Missing Presumed Lost

by Fred Lockwood

  He pinched his nose and blew in an attempt to equalize and get rid of the roaring in his ears. It was when the deck canted under him that Jack realised the roaring was outside, not in his head. There was no engine noise and orange, flicking light was pouring through the ceiling hatch. The boat was sinking. Jack braced himself in response to a change in the angle of the deck; she was going down by the stern. He sprang onto the bunk, punched the hatch open with the heel of his hand and levered himself through it. It was as though he had been transported into the middle of some inferno. Towards the stern and starboard side of the boat fuel was burning on the surface of the water. In the flickering light it provided a surreal picture of the scene. He winced at the acrid smell of burnt diesel and plastic. At first, he couldn’t recognise the boat, everything had changed. Jack was standing on the deck of the port side hull of the catamaran. All that connected the two hulls was a single beam, bent like a boomerang! The solid deck area that had stretched between the two hulls had disappeared! Where was the bridge, the saloon, kitchen and whole area beneath it? It had all gone. The deck moved under his feet. The boat was going down. But where was Sandro?

  Jack searched for a way to get across to the starboard hull. The only link he could see was the distorted beam a few metres for’ard. He didn’t trust himself to try and walk across even though it was only a couple of metres; he would end up in the water. With barely a pause Jack moved to the beam, dropped to his knees and was about to shuffle across. But the beam was hot, too hot, he would burn his hands. He tore off his T shirt, wrapped it around his hands and trusted his shorts would stop him being burnt as he quickly shuffled across. Once across he threw the T shirt away and dashed to the hatch above Sandro’s cabin. He yanked the hatch open and shouted Sandro’s name, desperate to know if he was there. Jack peered into the cabin but despite the light from the fires around the boat it was pitch black inside. He could feel the angle of the hull changing as it started to slip under the surface. There was no time to lose. He dropped his legs through the hatch and bracing himself on the frame lowered himself onto the bunk. He could make out a shape on the deck next to the bunk, it was Sandro.

  He shook him by the shoulder and screamed into his face, pleading for him to wake up. Sandro stirred and mumbled something that Jack couldn’t quite catch. As he tried to lift Sandro to his feet he could feel the hull tilt again. They had to get out now! Half pushing, half lifting, Jack got Sandro onto the bunk and propped against the outside bulkhead. Sandro was still groggy but with Jack clasping his legs and lifting he managed to get Sandro halfway out of the hatch. With one last effort he pushed the rest of Sandro out onto the deck. With hands on either side of the hatch frame and one bounce on the bunk Jack followed him. A quick glance and Jack could see that the starboard hull of the catamaran was almost under the surface. He could also see that most of the burning diesel had either been burnt or the flames had been swamped by the sea. Jack tried to hold Sandro upright as he searched for any debris that could keep them afloat. There was debris everywhere but few substantial pieces. The light from the burning diesel was just enough for him to spot a large, flat piece of pale plastic or fibreglass that was riding a few centimetres above the level of the water. It was probably no more than twenty or thirty metres off the bow. With the port side hull now slipping further underwater Jack made the decision; they would have to swim for it.

  There was no need to jump. Jack manhandled Sandro to the edge of the deck, lowered him onto it, and then simply slipped down the side of the hull and into the water. He had been concentrating so much on avoiding any snags on the hull and debris that he simply hadn’t thought about the temperature of the sea. It was cold! The shock of dropping into cold water had served to jolt Sandro into life. He started to kick with his legs, fan with his hands and move his head. With Jack towing they made their way towards the lump of plastic. As they got close Jack saw that the flat surface was at least a hundred centimetres above the water. He thought it may be part of the bridge that had disappeared. It didn’t matter as long as it floated. In the few minutes they had been in the water Sandro had almost recovered.

  ‘What happened? Where are the others?’ he asked Jack.

  ‘There must have been an explosion towards the stern, perhaps the engine bay,’ replied Jack. ‘This is the biggest piece of floating debris I could see. I am just hoping it will support us,’ he added.

  It was only when Jack grasped the edge of the plastic debris that he realised it was razor sharp. They needed to be careful and find the best place to clamber out. The light from the burning diesel was starting to fade as Jack found a place that offered a handhold. With his hands on the edge Jack bounced in the water and smoothly levered himself out. Sandro followed moments later. They scrambled to the middle of their makeshift raft and were surprised by how stable it seemed. If Jack thought it was cold in the water it seemed even colder now he was out. All he was wearing was a pair of boxer shorts, everything else had been stowed in his cabin. Sandro was also in boxer shorts but did have his dive computer around his wrist. Jack took hold of Sandro’s wrist, pressed the button to illuminate the screen and saw that it was nearly 2.10 a.m. and several hours to dawn. Jack shivered and realised they would only have a few more minutes, if that, of light from the burning diesel. They should try to salvage what they could from around them. By dawn the currents would have spread everything over a wide area and it could be hours before anyone started to look for them.

  Jack got to his feet and in the fading light from the fires could see bits of debris all around him. There was a dark bundle about fifteen metres away and what looked like a large box a little further. Nearby he thought he could see a nineteen litre plastic water bottle but nothing else stood out.

  ‘I’m going to swim for those bits of debris,’ explained Jack. ‘If you stay here I’ll tow them to the side.’

