“What North Atlantic cod?”
“Exactly. The Bering has an abbreviated king crab season in January, about two weeks, I think, limited to area 517 only, and limited to a catch of a few hundred thousand pounds.”
“Still too much, if the species is that close to the edge.”
“No argument here. If I had my druthers, the government would buy out all the fishermen and close the area to fishing for the next hundred years, give it time to recover.”
“Like they did with the cod fishery?”
“Yeah, but there they waited until it was too late, until the Atlantic cod was gone before they did anything about it.” She could hear her voice rising. “Sorry.”
“Never liked anybody the less for their having a temper, Vivienne.” He winked. “Been known to beller a bit myself, now. Might be why I’m here, same as you. What else?”
“Bristol Bay, on the eastern edge of the Bering, used to be the world’s largest salmon fishery.”
“And now?”
“It started failing in the mid-nineties.”
“Not a lot of good news in the Bering Sea. What do the scientists say?”
She shrugged. “They say what they always say. They use the annual catch numbers to refute charges of overfishing. They say it’s too early to attribute any of these changes to global warming. They don’t know which trends are cyclic and which are long-term. They don’t have enough data to separate and quantify the human effects from what may be natural variability.”
“They don’t know a hell of a lot,” Doyle said, and shook his head. “In 1900 there were around a billion, a billion and a half people on the planet. Today, there’s over six billion. All of us wearing clothes, driving cars, eating our heads off. Seems pretty cause and effect to me, but then that’s just this poor ignorant sailor talking.” He brooded for a moment. “I sailed up around the coast of Norway one summer, all the way from Oslo to Murmansk. It was a beautiful sail, great weather, gorgeous scenery.” His grin flashed. “A lovely young bit of a thing for deck crew. Wasn’t old enough to call the Beatles by name, but could she cook.” His grin faded. “We didn’t see a single whale. Or a seal, or a sea lion. Damn few fish. We did see a cow about a week into the trip, who had slipped her leash to browse on seaweed on the shore. A few seagulls.” He shook his head. “It was eerie.”
“We’ve already lost so much,” she said, and sighed. “They’re ripping up the bottom of the North Pacific Ocean, Doyle. Sometimes I think…”
“What?”
She spread her hands. “That we’re bailing with a sieve.”
He pretended shock. “Heresy. Calumny. Sacrilege!”
She smiled, but it was a tired smile.“ ‘O Lord, your sea is so vast, and my boat is so small.”“
“Quit stealing my lines. How many ships up here on their side of the line nowadays?”
“Last report I got said sixteen.”
“How long do they stay?”
“Until they break down and have to go into port for repairs. Supply boats bring in food and water and change out crews.”
He looked at the porthole, through which they could currently see a lot of frothing dark green water. A moment later the ship heeled in the opposite direction and the porthole was dark again. “I’m not seeing a calming in the weather anytime soon, Vivienne.”
She knew he was thinking about the inflatables out on those seas. He was the master of the vessel. He was responsible for all the people on board. Campaign or no, they wouldn’t get into the water unless or until he said they could. “The more we’re in their face, the more time they waste dealing with us. The more time they waste on us, the less time they spend fishing. The less time they spend fishing, it’s just that much less sea bottom they’re ripping up.”
“And it goes without saying that heavy seas make for good film at eleven.”
He was just snide enough to make her smile. “That it does.”
“So what’s our next target?”
She pulled a list from her shirt pocket and consulted it. “The Agafia. Panamanian-owned, Niue-flagged, Russian-leased. A killing machine. A three-hundred-and-forty-foot killing machine.”
JANUARY
BERING SEA
ON BOARD THE SOJOURNER TRUTH
CAPTAIN ON THE BRIDGE.“
Captain Lowe climbed up into his chair. “Report.” “We’ve got the fishing vessel Lee Side off our starboard bow, sir. She’s a hundred-and-eighty-foot longliner working p-cod.” Sara nodded at Ops, who was talking on the radio. “Their first mate just called and said their skipper has gone berserk.”
