Mariner's Ark

by Peter Tonkin

  He really felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She was safe. She was here. There was nothing they couldn’t tackle now. Nothing they couldn’t overcome. ‘Tell me all about it later,’ he said, taking the last step forward so he could slide his arms round her and hug her with all his strength, looking over her shoulder at Nic and Liberty as they stood smiling on the battered bridge. ‘We’ve got quite a job to do. A ship full of relief supplies and soldiers to bring in. A great deal of reconstruction work too, by the look of things. And a whole town of people to find and to help – those that aren’t on their way to Guardalajara or Vallarta. Let’s get this show on the road!’

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Biddy flew Richard, Robin and Guerrero back to Sulu Queen almost immediately. But there was more than one couple reunited before the Bell lifted off. For no sooner had Richard and Robin greeted each other than Miguel-Angel appeared, summoned by the sound of the helicopter and brimming with questions, none of which he ever asked. Because if Juan Jose hardly recognized his little brother, Miguel-Angel knew his elder sibling at once. One glance at the tall, dark officer and the boy burst into tears. Between sobs, he tried to explain in a mixture of broken English and guttural Spanish that the sight of his brother made him realize how terribly he was going to miss his capitan. Juan Jose swept his little brother into his arms as though the tall youth was still a child. ‘And Father?’ demanded the major. ‘How is Father?’

  Miguel-Angel shrugged. ‘Where is Father? The shop is locked and empty. Señor Greenbaum sailed close by the Malecón on the way in and I ran ashore and knocked. But there was no reply. He must have gone. So I came back on board.’

  ‘We saw a convoy of refugees on the flight in.’ Juan Jose nodded. ‘The local authorities are beginning to get organized, I think. But it is impossible that everyone will have gone. There are always people who will not or cannot leave. These are the ones we are here to try to help, for things will get worse.’

  At the major’s request, therefore, Biddy did not simply reverse her incoming flight path. Instead of following the river and going over the jungle, she took the Bell as low as she dared over the apparently deserted town. ‘I calculate,’ Guerrero explained, ‘that anyone still here is likely to try to communicate with us if they hear the chopper passing.’ And so it proved. Especially as he and Miguel-Angel, now inseparable, dictated the course using their superior knowledge of the town. ‘Follow Los Poetas,’ called Miguel-Angel. ‘It runs parallel to Boulevard Centrale. It is where the main hospital is. There will be people there who cannot easily be moved.’ The Bell skipped low over the tall, square building and paused, hovering so that they could look in through the windows – and, sure enough, there were people waving. Miguel-Angel waved back.

  ‘Where next?’ asked Biddy. ‘If I go straight up I just get back to Dahlia Blanca, which I still have not dared tell Mr Greenbaum about. Any volunteers?’

  ‘The Malecón? Los Muertos?’ suggested Juan Jose.

  ‘No. There are three CMQ hospitals in the centre of town,’ said Miguel-Angel. ‘And there are the Buena Vista health clinics which are high up near the beginning of the jungle. If the rain continues, they would be at risk first, no?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Juan Jose. ‘But they will also be the hardest for us to reach.’ His observation was borne out as Biddy took them up to Buena Vista at the jungle’s edge. ‘What we need is some kind of transport that can get up and down these hills, even when they are flooded. Something amphibious, maybe.’

  ‘The Mexican Navy has amphibious vehicles,’ Biddy said knowledgeably. ‘They have BTR-70 eight-wheelers and some Gama Goats still in commission.’

  ‘Their main Pacific base is in Manzanillo, just south of Vallarta,’ said Juan Jose. ‘Though they also have bases at Ensenada, Puerto Cortez and Vallarta.’

  ‘Good,’ said Richard. ‘But what we could really do with is more choppers.’

  ‘I tell you what you need,’ said Robin. ‘You need that airship we saw.’

  ‘Dragon Dream? It would be perfect if it can handle the conditions.’

  ‘I could ask,’ called Biddy. ‘I mean, there will be guys up in LA who’ll know the contact. Like I said when we saw her, Dragon Dream has fans there.’

