They cruised in silence. Sergeant Li stood at parade rest behind Matt, watching every movement on the bridge, scanning the horizon. Corporal Wu began to settle down, though he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Sam. Closer now, Matt did a preliminary survey through binoculars. The eastern tip of the island, where the freighter was beached, jutted out into the sea like a small knob. He saw no signs of civilization. Nothing but scrub brush and tangled trees, ringed by a narrow beach, coarse brown sand rising up out of pink coral. The freighter sat heavily on the beach, about one-eighth aground at the bow.
Matt fixed his binoculars on a high wave and watched it roll in to see how solidly aground she was. The wave broke white against her stern, and the ship didn’t budge. She appeared to be a derelict, an ancient flat-bottomed freighter probably built in the 1930s. The ship’s company had lowered a Jacob’s ladder off her stern to accommodate the salvors. Very thoughtful. He brought the ship into focus. Not much there. The CIA certainly hadn’t overbought. He could make out the name welded on the fantail, just below the taffrail. Leyte Gulf.
He was sorry he couldn’t stay and salvage her for real. The death of a ship was like the death of a town. When he pulled out tonight, the ship would probably stay right where she was until passing scavengers picked her clean and the wind and waves pulled her back into the sea. It would be an inglorious end to a fine old ship.
A gust of wind unfurled the flag on the freighter. The Stars and Stripes billowed out, snapping in the wind. A small shiver passed through him. Seeing the American flag in a foreign country always did that to him. Cliff Howard’s words came back. If he pulled this off, the tax lien on his ship would be torn up and he’d be free to go home. After nearly five years of exile, he’d never been more ready. He’d find a way to lower the flag on the freighter and take it with him. Might raise some suspicions, but he couldn’t just leave it behind to be shredded by the wind and defiled by scavengers.
Matt shifted his view as far to the right as he could without attracting Sergeant Li’s attention. He could just make out the clump of land farthest to the west. Relatively level above the beach and cleared for farming. It had to be Turtle Island.
He spent the next two hours maneuvering CoMar Explorer into a stern-to-stern position with the stranded freighter. The inshore maneuvers were tricky because of the strong currents around the island, but he was able to get her in position using the bow thrusters. By the time he dropped anchor it was almost 10:30. He secured the bridge and looked around, satisfied. Stern-to-stern was the usual position for pulling a stranded ship off the beach, but it was also a good position for a quick getaway.
From where they were anchored, he estimated that he could reach the north shore of Turtle Island in one of the inflatable boats in about twenty minutes. He’d normally use the thirty-five-foot aluminum work boats to survey and rig a ship the size of the freighter, but the inflatable work boats were dark and fast, and he wanted at least one in the water for use tonight.
“Lower away the eighteen-foot inflatables, Sam.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper,” Sam said. He keyed the microphone and gave the order over the ship’s loudspeaker system, followed by the order to lower the Jacob’s ladder.
As usual, Sam was one step ahead of him. The accommodation ladder would take too much time to get back on board. The Jacob’s ladder would allow them to be ready for a quick departure.
“Pass the word, Sam. Jason Tyler and Scootchy will do the survey of the ship.” Matt would normally have had a survey team that included specialists in all disciplines, but this one was all for show, and he needed to isolate Scootchy from the rest of the crew with someone who couldn’t be corrupted. “You and I will do the beach survey. All remaining hands will begin rigging beach gear on the main deck.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper.”
Sergeant Li turned to the corporal. “Fighter Wu. Two other barbarians will inspect the freighter. Accompany them when they board. Watch them closely.”
Corporal Wu seemed to grow taller at being called “Fighter.” Jason and Scootchy would be in good hands. He nodded to Sam.
“Let’s do it.”
The four scrambled down the ladder from the bridge and arrived at the quarterdeck just as Jason and Scootchy were emerging from the after hatch. Scootchy was walking on his own but still looked shaky. Matt caught Jason’s eye.
