Kelly gave the child a knowing look and bent close. “Let’s speak English so these dummies can stay up with us.”
Maria smiled and nodded.
“What are you doing aboard?”
Maria brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Mi padre . . . my father . . .” She bit her bottom lip, fighting back tears.
Kelly put her arm around her. “Just take it slow.”
“ . . . was taking me to visit mi tía Louisa . . . my aunt . . . in Buenos Aires . . .”
“And who was . . . who is your father?” Kelly asked.
“Número dos . . .” Maria said, looking down.
“I don’t understand,” Kelly said.
“Number two,” Blake said. “Second-in-command.” Now he knew where he’d seen her. He studied her face. He’d seen her picture in the first mate’s wallet, along with the rest of his family. Poor little kid. He wondered how much she’d seen. He hoped she hadn’t seen her father like that. It all made sense now. From the bridge, the Bosun’s locker would be a logical place to try to hide her while the first mate manned the helm and tried to radio for help. It could be dogged down tight from inside and, if you were quick enough, you could frustrate the hell out of someone on the other side trying to get in. The way she’d handled those dogs, it looked as though she’d had some practice. Blake felt his ears getting warm at the thought of that demented bastard trying to get to a little kid. He secretly hoped that Sergeant Rivero would be the one to find him. He doubted that the Colombian marine would be as genteel with him as Americans would be.
Kelly was smiling up at him. She stuck her lower lip out and nodded. “Very good, Lieutenant.”
A cold blast of wind and spray swept through the dining salon. Kozlewski, Sparks, and Robertson stumbled in through the open door, dripping seawater. Robertson leaned into the door, slamming it shut against the wind.
Maria jumped behind Kelly.
“Any sign?” Blake said to Kozlewski.
“The chief shook his head. “Not hide nor hair.” He walked up to Blake, wiping water out of his eyes.
Maria peeked around Kelly’s arm.
Kozlewski’s eyes grew wide, looking at the child. He glanced at Blake. “Looks like you found something.”
Blake nodded. “Not what we were looking for.”
Sparks came around from behind the chief’s broad shoulder, wiping salt water from his face. His eyes narrowed. “Well, now, what do we have here?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Kelly said.
“Ah now, Sweetie, don’t be like that,” Sparks said, not taking his eyes off the child. He walked over to Kelly and tried to look around her.
Kelly stood blocking his way with her arms crossed, staring at him. “Did you lose something, Bozo?”
He glanced over his shoulder at Blake. “You gonna let her talk to me like that? I’m just trying to be friendly.”
Maria peeked around Kelly at Sparks.
Sparks flashed a smile exposing crooked yellow teeth.
Blake thought he looked like a weasel in a hen house. “Find something for that creep to do,” he said quietly to the chief.
“Sparky,” the chief said. “Go make some fresh coffee.”
“Me? You gotta be kidding. “I’m a first class. She’s only a third class, and a woman to boot. Tell her to make coffee.”
“A first-class jerk,” Kelly said, looking him in the eyes.
“You heard me,” The chief said.
“Fine, fine. I’ll make coffee.” He peered around Kelly’s shoulder and flashed his yellow smile at the girl. “I’ll see you later.”
“Where in God’s name did you find the kid?” the chief asked, scratching his head.
Blake filled Kozlewski in on the details, watching Sparks walk into the galley. If what he’d heard about Sparks was true, he was going to be a problem. “Excuse me for a minute, will you, Chief?”
Blake pulled the door closed that separated the galley from the dining salon and walked up behind Sparks as he was drawing water from the tap. Sparks glanced up and started filling a container with coffee grounds.
“Hey, Lieutenant, where’d you find the little cutie? Reminds me of a little doll I had in Buenaventura before we deployed. Couldn’t a been more than twelve, thirteen. These bastards always lie to you, but you could tell this kid wasn’t no more’n-”
Blake grabbed him by the arm and spun him around, sending the coffee reservoir clattering across the stainless-steel counter.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Sparks said. His face was drained white.