  ‘Worth a try,’ said Richard. ‘She was heading for Mexico City. She could conceivably be quite close by if she can get over the Sierra Madre.’

  ‘I remember a briefing,’ added Juan Jose, ‘that suggested one of the best uses for dirigibles like that is in emergencies. They don’t need any major ground support and yet they can move things the size of containers.’

  ‘So we have some priorities,’ said Richard. ‘Check the last hospitals. Get back to Sulu Queen. Contact the navy at Manzanillo. Contact Dragon Dream.’

  ‘Aeroscraft are the guys who built her,’ Biddy added. ‘I knew it would come to me. They’re out in Montobello. I can get through to them.’

  ‘Right. But, unless you’re confident about multitasking, I suggest we leave the radio contacts till we get back aboard, except for alerting Cheng that we’re on our way. Then we can start to call our priority list as we bring her in.’

  By the time Richard eased Sulu Queen past the Faro lighthouse at the end of the breakwater and into the flotsam-thick relative calm of the outer harbour a couple of hours later, Juan Jose Guerrero had contacted Manzanillo, explained who he was, where he was and what he was doing. Already on high alert, under direct orders from the president to cooperate as fully as possible, the admiral he finally talked to warned that the commands on the Baja were already fully committed and Vallarta was filling up with refugees so swiftly that the naval contingent down there was going to be needed onsite. But he agreed to load one of his venerable Papaloapan-class tank landing ships with as many BTR-70 amphibious vehicles and Gama Goats as he could spare. And with drivers and support teams. Already well versed in such work and holder of a Humanitarian Service Medal, the vessel had an emergency routine practised after Hurricane Katrina and again after the Haiti earthquake. She could be with them in twelve hours, depending on sea conditions.

  Biddy’s contact with Aeroscraft seemed equally positive. Dragon Dream was indeed on her way to Mexico City. ‘She’s currently at Durango International Airport,’ Biddy explained just after she broke contact. ‘That’s just the other side of the mountains, about two hundred and fifty kliks north-east of here. Of course, they’re keen to help in any way they can. Dragon Dream is a scaled-down version of the craft already in production, but she can still help. They’re trying to find a way over the Sierra. As soon as they do, they’ll be here. Dragon Dream can fly at more than one hundred and fifty kliks per hour. And she can carry up to sixty tons payload – that’s three fully laden TEUs – or a hundred or so passengers. Sounds like the answer to your prayers, Richard. If she can get here.’

  As the helmsman eased Sulu Queen into the empty dock in front of Maxima at Richard’s command a couple of hours later, however, the next set of problems became obvious. The amount of rainwater draining between the containers and collecting in the bilge beneath the ship’s hold meant that the pumps were on full. At sea this was not a problem, but as the big freighter came close to the dockside, the bilge water flooded the facility even further, adding to the deluge and washing away towards the warehouses. Furthermore, although there was a crane large enough to lift Guerrero’s containers ashore, there was no one to man it and nothing to transport them – always assuming the roads were passable. ‘As I said,’ observed Robin as her husband stood thinking the problems through, ‘we either need some big choppers or Dragon Dream.’

  ‘But in the meantime,’ frowned Guerrero, ‘what can we do? We have focused so much on getting here. And now that we are here, we cannot get our help to the people who need it most!’

  ‘Not for eight to ten hours, maybe,’ added Miguel-Angel, looking on the bright side as ever. ‘Then the navy will be here.’

  ‘But the National Guard is here already,’ snapped Jua
n Jose.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Richard. ‘How about this? The way we have your containers secured means that the only thing stopping us opening them up again and really starting to get things moving is the rain. How about if we moved them into the dry? Then your people could get out some of the supplies – tents, say, heating units, medicines, so forth. And then we could see about bringing people to us, aboard here, if we can’t get the containers to them.’

  ‘Like a real arco de Noa!’ said Miguel-Angel.

  ‘But where is this dry place?’ demanded the major.

