that was one of Junior’s greatest flaws. The kid was nice, but he was too nice, too trusting.
