The Moonpool cr-3

by P. T. Deutermann

  “Cam,” Tony said.

  I looked up to see Tony staring ahead, no longer using his binoculars. I tried to get my eyes to work, night-blind from having been staring down into that radar screen. I was about to ask, “What?” when I saw the bows of what looked like the Keeper dead ahead, close, very close, and pushing up a huge wave. Tony reached for the controls, but a moment later, she crashed into us and I was spinning underwater in a coil of noise, roiling seawater, shattering fiberglass, and the thrum of two large propellers pulsing the water right in front of my face.

  We both popped to the surface at the same time. Our boat was gone except for what looked like the front one-third, which was upside down and bobbing around in a debris field of fiberglass bits, flotation foam, and gasoline. Tony was gagging on a mouthful of gasoline and saltwater; I wasn’t yet in the fuel slick, but the stink was strong. I paddled backward away from the smell and looked for the Keeper, but there was no sign of her, just a muffled rumble of engines disappearing. Then a small wave broke over me from behind, and when I went under, I realized that my clothes were really heavy. It took me several seconds to get my head above water again, and even though I was a strong swimmer, I felt a moment of panic in that black water. That cold, black water.

  “You hurt, boss?” Tony called from somewhere in the darkness. I tried to spot him, but the dark out there was absolute, except for the regular pulsing of the sea buoy light.

  The sea buoy.

  If we could get up on that thing, we might not freeze to death quite so quickly.

  “I’m okay, I think,” I shouted back. “How about you?”

  “Got a cut on my arm, but I don’t think anything’s busted,” he called back.

  “Tell it not to bleed,” I called. I didn’t have to tell him why.

  “Where are you?”

  “Over here,” I called, raising my right arm, which promptly caused me to submerge under the next wave.

  “I’m hanging on to the bow,” he shouted. He sounded farther away, which wasn’t a good sign. “Here. Over here.”

  I tried to pop up out of the water, but my clothes weighed me down. I did, however, catch a glimpse of something white over to my right, so I began swimming in that direction. The seas were rising and smacking me from every direction, but I knew I had to get going before hypothermia worked its deadly spell on my shivering body.

  Five minutes of thrashing brought me up next to the floating bow section. Tony was holding on with his left arm to a big crack in the fiberglass, and I thought I could see black rivulets running down his hand. He reached out with his right and pulled me alongside. I was more tired than I should have been, but the weight of my clothes had been a real surprise. The gasoline smell was gone now.

  “Why’s this part still afloat?” I asked.

  “Unsinkable, remember?” he said. “It’ll float until it gets waterlogged.”

  “How long’s that?”

  “We’ll be dead of hypothermia long before that happens,” he said with a crazy grin. Leave it to Tony to feel this was just another adventure.

  “Try for that buoy?” I asked.

  “What buoy?”

  I looked around and realized I could no longer see the flashes of light.

  “It’s anchored,” Tony said. “We’re not. Tide’s coming in, so we’re drifting away from that thing.” He spat out some water and rubbed the gash on his arm. “I think we’re fucked.”

  “Well, at least we know who the bad guy is,” I said, and then realized that, no, we really didn’t. I couldn’t prove that it had been Trask driving that boat. I tried to get my bearings, but the waves were just high enough to block our view. I was getting really tired now, and my arms and legs were beginning to numb up a little. My running shoes felt like a couple of bricks. I remembered seeing one of those time-versus-temperature life-expectancy tables for people adrift in cold water, and quickly put it out of my mind.

  “Whoa,” Tony said, looking over my shoulder. “I think that’s a ship.”

  I turned around, wiped the saltwater out of my eyes, and looked where he was looking. At first I didn’t see anything, then I did: two white lights, one over the other. It looked to be a long, long way away, though, up in the direction of the container port.

  “She’s coming right at us,” Tony said. “Those are the masthead and range lights. I can’t see running lights.”