“That little kid’s been through hell,” Blake said. “And I don’t want to see you bothering her.” His eyes narrowed. “You got that?”
Sparks stared at him, white saliva forming in the corners of his mouth, and nodded.
Blake gently released Sparks, smoothing his shirt, looking at him. “Good,” he said. “I hope you do.”
Sparks pulled back, straightening his shirt. “You’re crazy. What are you so uptight about? Who gives a fuck about some little bean kid?”
Blake’s eyes flashed.
“Okay, okay. Jeez. You can have it all to yourself. I get the message.”
Blake stared at him, shaking his head. “How’d you get in the Navy?”
The chief pushed the galley door open and stuck his face through. “Lieutenant. Rivero’s back.”
Blake threw a final warning glance at Sparks and followed the chief into the dining salon. Rivero, Tobin, and Alvarez came stumbling in over the coaming, dripping water. Blake looked at Rivero’s face, searching for some good news. The plan he had in mind was a long shot that would require an almost superhuman effort on everyone’s part. He couldn’t afford having a loose cannon like El Callado aboard to complicate things.
Rivero laid his M-16 across a table and wiped salt water from his face. He looked at Blake and shook his head. “Nada, Teniente.”
“That’s good news, ain’t it?” the chief said. “That means he ain’t aboard.”
“No,” Blake said. “That means we didn’t find him. We’ll try again later.” Blake looked at his watch and the dusk settling over the heaving sea. “We’ve got just enough time left to get these guys buried before it gets dark. Better do it now, we won’t have time tomorrow.” He nodded to the chief. “Let’s put together a burial detail.”
The chief raised his eyebrows. “A burial detail?”
“We can’t leave these bodies lying around much longer,” Blake said. “We’re too close to the equator.”
“Hell, let’s just pitch ‘em over the side,” The chief said.
“We can’t do that.” Blake looked across the room at Maria, standing with Kelly. “Let’s try to make it as dignified as we can.”
The chief followed Blake’s eyes across the room to the frail child standing with Dana Kelly and nodded. “Yes, sir, we’ll do our best.”
“Looks like we’ve got a break in the weather,” Blake said, looking out the window. “Have your people assemble all the bodies on the quarterdeck as soon as possible. Find some planks and some sheets for a burial at sea. Place all their possessions in envelopes marked with their names, if you can find them. We’ll turn them over to the authorities.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Kozlewski said.
Blake motioned Tobin over. “I understand that you’re a minister of some kind, or were, is that right?”
“Well, not exactly, sir,” Tobin said. “When I was sixteen, I was named a deacon in the Church of the Holy Gospel back home in Fort Wayne. Some thought I had the calling but . . .” He grinned sheepishly. “After I preached a few sermons, the girls started to hang around, and I kind of fell by the wayside. It didn’t go anywhere.”
“I wondered if you’d like to say a few words over these folks. I believe I saw a Bible in the captain’s stateroom.”
“Well, yes, sir. Like I said, I’m no preacher, but . . .”
“You’ll do fine,” Blake said. He looked at the chief. “Best g
et started. I don’t know how long the weather will hold. Kelly had better stay here with the girl. Call me when you’re ready. I’ll be in the chart room, behind the pilothouse.”
Blake was hunched over the chart table, writing on a pad of yellow paper, when Kozlewski walked in. “We’re about ready, sir,” the chief said, glancing down at the tablet.
“Everything in place?” Blake asked.
“All except the guy in the vault. They’re bringing him up now.”
“Let’s do it.” Blake tossed the pencil down and closed the cover.
Blake and Kozlewski stepped out of the superstructure onto the port quarterdeck where six bodies lay neatly aligned, feet splayed out at a forty-five-degree angle, soles facing the weather rail. The bodies lay on pieces of plywood which had been stripped from packing crates by Robertson and Alvarez. The silhouette of the bodies could clearly be seen under thin white sheets, which Doc Jones had taken from the ship’s laundry. A clear plastic envelope containing their possessions lay at the head of each victim, like a headstone. Inside the envelopes could be seen wallets, coins of various nationalities, pocket knives, keys, a few family photographs.