“Berserk?” the captain said. “Berserk how?”
“They say he has armed himself and is chasing the crew around, threatening to shoot them.”
The captain digested this in silence.
“The crew is asking us to board and take the captain into custody,” Sara said.
“With what is their captain armed?” Captain Lowe said.
“They say an automatic pistol, sir,” Ops said.
“Has he fired it?”
“The mate says not yet, sir,” Ops said, and broke off when an excited voice came on the air.
“Coast Guard, Coast Guard, he’s shooting at us, I repeat, he’s shooting at us!”
Everyone peered through the windows as the Lee Side vanished into the bottom of a swell and then materialized again at the top of another.
“He’s not going to hit anything in these seas,” the captain said, not noticeably excited at the prospect one way or another.
“We’ve got a monster of a low blowing in from the southeast,” Sara said, clinging to a hatch handle. “It’s only going to get worse, sir.”
The captain nodded. “Prepare to launch a boarding team. I want Ensign Ryan to lead it.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Sara said. She nodded at the chief, and he made the pipe.
Five minutes later the VHF radio came to life again. This time it was a different voice, much calmer. “U.S. Coast Guard cutter, U.S. Coast Guard cutter, this is the fishing vessel Terra Dawn, mayday, mayday, mayday.”
Ops keyed the mike. “Fishing vessel Terra Dawn, this is cutter Sojourner Truth, go ahead.”
“Coast Guard, we are taking water and we’re down by the stern.”
“Terra Dawn, cutter Sojourner Truth, copy that, you’re taking water and going down by the stern. Give us your lat and long.”
The Terra Dawn’s skipper read out the lat and long numbers in a clear, calm voice, and Sara went to the radar console and looked over Tommy Penn’s shoulder. “Got him, Tommy?”
“Got him, XO,” Penn said, rolling the cursor across the screen to a green X off the south shore of St. George Island.
“Set a course,” the captain said, “all ahead full.”
“All ahead full, aye,” the helmsman said.
“Terra Dawn, cutter Sojourner Truth, we are en route, I say again, we are en route.”
“Yeah, Coast Guard, you’re not going to get here in time. I’m ordering the crew into survival suits and launching the life rafts.”
Everyone looked at the almost black horizon. “Anyone else out there close enough to get to them before they go in?”
Tommy scrolled back and forth on the radar screen. “No, Captain, it looks like everyone else is up here with us.”
Tommy was right; everywhere she looked, Sara could see the lights of at least six other vessels appearing and disappearing as they and the Sojourner Truth wallowed through the heavy seas. The Lee Side was beginning to fall perceptibly aft as all four engines came on line and thrust the Sojourner Truth forward through the waves breaking across her bow.
“Must have been hot on the cod,” the chief said in a low voice.
Sara nodded. “Hard to walk away from that kind of money, no matter if you are staring down the throat of a hurricane.” She should know. Her father had risked ship and crew too many times to count in pursuit of the almighty king crab. The only difference between him and the skipper of
the Terra Dawn was he had been lucky as well as smart.
The aviators arrived on the bridge, as usual looking ready to argue their way into the air. As usual the captain heard them out with a taciturn expression. “I see no need to launch, gentlemen, especially not in these seas. The Terra Dawn’s captain seems to have things well in hand. The crew is in survival suits, the captain is launching the life rafts. We have a fix on their position. They should be safe enough until we get there.”
Lieutenants Laird and Sams looked frustrated.
“Coast Guard, this is Terra Dawn,” their skipper said on the radio, sounding as if he were trying to stifle a yawn. “Our deck is awash. She’s going down. We are abandoning ship.”
“Gosh, he’s real excited, isn’t he,” Chief Edelen said to Sara in a low voice.
Sara nodded. She’d been wondering what the Terra Dawn’s skipper had been smoking herself. The handheld crackled into life. “Boarding team ready to launch, Captain.”
“Thank you, XO. Let’s give them a lee, Chief.”