  “Too far,” I gulped, bouncing in the water to see over the hump of the shattered bow section. My fingers were like ice.

  “Or she’s really big and not far off,” Tony said. “Oh, fuck!”

  He was right and I was wrong. She was really, really big and she was right here. We could hear the crashing of the bow wave and feel the engine vibrations thumping through the water. It had to be one of those giant container ships, which looked big enough alongside the pier. When you get face-to-face with one in the water and can count rivets, big doesn’t begin to describe it. With our own radar at short range, we’d missed it.

  Then we were lifting out of the water as the pressure swell from the bulbous bow thrust us aside like two fleas and deposited us and our bow fragment right alongside the towering black steel wall of her port side, which hissed past us in the darkness. I thought about yelling for help, but it would have been like hollering up at an iceberg, with about as much effect. I wanted to swim away from those massive steel plates, vividly mindful of some very big propellers that were coming our way, but neither of us could really move. Our tiny wreck bounced along the side of the ship, spinning gently each time we bumped up against the sliding hull, and it was all we could do to hang on. Twice we were hit in the face by hot water coming from overboard discharges.

  Finally the slope of the moving steel mountain changed to an overhang as her stern came up on us. We both instinctively looked up into the white light of her stern light, above which we saw a lone face looking down into the wake. And directly at us.

  We saw the man’s head snap up and his slanted eyes go wide when he spotted us, but then we disappeared out of the stern light as the monster spat us out into her broad, smooth wake. The wash from her propellers coiled the water like a field of hissing snakes. Then we heard a wonderful sound: the deep, booming groan of her ship’s whistle. Three blasts, which Tony said meant she was backing down. With any luck at all, we were now unfucked, and just in time, too. The remains of the wake were dissipating, and we could see glinting, finny figures darting through the disturbed water, hunting for delicacies stirred up by the giant ship’s passage. Out on the margins of all the activity were a couple of really big fins, moving slowly, biding their time. Through chattering teeth, I prayed they were porpoises.

  Forty-five freezing minutes later, we were huddled in the ship’s motorboat under two soggy blankets each, as the coxswain maneuvered under the boat falls dangling down from the darkness above. I’ve been cold before, but never like this. My bones felt like rubber, and I wanted desperately to sleep. None of the boat crew spoke a word of English, but they were expert seamen, and they’d been directed back to our position in the dark by someone who knew what he was doing, too.

  Once on board we stumbled across acres and acres of steel deck to the massive superstructure amidships. They indicated we needed to climb the interior stairways, but I simply couldn’t do it, and Tony slid down to the deck and hung his head on his chest. When they saw the blood leaking down his wrist, there was more excited radio chatter. Apparently the damned ship was so big they used radios to communicate inside as well as outside. A few minutes later, a medical team arrived and we were carried on stretchers to the ship’s sick bay. They stripped off our wet clothes and rolled us up into yet more blankets, which produced about twenty minutes’ worth of chattering teeth. A cup of hot tea, loaded with sugar, helped a lot, while the medical attendant worked on Tony’s forearm. Then a ruddy-faced, bearded Englishman stuck his head into the sick bay and welcomed us aboard his ship.

  “Right, then,” he said approvingly. “We’ve got
one of your Coast Guard helicopters en route. Drink up, we’ll get you some dry coveralls, and then we’ll see how well the pilot does with our landing spot.” He looked slyly over at the medical guy doing his thing with Tony’s arm, whipped out a flask, and dropped a wee dram of something wonderful into my tea.

  “Thank you,” I croaked. “For everything.”

  “You’re most welcome. Made for an excellent drill before we got out to sea. You were lucky in more than one respect: This was the after-lookout’s very first watch, so he was actually doing his job. Normally, the chances of your being seen down there were those famous twins.”

  I knew those twins: Slim and None. “I’d like to express my appreciation to him, then, if I may.”

  He whipped out a business card. “Send me a check. His name is Hassam Selim. I’ll see that he gets it.”