“It will take you all day to complete the survey, Jase. I think this job is exactly like the freighter we salvaged a year ago in Luzon.” He hoped Jason would get both messages. First, he wanted him to keep Scootchy aboard all day. The less contact he had with the rest of the crew, the better. Second, he wanted Jason to return with a report that the freighter had a tear in the bow, just like the freighter in Luzon. He needed an excuse not to do the pull tonight.
“Yes, sir,” Jason said. “I reckon it’s exactly like that.”
Good. Jason understood. It helped to surround yourself with bright people.
“You know the drill. Inspect the hull for damage internally, check the holds for cargo and any hazmat.” The fax from his salvage agent had indicated the freighter was loaded with manganese, but Matt knew from the CIA briefing that it was actually empty.
“When you complete the survey belowdecks, inspect all the bits and padeyes on the stern, make sure we’ve got something to attach the blocks and holding stoppers and fairleads to. We’ll rig first, two hydraulic pullers on the main deck, port and starboard, then we’ll shoot a line over to the freighter, followed by the bitter end of the beach gear wire. Secure it with a carpenter stopper.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper,” Jason said.
Sergeant Li looked uneasy, listening to salvors whose argot he couldn’t understand. Matt decided to seize the opportunity to grab the flag.
“By the way, Jason, I don’t think we’ve ever salvaged an American ship before. That flag will be a nice addition to our collection.”
“What flag?” Sergeant Li said.
“It’s a little tradition of ours,” Matt said. “We collect the flags of all the ships we salvage and display them in our corporate headquarters.” He turned back to Jason. “Pick it up when you leave, will you?”
“Sure thing, Skipper.”
Matt smiled, pleased with himself and his little aggrandizement. They were standing on the only corporate headquarters Connor Marine was likely to have.
Scootchy glared at him, snorted, then started shakily down the ladder with Jason Tyler and Corporal Wu close behind. Scootchy cast off while Jason took the rudder and steered toward the freighter.
Matt watched them leave, then followed Sam down the ladder with Sergeant Li on his heels and shoved off in the second workboat. Sam took the rudder and steered the small craft around coral reefs, maneuvering into shore as close as he could get.
Sergeant Li was the first one out. “The weather around these islands has been calm for a month,” he said as he waded ashore. He looked up at the black bow of the freighter. “I don’t understand how the ship was beached.”
“The ship was stranded, not beached,” Matt said, tugging the inflatable up on the shore.
“What’s the difference?” Sergeant Li said.
“A ship that’s been intentionally run aground has been beached,” Matt said. “If she’s unintentionally run aground, she’s been stranded.”
“Whatever you call it, I want that ship removed as quickly as possible,” Sergeant Li said. “How long will this take?”
“We won’t know until we do the surveys,” Matt said.
“My orders are for you to be gone by nightfall.”
“Look, Sergeant,” Matt said, “time is money. We don’t want to be here any longer than we have to, but we won’t know what we’re up against until we do a survey of the ship and the beach.”
Sergeant Li looked up at the bow of the freighter, then walked around, inspecting the portion of the hull that was aground. “The ship doesn’t appear to be damaged. Just pull it off the beach and get it out of here.”
“It’s not that simple,” Matt said. “In the first place, there may be damage in an area we can’t see. That’s what the survey team aboard will find out.”
“What are we doing?”
“We need to determine the ground reaction and calculate the freeing force so we’ll know what it will take to move her.”
Sergeant Li blew out a long exasperated breath. “And what does that entail?”
Matt looked up at the bow. “This one isn’t too bad. The worst possible scenario is broached to, when you’ve got the whole freighter sitting sideways on the beach.”
He waded into the surf and took some measurements with Sam holding the tape on the beach. “In this case, we’ve got a 450-foot freighter one-eighth aground at the bow. That means she’s a little over fifty-six feet aground with a center of ground reaction of approximately twenty-eight feet aft. For an 8,000-ton freighter, that means we’ve got approximately 1,000 long tons of weight sitting on the beach. We need to know that in order to calculate freeing force.”
“What does that mean?”