“Aye aye, Captain. Helm, come to course heading one-eight-zero.”
“One-eight-zero, aye.”
The cutter took the change of course with attitude, rolling heavily into the trough of a swell, heeling to starboard, and then rolling to port down the opposite side. She nosed through the wind and steadied.
“XO?” Even over the handheld Ryan’s voice betrayed his youth and excitement. Sara couldn’t blame him, she could only envy him.
“Ensign, your orders are to disarm and detain the captain and remain on board the Lee Side until we return. Understood?”
“Understood, XO,” Ryan said.
“What arms are you carrying?”
“Sidearms and shotguns, XO.”
“Good. Don’t shoot if you don’t have to, but don’t get shot, either.”
“Understood, XO,” Ryan repeated, much more soberly this time.
Sara looked at the captain. He got out of his chair and walked to the hatch leading onto the port wing and stepped into the wind. “Launch when ready,” Sara said into the mike.
“Aye aye, XO, launching,” Ryan said, and Sara followed the captain out onto the wing. They stood in silence because to speak would have necessitated screaming above the wind, and they held on like grim death to the railing because otherwise the Sojourner Truth would have tossed them into the inflatable casting off below. The coxswain hit the throttle-all coxswains were speed demons; Sara thought it must be in the job description-and the small boat powered up and in spite of the heavy seas fell smoothly off the side of the ship and into a curving course toward the Lee Side.
“Who’s the coxswain?” the captain said.
“PO Mathis, sir,” Sara said.
The captain watched the small boat maneuver up a swell and down its backside and tackle the next without hesitation. The wind paused long enough for them to hear the sound of the engine throttling up and back and up again. “Nicely done,” the captain said.
“Yes, sir,” Sara said in complete agreement. The Sojourner Truth was lucky in its boat handlers. Coxswain Duane Mathis was as good as the chief in that respect. She watched the small boat labor up another wave. That was one hell of a boat ride she was missing out on.
The captain returned to the bridge, Sara following. “Resume course and speed, Chief.”
“Helm, resume course and speed,” Chief Edelen said.
“Resuming course and speed, aye.”
Inside, every available pair of binoculars was focused on the small boat as it approached the Lee Side, once more retreating astern. Everyone swayed shoulder to shoulder with the heave and fall of the deck. Sara, straining her eyes like everyone else, saw the orange blur against the dark hull start to move off. The radio blared into life. “Sojourner Truth, this is the boarding team. Boarding accomplished safely, all members on board.”
“Understood, boarding team.” Sara resisted the urge to ask questions, like where was the captain of the Lee Side and had he shot any of her BTMs yet.
The VHF chose this moment to erupt. “U.S. Coast Guard, U.S. Coast Guard, this is the fishing vessel Chugiak Rose, come in, Coast Guard, Coast Guard, come in.”
This skipper sounded considerably more excited than had the skipper of the Terra Dawn, and Ops replied in his most soothing voice, “Chugiak Rose, cutter Sojourner Truth, reading you five-by, go up to two-two.”
The skipper either didn’t hear Ops’ request or ignored him. “Coast Guard, Chugiak Rose, I’ve got an injured crewman who needs an immediate emergency medevac, I say again, I’ve got an injured crewman who needs an immediate emergency medevac.”
The aviators, standing in glum silence at the captain’s right hand, brightened.
“I don’t fucking believe this,” someone said.
“Belay that!” the captain barked.
The aviators looked at him, mute with longing.
“Chugiak Rose, cutter Sojourner Truth, what is the nature of the injury, I say again, what is the nature of the injury?”
“His right arm is hanging by a one-inch strip of skin.”
“Oh Christ,” someone said, and this time the captain let it slide.
“I’ve got a tourniquet around his upper arm but he’s lost a lot of blood. He’s unconscious and I think he’s in shock. Can you help us?”
“Chugiak Rose, Coast Guard, give us your lat and long,” Ops said. He had to ask for them again when the skipper’s voice stumbled so badly over the numbers the first time no one could understand what he was saying.