  I thanked him again, and then we were rounded up for the approaching helicopter ride.

  Once at the Wilmington Coast Guard station, we had to endure an interview about what had happened and fill out a dozen or so forms. On the ride over from the ship, I’d thought about how much to reveal. I decided to mostly tell the truth, under the theory that, if questioned again, it would be easier to remember. The young Coast Guard lieutenant listened to my story about going out to sea to meet the Keeper and getting run over instead. He frowned when I was finished, and then asked if we would mind hanging around for a few minutes.

  I put a landline call in to Pardee at the beach house and told him what had happened. He said he’d drive up right away. I asked him to notify the marina and to tell them there’d be a Coast Guard incident report to follow. He confirmed that we had purchased full replacement insurance on the boat, so the marina ought not to be too excited. He asked if we should call Quartermain, but I told him to hold off. Then the lieutenant came back into the conference room, accompanied this time by an older officer wearing the stripes of a lieutenant commander. He introduced himself as the station’s operations officer. He had one question: Did we think this was an accident or an intentional crash? I looked at Tony and then told the ops boss that it had to have been intentional. We’d exchanged radio calls, he’d told us to maintain our position, indicating he knew where we were, and we’d watched him come straight toward us on the radar. He’d arrived at the intercept point going full bore, plus, he had to have known he’d hit something, and yet he’d kept on going.

  The lieutenant commander nodded and then said that he’d have to report this up his chain of command and that there would be law enforcement people, not to mention the marine insurance company, who would probably have further questions. I told him we were working for the Helios power plant and living temporarily in Southport. We’d be available to talk to anyone who needed more information-but for now, we had a ride coming, we were both beat to shit, and could we please just go home?

  Ari Quartermain hung his gleaming black head in his hands and groaned out loud. It was nearly eleven the next morning, and all three of us were sitting in his office, which was not a happy place just then. Neither of us had physically laid eyes on the man driving that boat.

  “So that still might be Trask in the lead-lined cookie jar,” he said. “And now someone wants you dead?”

  “Sums it up pretty well,” I said. “How’s your week going?”

  He glared at me from between splayed fingers. That good.

  “The Bureau know all this?”

  “They were our next stop,” I said. “I think I ought to tell Creeps before the Coast Guard does. He likes to know shit before anyone else. My cell’s shot. Can I use a phone?”

  He pointed to an extension phone on his conference table. I put it on speaker, got out Caswell’s card, and called the RA’s office. I asked for Special Agent Caswell. Not available. I told them we might have located Carl Trask of the Helios power plant. Hold, please. A minute of hissing from the speakerphone. Transferring.

  “Mr. Richter,” intoned my favorite voice from my favorite Bureau.

  “Special Agent,” I said. “We have developments.”

  “I’m all ears,” he said, and then laughed at his own joke. He wasn’t laughing when I’d finished, though, so I tried a little sucking up. “I’m letting you know in advance of the Coast Guard report, which should be hitting the wires this morning.”

  “Not so far in advance that your Bureau knew about it before you ventured to sea,” he said.

  “You’re always telling me not to bother you with rumors, Special Agent,” I said.

  “Mmm-hnnh,” he said. His confidence in me was overwhelming. Tony was rolling his eyes.

  “And I must point out,” I said, “I still can’t prove that was Trask driving. All I saw last night was a big bow wave. The voice on the radio sounded like Trask, but…”

  “Yes. But.”

  “Right,” I said and stopped there, waiting to see what he’d do.

  “Tell me, Mr. Richter,” he said. “Did you find anything in your Ms. Gardner’s vehicle that assisted you in your inquiries?”

  I looked at Pardee, who shook his head. “Not really,” I said. “Agent Young has everything we laid hands on, and frankly, we’re still stumped.”

  “Special Agent Young says she thought she saw a cell phone in the briefcase, but it’s not there now.”