Blake looked up as Sergeant Rivero and Doc Jones walked quickly toward him, breathing hard, faces drawn. “What is it?”
“That body in the vault,” Doc Jones rasped in Blake’s ear. “It’s gone.”
“Gone? What the hell do you mean it’s gone?” Blake said. “I thought you said the guy was dead.”
“I thought he was,” Doc said. “But I gotta tell you I didn’t take the time to look at him real close. I wanted to get the hell out of there.”
Blake felt a cold tremor go through him. What the hell was going on here? Dead people didn’t walk. Either the guy got up and walked away, or somebody moved him. Either way, it sent a chill through him. He looked at the others, staring at him curiously. “Let’s get on with it,” he said to Doc. “We’ll sort it out later.” He glanced up at Kelly and Maria watching from the window of the dining salon and nodded at Tobin to begin. The group stood solemnly, hands folded, heads slightly bowed. Tobin stood at the center of the formation of bodies, looking down on the six sheeted figures, clutching a small black Bible. He opened it to a place mark and began to read in a soft, steady voice that was barely audible over the howl of the wind:
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters . . .”
The ship took a roll to port as a huge wave crashed against the starboard side of the freighter and rolled across the quarterdeck, shifting the positions of the bodies.
“He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me . . .”
A gust of wind buffeted the group, snapping the funeral shrouds into puffy, elongated balloons. Dungarees, khaki’s, and fatigues whipped and snapped in the wind. Blake struggled to keep his balance, hoping Tobin would keep it short.
“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over . . .”
The skies opened up with a torrential rain that came down in a solid sheet of water, drenching the dead and the living equally. Blake looked up and squinted. Come on, Tobin.
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
Blake glanced impatiently at Tobin, hoping he wasn’t going to launch into a lengthy sermon.
Tobin reverently closed the book, clenched his eyes tightly and bowed his head. Water poured off the end of his nose as if coming from a spout. His voice seemed to rise an octave in an attempt to be heard over the wind.
“Oh, God,” Tobin said in a singsong voice, “we commit the earthly bodies of our brothers of the sea, to the sea, and we pray you to accept their souls into heaven; and to keep them and comfort them, until the glorious day of Christ’s coming on Earth, when the dead shall rise from the earth, and the sea shall give up her dead.” He threw his head back in the rain, eyes tightly clenched, and said, “Amen.”
A chorus of Amen’s rose from the group, followed by the sign of the cross, with dripping hands, from Chief Kozlewski, Sergeant Rivero, and Luis Alvarez. Tobin took a deferential step backward as the first body, the one next to Blake, was gently tilted up by Alvarez and Robertson. It slid from its packing crate bier into the sea with an audible “ka-whump” and disappeared, pulled down into the black water by ingots of tin Robertson had tied around its ankles. Images of six mutilated corpses floating upright in a macabre dance of death flashed across Blake’s mind as each body was in turn launched from the quarterdeck into its watery grave. As the last body disappeared, a blast of cool wind against his shirt sent a shiver through him.
They all stood in the rain, heads down, dumbly looking at the now empty deck before them. Then, with an awkward glance at one another, they turned and walked toward the superstructure with darkness assembling around them.
The solemn walk toward the shelter of the superstructure became a sprint as the rain intensified, drenching them with gusting sheets of gray water. They dripped single file up the ladder without speaking. The slightly burnt aroma of the coffee Sparks had made greeted them as they stepped into the dining room. Sheets of water from the driving rain swept the windows in a staccato of rapid fire gusts.
Kelly and Maria had turned away from the window. The girl was rubbing her eyes, huddled against Kelly. Blake handed the clear plastic envelope containing the first mate’s possessions to her. “These things should go to you,” he said, wiping water from his eyes. He looked into the child’s grief-stricken face and put his hand on her thin shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Maria accepted the envelope and moved closer to Kelly. Kelly put her arm around the child and gave Blake a warm look.