“That’s the total tons of pressure required to free the ship,” Matt said. “It’s measured in short tons because it’s a lifting force. That’s why ground reaction has to be converted from long tons to short tons. It’s fairly straightforward. You just multiply the ground reaction by 1.12 to convert it to short tons. Then you have to factor in the coefficient of friction.”
Sergeant Li rolled his eyes.
“It’s the amount of drag the bottom type puts on the hull. There aren’t any exact figures available, but, in general, the coefficient of friction for sand is between 0.3 and 0.4. For coral, it’s between 0.4 and 0.8.” Matt walked to the water’s edge and scuffed the heel of his boot in the coarse sand, digging down to the coral. “Based on my experience with this combination of sand and coral, I think we should use 0.6.”
“Just get on with it,” Sergeant Li said.
“No problem.” Matt took a small calculator out of his pocket. “Let’s see, now. Freeing force equals 1.12 times U times R, where U equals the coefficient of friction for the bottom type, in this case, sand and coral, and R equals ground reaction, or total tonnage aground.” He smiled at Li. “Once you know the variables, the calculation is pretty simple. It’s a matter of multiplying 1.12 times 0.6 times 1,000,” he said, punching in the numbers. He shielded the display with his hand and showed Sergeant Li the answer. “In this case, it equals 672 short tons of force required to free the ship.”
“Then make your connections and pull it off.”
“It’s not that easy,” Matt said. “Each leg of beach gear can only pull fifty tons. We can rig two legs aboard CoMar Explorer and two legs aboard the freighter. That makes a total of 200 tons of freeing force. That leaves us 472 tons shy of being able to move the ship.”
“Then Captain Chen was correct. Your ship is too small. It’s impossible for you to do the job. You should pack up and leave now.”
Matt flashed an indulgent smile. “Few salvage ships in the world can bring more pulling power to bear than CoMar Explorer. All salvors have to rely on other factors, such as the tide. In this case, we’re lucky. High tide will more than compensate for the 472 tons we’re shy. All we have to do is rig the beach gear and wait.”
“For how long?”
Matt shrugged. “By midnight the conditions should be about right, assuming there’s no damage to the freighter.”
“That’s not possible. My orders are for you to be gone by nightfall.”
Matt gave him an open-handed shrug. “Sorry, that’s the best we can do.”
“Sitting around until midnight is unacceptable.”
“Oh, we won’t be sitting around. It’ll take all day to do our surveys, set up beach gear on both ships, and get into harness. Setting up beach gear on two ships is a big job. I’m glad you and your men are here to help.”
“My men are not here to work.”
“Did I misunderstand Captain Chen?” Matt said. “Let’s see. I believe his exact words were, ‘If the job is that big, we’ll provide you with assistance.’ But I could be mistaken.” He took a step toward Sergeant Li and pointed to his backpack. “Let’s get him on your radio.”
Sergeant Li stepped back defensively, then glared at Matt.
“Very well,” he said. “My men can help if that’s what it will take to get this stinking hulk out of here.”
“Good,” Matt said. “Even with your men helping it’ll be a full day’s work, but we’ll be ready by tonight. Assuming, of course, there’s no damage to the freighter.”
After completing the beach survey, Matt spent the rest of the morning directing the setup of beach gear on the main deck. Now that he’d established the fact that Sergeant Li had a radio in his backpack, he watched him closely to see what his check-in pattern would be, who was the person he called, what he said, the time, the frequency. So far he hadn’t been able to catch him at it.
Li’s men stacked their weapons on the quarterdeck and turned to. Gene Harvey, a rigger from Los Angeles, connected his portable to the ship’s loudspeaker system and blasted a Rolling Stones CD throughout the ship. Just before noon, Francisco appeared on deck with a tray of sandwiches and a coffee urn. Traveller came up with him. The dog walked around sniffing the legs of the Chinese marines, then settled himself in the sun to watch the show.