“Find them for us, Tommy,” Sara said.
“Aye aye, XO,” Tommy said, and bent over the radar screen. As usual, Tommy was so calm Sara had to quell the impulse to take her pulse to see if she was still breathing.
“Here they are,” Tommy said, straightening up so everyone crowded around could see the screen. Everyone moved when the captain came to take a look. The Chugiak Rose was three boats away in the opposite direction.
Sara looked at the captain. “Flight ops, Captain?”
He pressed his lips together, looked out the windows at the seas, and gave a reluctant nod. The aviators faces lit up like it was Christmas, and they vacated the bridge at speed. The captain nodded at Ops.
“Chugiak Rose, Coast Guard cutter Sojourner Truth, we are preparing to launch our helicopter to come to your aid. We will lower a basket for you to load your crewman into. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Sojourner, you are sending your helicopter to hoist off my crewman. Please get here as quick as you can.”
“Understood, Chugiak Rose. Tell me about your ship, length, masts, wires.”
Ensign Bob Ostlund at Helo Control piped flight ops over the loudspeaker and everyone’s hats came off.
“Boarding team to Sojourner Truth.”
“Go ahead, boarding team,” Sara said into the handheld.
“Yeah, XO, we’ve got the situation here contained.”
“Good to know. Everybody okay?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” Ryan sounded very casual, almost too much so, like he’d been smoking the same stuff the skipper of the Terra Dawn had. Sara looked at the captain and raised an eyebrow. He shook his head once, very slightly.
“Roger that, boarding team, we just got a SAR case off the third vessel northeast of you, personnel injury. How do you want to handle things there?”
“Sojourner Truth, boarding team, yeah, we noticed the change of course. The mate here is capable of taking the vessel back to Dutch. They say they’ll take the captain with them, under restraint.”
“Roger that, boarding team, stand by one.” Sara clicked off the mike and looked at the captain.
“We’ll launch the helo first, then pick up the boarding team,” Lowe said.
“Aye aye, sir,” Sara said, and relayed this information to Ryan.
“Aye aye, XO, standing by.”
“Stay sharp, we’ll be operating on the fly. A boat went down on the south side of St. George and their cre
w is in the water in life rafts.”
A burst of static was the answer. Sara thought it was probably just as well. She looked up at the video monitor and saw that the hangar had been rolled back and the deck crew was in the process of a heavy weather traverse. It was too rough to just roll it out. Every deck officer’s nightmare was that they’d lose the helo over the side, so they’d move the helo a foot, detach the forward two tie-downs, move it out another foot, reattach the forward tie-downs, detach the aft tie-downs, move it, reattach the aft tie-downs, and start the process all over again.
They were also taking spray over the starboard side. “Can you nose her a little more into the wind, Chief?”
“Can do, XO,” Mark said. “Helm, bring her around to one-two-five.”
“One-two-five, aye.”
The Sojourner Truth, great ride that she was, responded instantly to the new course, water from both propellers hitting the rudder full force, bow pulling to port, slicing neatly through the heavy seas. With the bow taking the brunt of the southeast gale, the deck immediately aft of the hangar had a little more shelter. It helped, but it was still going to take another thirty minutes to get the helo ready for launch.
There was another potential problem, Sara thought, watching the salt spray hit the foredeck. She turned her head to look at the status board, where Tommy was marking their new course and speed. Barometric pressure was 99.2 and falling. She looked out on deck.
The chief followed her gaze. “We making ice?”
“Not yet,” Sara said.
A half hour later the aviators were buttoned into the helo, the captain gave the go, and they were up and off a few minutes later. The Sojourner Truth resumed her former course, all ahead full for the south shore of St. George. “How long before we get there, Tommy? Sara said.
Tom’s eyes went out of focus as she calculated. “It’s about a hundred miles to the location of the sinking, we’re doing”-she glanced up at the Transas screen-“fifteen knots.” She looked at Sara. “A little under six hours, XO.”
Blindfold Game Page 17