  ‘Under the road bridge,’ answered Richard. They all turned round to look at it. The arch of the single span was dead ahead. The outwash from the town joined with the current of the river to make the landside rough and dangerous-looking. But where the span swooped down to settle on the breakwater, things looked much calmer. And on that side, too, the dock had been built out under the span into a broad walkway with a series of bollards. It was clear that, with care, Richard could get a good deal of his ship in there and use the bollards to moor her securely in place. ‘I can’t get Sulu Queen right under because her bridge house is too high,’ he was saying. ‘Even with all our thrusters and the manoeuvrability of the engine it will be really tough. But I reckon we could put all of her foredeck under. Use it as a roof, effectively. Tie up so that my bridge house here is as close to the road-bridge wall as possible and keep a close eye on the way the flood and the tide make the water level rise and fall. Biddy can still come and go off the after deck, taking your experts out and bringing emergencies aboard, and in the meantime we can try and get the foredeck bright, as warm as possible and dry. Come to that,’ he continued, following his train of thought further, ‘once you’ve started emptying your containers of their emergency supplies you could even use some of them as individual refuges. People all over the world are using containers as houses, schoolrooms, hospitals. Why not stock each one as you empty it with a chemical toilet, a heater, some bedding and put people in them until the authorities get on top of the situation?’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Juan Jose. ‘When you start thinking, Richard, you think big.’

  ‘It’s something that’s been at the back of my mind for a while. As I said to Nic Greenbaum when Robin and I were still staying aboard Queen Mary, we were the only people in Long Beach who didn’t need to fear a flood, because we were in the only local hotel that was actually designed to float.’

  ‘Right,’ said the major. ‘If you think you can pull it off then go ahead. In the meantime, my next move is to get some teams looking through those warehouses for anything we can use – including more shelter. I’ve always wanted to get into the hotel business, and if the Westin, the Hilton or the Marriott are empty then now’s the time. They’ll make great evacuation centres, independently of the fact that they make great wind-breaks to give us some shelter here. Also, I need to take some of my medics in the Bell up to the hospital where we saw those folks waving.’ He saw the look on Miguel-Angel’s. ‘OK, kid, you can come.’

  ‘I’m trained up to accident and emergency level,’ added Robin. ‘And I can fly choppers. I’ll sit in the co-pilot’s seat and see where I can be most help.’

  ‘Take a walkie-talkie,’ said Richard. ‘Stay in touch.’

  ‘I’ve got fuel in the tank,’ added Biddy. ‘I can take you three and four others then hop back for seven more as many times as you like. Just get it organized. Or get that super-efficient Lieutenant Harding to do it for you.’

  ‘That’s settled, then,’ said Richard. ‘Let’s get to work.’

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Upslope of the hospital building in Puerto Banderas was a car park that was both in the wind shadow and the rain shadow of the building. It was relatively dry. Biddy landed there while Robin, the Guerrero brothers and the first four American medics got out and ran for shelter. Then she lifted off and hopped back towards the harbour and Sulu Queen. Robin ran up the eight steps that took her from ground level to the ground floor of the building and paused in the covered outer entrance as she watched the helicopter lift away. Her gaze swept up the slope to the edge of the jungle and the long white wall at the end of Nic’s Dahlia Blanca estate. It had almost become the lip of a waterfall now. Runoff overflowed in a steady stream and swept on down the hill. She wondered briefly about the state of the beautiful house she had admired in Biddy’s video. Then she turned and ran in through the automatic glass doors.

  Robin arrived partway through a conversation between a tall, fine-boned woman in a white coat who looked like an Aztec princess and the major, who looked more like a Spanish conquistador. ‘… When the power went out we switched over to our backup generators on the roof,’ she was saying. ‘But they’re not working properly so they only give us emergency power. And we started moving all the patients we could downstairs to wait for transport out. But then the cellar flooded and that’s where the main generator is. We’ve been without heat, light or power since. Luckily there was no one in the lift when the generator went down but we still have patients trapped on the upper floors. And, needless to say, you and your men are the first people we’ve seen.’ She looked closely at his ID badge and glanced across to Miguel-Angel, who had wandered away and was looking around. ‘One of our patients may be a relation. Señor Guerrero who runs the ship chandlery down on the Malecón. He broke his leg trying to help a friend whose boat was being carried away by the flood. He is on level three.’