Matt looked around at the scene. The food, music, and bantering laughter of the crew was typical of the party atmosphere he tried to create when they were salvaging a ship. He was glad to see the Chinese marines working. Reticent at first, they’d gotten into it and almost seemed to be enjoying themselves. Good. By tonight they’d be so worn out, they’d be vulnerable. He felt like a predator, but he knew it would be best for them, too. He didn’t want any shooting. If he handled things right, no one would get hurt.
The sergeant was another matter. He hadn’t even removed his backpack. Didn’t want to get too far away from his radio. He stood with his AK-74 at the ready, watching everything. If any member of the crew strayed close to the stacked weapons, he tensed up. In spite of Matt’s best efforts to engage him in the process, it was becoming clear that Sergeant Li would never relax his guard. No matter. Matt hoisted his khakis and felt the small pistol. It would make things more difficult if the sergeant had his guard up, but he would still take him. Matt had the element of surprise, which gave him a huge advantage. If his pickup was where she was supposed to be tonight, the deed was as good as done.
The only open question at this point was Sergeant Li’s call-ins. It was critical to know the frequency. Hopefully, there’d be an interval of at least a few hours between calls. The check-in time would logically be on the hour. Matt looked at his watch. A few minutes before noon. He had to find a reason to get closer to Sergeant Li, who was never far away from his men. He saw one of the Chinese marines, the young private named Yu, struggling with a standing block on the port beach gear leg after the rigger he was helping stepped away.
“No, not like that,” Matt said, walking over. “The tensiometer goes between the attachment point and the standing block, then rig the purchase between the standing block and the traveling block.” He pointed to where everything went, making gestures. “That’s right. Then the holding stopper and the ground leg.”
Sergeant Li turned his back, and Matt heard him say in Mandarin, “Aerie, this is Eagle.” He paused for a minute, then said, “The barbarian ship and crew are secure at 1200 hours.” So check-in time was on the hour. No surprise there. The big question was, what were the intervals?
Over the next hour, Matt watched Sergeant Li out of the corner of his eye, sweating it out. At exactly 1300, the sergeant reached over his shoulder, threw a switch, and said the same words into a tiny microphone attached to his lapel. It was every hour. And if Li didn’t check in every hour on the hour, the Zhuhai would come back and blow them out of the water. Matt looked toward Turtle Island. Even if they took the marines right after Sergeant Li reported in,
there was no guarantee they could get there and back in an hour before the next call-in was due. Matt could take control of the radio, and he spoke Mandarin, but he didn’t sound Chinese. He’d never be able to pull it off. He slumped against the lifeline and rubbed his face in his hands. Damn it. He’d made the classic mistake he’d been taught never to make: He’d underestimated his enemies. Get over it and think. There had to be a way around this, and he had to find it before midnight.
Elizabeth took her evening meal and steered Mother Wei toward a log near the tool shed, away from the others. She eased the old woman down on the decaying log and sat down beside her, grateful for a place to sit. It was difficult for her to squat on the ground the way the others did. She looked at the thin soup and the steamed bun. In spite of her starvation diet, she felt surprisingly strong, probably the adrenaline coursing through her. Since last night she’d been unable to think of anything but the note. Tomorrow at midnight. Be ready. She was definitely ready, but she hated the thought of leaving Mother Wei behind in the shape she was in. The old woman needed more food if she was going to have any chance of surviving. She broke her steamed bun in two pieces and held out half.
“Here, Mother Wei.”
“No, girl-child, I can’t take your food. You must eat.”
“I’m not hungry. Really.”
Elizabeth took a sip of her soup and poured the rest into Mother Wei’s cup. With her arm outstretched, she looked at her biceps. She could tell by her shadowy skin and shrunken muscles that her body had entered the preliminary stages of starvation. Like the others, she was slowly dying of malnutrition. For her it didn’t matter - she’d be leaving this place tonight, God willing. But she had to find a way to get Mother Wei some real food. Just one decent meal, one infusion of some good quality carbohydrates and protein might make the difference between life and death. If she could find a way to get them, she wouldn’t feel so guilty about leaving her behind. There was only one way. She looked around for Tang.
China Star Page 14