Blake stepped away with Chief Kozlewski. “Anything of interest turn up in their personal possessions?”
The chief shook his head. “Just the usual stuff. Wallets, keys, pocket knives, different kinds of currency, stuff like that.
“Have you been able to identify who they were?”
“The three guys in the engine room were the chief engineer, the second engineer, and the ship’s electrician. The guy down in the number three hold was an AB, an able-bodied seaman. I forget their names. . . all Spanish-sounding.”
It’s not important,” Blake said. He stared off in the corner. “With the captain, first mate, and chief engineer gone, it’s not hard to see why the rest didn’t want to stick around.”
Kozlewski frowned. “It sure as hell ain’t.”
A huge gray wave came crashing down over the superstructure, rolling the freighter sharply to port. The ship righted itself with a tortured groan while the chief and Blake struggled to keep their footing. The howling wind whipped the superstructure with blankets of black water, covering the windows of the dining salon with an opaque haze. Gray water bubbled in around the windows and trickled down the bulkhead.
“Like I been telling you, sir, this weather ain’t getting any better,” the chief said.
Blake looked out at the weather and let out a deep breath. He couldn’t avoid it any longer. “I know.” He glanced at the chief. “Let’s get everyone together.”
“What’s up?” the chief said.
Blake looked at the chief. “When I talked to the exec, he said there was a good chance Tropical Storm Bruce would be upgraded to a tropical cyclone.” He glanced out the window. “This weather seems to bear him out. I checked the barometer in the pilothouse again. It’s fallen a point in the last hour. We can’t rely on that Colombian frigate finding us before it hits. This old ship won’t survive a full-blown tropical cyclone without power to the main engines and some expert ship handling. Maybe not even then.”
The chief swallowed. “What are we going to do?”
/> “It’s not like we have a big choice,” Blake said. “We’ve got to get her under way.”
Kozlewski’s mouth fell open. “Are you kidding, sir? We ain’t got half enough people to get a ship this size under way.”
“We’ve got a crew of nine,” Blake said. “Modern merchant ships don’t have much more than that. A ship this size would have a crew of nineteen or twenty. But we can get by with half that.”
The chief stared at Blake. “But, sir. Our crew of nine includes people like Doc, and Kelly, and Sergeant Rivero, and Alvarez. They don’t know anything about getting a ship under way.”
“We’ll have to teach them,” Blake said. “We don’t have any choice. We’ll just have to make do with what we’ve got.”
“But hell, sir,” the chief said, “even if we could get her under way, where would we go? What would we do?”
“It’s not a question of going anywhere.” Blake nodded toward the window. “If we can’t maneuver when that cyclone hits, this ship will break up like an old house. We can’t just sit here and wait for it to happen.” He nodded toward the quarterdeck. “Unless we want to join those guys.”
“This idea is crazy. The only seaman we’ve got is Alvarez, and he’s never conned anything bigger than a twenty-foot motor whaleboat.”
“I’ll take the conn.”
The chief looked at him and shook his head. “I don’t know how to say it nice, Lieutenant, so I’ll just say it. You ain’t qualified as a deck officer. You’re an engineer. You’ve never conned a ship before in your life.” He looked at Blake’s eyes, and his voice took on a gentler tone. “Hell, that ain’t nothing against you. I know that asshole Hammer won’t let you qualify. Everybody knows.”
Blake stiffened. He hadn’t realized his personal frustration was common knowledge. “You got any better ideas?”
Kozlewski rubbed his face with a thick hand. He looked at Blake, then out at the weather. He nodded and managed a smile. “No, I guess not. Skipper.”
“Very funny,” Blake said, breathing out a sigh of relief. It would be an engineering miracle if they could really pull it off, but the chief was with him. At least they had a chance now. The next step was convincing the crew. He motioned for the others to gather around.
Point of Honor Page 15