  “Beats me,” I said. “If you find it, I’d sure like to see the call log.”

  “Mmm-hnnh.”

  “Well, that’s the news from the waterfront. Thought you ought to know.”

  “What are your intentions now, Mr. Richter?”

  “We’re going to keep working the Allie mystery.”

  “And your job with Dr. Quartermain?”

  “Well, that’s languishing in the Overtaken By Events box with this apparent homicide at the moonpool,” I said. “Dr. Quartermain tells us he has all the help he can stand right now.”

  “Is he there right now?”

  “Yes, I am,” Ari called from across the office. “Any progress, Special Agent?”

  “You will be the second person to know, Dr. Quartermain,” Creeps said. “Mr. Richter? Keep in touch, will you?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “You know me-I keep my Bureau informed as best I can.” Tony and Pardee struggled not to laugh out loud.

  “Mmm-hnnh.”

  Then the connection was broken. I made sure by punching off the speaker’s power button. I’d been nearly undone one time by a speakerphone I thought was off. I looked over at Ari.

  “If that’s not Carl Trask’s body in that container,” I said, “then you’ve got to get an ID of some kind.”

  “NRC nuclear medicine people are working on that,” he said. “We’re trying to find something in the physical security office which might have Trask’s DNA on it-coffee cup, a jacket with a hair or two, gloves, you know. If we can do that, they think they can get a core sample from the body.”

  “A core sample.” I had visions of the major’s horse syringe on the end of a long broomstick.

  “He won’t feel a thing,” he said with a shrug. “The bigger problem, for us, is the unauthorized access issue. I explained that to you, I think.”

  I nodded. “Pardee here is a computer science expert,” I said. “If you’d care to walk him through your access system, maybe he could give you a fresh viewpoint. Tony and I have to go back to Southport to meet with the marina’s insurance agent.”

  “Appreciate any help I can get,” he said to Pardee.

  “Remember the redhead we brought with us that morning at your house?” I asked.

  “Indeed.”

  “She’s both a computer expert and someone who’s apparently well versed in penetrating federal security systems. I think the feds have her right now. Why don’t you suggest to Special Agent Caswell that they put her on the problem, too.”

  “She’s back in custody?” he asked.

  “Well, we think so,” I said, ducking a detailed answer. “If he gives you a categorical no, I’d be interested to know why not.�
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  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll pull that string for you.”

  At that moment, his secretary knocked on the door to tell him that Dr. Petrowska and her assistant were waiting to see him. That was my cue to get gone.

  I told Ari that once we got out from under the boat mess, maybe we could take a look at the people who could have gained access to the moonpool, other than Trask. I suggested a records search, not interviews, something we could do away from the limelight.

  “I’ll see if I can arrange that,” he said. “The NRC reliability program people are doing that, of course, and the Bureau types are looking over their shoulders.”

  “I understand, and we don’t want to tread on any toes. Can’t hurt. I think.”

  He barked a laugh. “What could possibly go wrong, as you are so fond of saying.”

  As we went out, La Petrowska gave me an annoyed look.

  “Just what we need,” she snapped. “More unqualified interference.”

  “Seems like what you do need is some qualified American management up at the moonpool,” I said. “Isn’t all that stuff supposed to stay in the pool?”

  Her eyes blazed and I thought she was going to take a swing at me. The man with her grabbed her forearm and pointed her into Ari’s office. I recognized him as the guy I’d seen on the ferryboat, coming back from Carolina Beach. He turned around as I left and gave me a perplexed look, as if he were surprised to see me there. What the hell was that about, I wondered. I asked the secretary what his name was, and she said it was Dr. Thomason, and he was a Ph. D., but that was all she knew.

  Tony and I had lunch at the deli and, on the way out, ran into Sergeant McMichaels. He stopped to talk.

  “Heard you had an excellent adventure last night,” he said.

  “Word does get around,” I said. “We’re lucky to be standing here.”