  ‘Miguel-Angel, our father is in one of the beds upstairs. See if you can find him. Tell him we’ve come to rescue him,’ said the major. ‘Don’t worry,’ he continued, turning back to the woman and pulling one of the ship’s walkie-talkies from his belt, ‘we’ll get a generator up here and restore power. Then we’ll see about moving your staff and patients out.’ He turned away and spoke into the walkie-talkie. ‘Richard? When Biddy gets back, tell her the next load has to include the biggest generator Lieutenant Harding can find – that Biddy can lift in the Bell – and people to run it.’

  ‘But where will we go?’ asked the woman in the white coat. ‘There is nowhere nearer than Vallarta!’

  Her words were more a spoken thought than a question directed to anyone, but Robin answered. ‘To my husband’s ship. It’s a bit like Noah’s ark from the Bible …’ Then she started to explain about Sulu Queen and Richard’s plans for her.

  Some of the hospital’s maintenance staff had stayed along with some of the medical staff and, by the time Biddy returned, they had shown two of Guerrero’s engineers the best place to patch in a generator – at the major’s insistence up on the second floor just in case. ‘Then I’ll get men up on the roof to see what we can do with your back-up generators up there,’ said Guerrero. ‘But if we target at least one lift shaft with this one then we can get you moving. And maybe we can get light and heat running with the ones on the roof.’

  The engineers promised that the generators would be working in a very short time and with luck would have the lifts serviceable within the hour. Robin watched work on the first begin at a fuse box on the second floor then went down and found the striking-looking white-coated administrator. She explained her qualifications and offered her help. As she did so, she finally got a look at the woman’s ID badge, which identified her as Dr Citali Potosi. Ten minutes later she was three storeys up, looking for Miguel-Angel with orders to check on his father’s leg. The moment she saw the boy she knew his father must have been badly hurt. She had expected to find Guerrero senior on crutches or in a wheelchair. But no. Miguel-Angel, framed against a window at the end of the ward that overlooked the jungle slopes and the low grey sky, was sitting beside a bed whose covers had been tented from halfway down. As she walked swiftly up the ward, Robin glanced at the other three occupants. They were all bed-ridden for one reason or another. Two were asleep. One, like the boy’s father, was sitting up. Señor Guerrero was propped on a pile of pillows, grey-faced with discomfort, his pallor emphasised by the darkness of his thick hair, heav
y eyebrows and deep chocolate eyes. He was the major in twenty years’ time. Miguel-Angel clearly favoured a finer-featured mother resembling Dr Potosi. ‘How are you feeling, señor?’ she asked solicitously. ‘May I take a look at your leg?’

  Miguel-Angel excitedly introduced her and explained how they had met as she folded the blanket back to reveal a leg that had been secure by old-fashioned splints. It was a good job but it was not really good enough. His foot was black with bruising and – more worryingly – his hip looked out of shape. She began to wonder at once whether there might be damage to the pelvis and hip joint as well as to the leg, but without removing the man’s hospital gown it would be impossible to be certain. And, thinking of recent examinations she had done – and not done – for reasons of gender, she realized all too clearly that she was not the person to remove Señor Guerrero’s gown. ‘Miguel-Angel,’ she said. ‘Would you run and find a doctor, please. A male doctor.’

  ‘Si,’ said the boy and ran off, clearly pleased to get away.

  ‘Señor Guerrero,’ said Robin, ‘can you tell me exactly what happened?’ As the ships’ chandler began to explain, Robin pulled up the chair the boy had been sitting in. She half turned it so she could see the rest of the ward. But she had only just sat down to listen to his story when a strange flicker in the light from the window behind her made her turn. She caught her breath with a mixture of surprise and wonder. She stood, leaving her patient stammering into silence, and went to the window. And there, seemingly immediately outside, apparently just above the hospital’s flat roof another ten stories up, the three hundred foot body of the Aeroscraft dirigible Dragon Dream was sailing steadily and silently down towards the docks, looking like a space ship made of mercury, the rain exploding off its skin, giving it a kind of silver halo.