  With that Jack dived over the side. As he grabbed the edge of the box he realised it was an old yellow plastic crate. He could see lengths of coiled rope through the slots in the side and thought it may contain other items worth salvaging. He towed it back to Sandro. He made another salvage effort and returned moments later, kicking strongly with his legs, with the floating bundle in one hand and the clear plastic water container in the other. Once back on board the floating wreckage he held up the water container to the fading light. He didn’t have to look too closely to realise it was almost empty and torn open; it was contaminated with sea water and useless. Ironically Jack remembered topping up the drinking water dispenser from the very same container. There was only a little water left in it and he had stowed it on the kitchen sink. The plastic crate merely contained lengths of rope. There was nothing else inside. The bundle was a large, bright orange tarpaulin cover. Jack guessed it was a makeshift awning that could be spread over the rear deck to provide some shade. It was a great item to salvage. They now had something to help keep them warm and later something to keep the sun off. In the fading light Jack searched the area for more debris but could see nothing of any significance. There was nothing else they could do except spread the awning over them and wait until dawn.

  The British Airways flight from Heathrow to Cairo was cruising at thirty-six thousand feet. The passengers had been fed and watered hours before and all was quiet in the passenger cabins. It was a beautiful night and Captain Peter Gilroy could make out the lights of the Italian coast on starboard and Croatia on port. It was the unexpected flash of light, dead ahead, that caught his attention, a light that must be mid Adriatic. He automatically scanned his ground radar to confirm the general position and the instruments to get a GPS fix for the plane. A quick calculation allowed him to estimate the position of the flash before he called up air traffic control in Venice to report the flash. He would later confirm that he thought it was an explosion at sea, timed at 0203 local time. Captain Peter Gilroy hadn’t been the only person to see the flash of light. The helmsman on a freighter, en route from Dubrovnik to Trieste, had also witnessed the fla
sh and reported it to his captain. Both reports made their way to coast guard centres in Italy and Croatia. Within fifteen minutes an Italian coast guard helicopter was dispatched to the area. With high resolution and heat sensing cameras on board, plus winch man and emergency kit to deploy, it would be able to establish if there was wreckage in the water and even survivors. If there were survivors or bodies they could be recovered.

  The navigator had plotted the original flash point and calculated the drift over elapsed time due to current. He had the pilot of the helicopter on track to the main search area.

  ‘Five minutes to centre of search area,’ the navigator announced to his colleagues. ‘Switching on night vision cameras now,’ he added.

  The pilot checked his heading, speed and altitude and glanced at the video screens relaying the images from the surface of the water below.

  ‘Debris at eleven o'clock,’ announced the navigator. ‘Concentration and spread suggest this is the epicentre,’ he added. ‘Switching on thermal imaging now,’ he continued.

  All eyes were on the video screens. The camera panned across the area below and relayed the green-blue and grey images to the screens in front of them.

  ‘Lots of scattered debris. Only one item of any size... estimate two metres by three metres... no positive heat trace... appear to be no survivors at this point. Continue on current bearing for four minutes. Prepare to commence grid pattern search on bearing 270 degrees at my mark,’ announced the navigator.

  At four hundred metres the helicopter would fly a conventional grid pattern and in a broad band scour every square metre of the water below. It would seek to identify and plot any wreckage of note but would concentrate on any heat source, any person, in the water.

  Initially it was cold. Jack and Sandro huddled together but it took a long time to warm up under the tarpaulin sheet. The wreckage on which they lay seemed remarkably stable, the water was calm and even the traumatic events of the last few hours couldn't stop them falling asleep. Jack dreamed and had vivid flashes of being inside the Pharmaco with a blonde-haired woman trying to wrap her arms around him. He couldn't get away from her. Far off he could hear the rhythmic thump of a generator but it was pumping water into the sailboat, not out of it! The volume of the beat increased and he was suddenly dancing with Mrs Kovačić and gazing at her heaving breasts. As the music faded so did his dream. The Italian coast guard helicopter had flown directly over them and not seen them!

  For the next hour the helicopter painstakingly flew up and down the legs of the search grid. They had been lucky for a change. The calm sea had restricted the dispersal of the wreckage so they could concentrate their search on a small area. However, other than the one piece of floating wreckage they had seen on their arrival at the site, they found nothing else. They also failed to locate any heat source that would indicate people in the water. After almost ninety minutes sweeping the area around the site the pilot contacted his base with a final communication.

  ‘Grid pattern search completed at 5.20 a.m.. Evidence of a massive explosion. Traces of fuel oil and multiple floating fragments. Only one item of any size identified, estimated size three metres by two metres. No sign of life. Ending search. Conclude that anyone on board is regarded as missing presumed lost. Returning to base.’

  Marco was having breakfast and listening to the weather update and latest sailing news on the marine radio. He wasn't planning to sail today but listening to the early broadcast was a habit he had acquired over years. It was at the end of the broadcast when the announcer reported a possible explosion, mid Adriatic, at approximately two a.m. that morning. The announcer gave the GPS coordinates of the explosion, mentioned that the Italian coast guard had responded but located only minor debris and advised those in the immediate area to be watchful. Marco stopped eating as a cold feeling of dread washed over him. He walked out of the room, down the stairs and into his office. Overlapping charts that covered all of the Adriatic Sea were pinned onto the far wall. He checked but already knew the answer as he put his finger on the site of the explosion. It was on the path the Blizanci was taking to Trieste. He turned to his desk, picked up a pair of dividers and set them to a span equivalent to fifteen nautical miles. This was the distance the Blizanci would cover if it maintained its most economical speed en route to Trieste. He recalled they had left at three p.m. and expected to be in Trieste sixteen hours later. The dividers twisted in his fingers as he counted off one, two, three, four... If they followed their expected course and maintained their expected speed, they would be at the site at about two a.m..

  For the next five minutes he tried to raise the Blizanci but there was no answer. He then phoned the generator company in Trieste. The Blizanci was expected that morning but she hadn't arrived. With mounting trepidation Marco phoned his friend at the Croatian coast guard in Dubrovnik. Apart from confirming the GPS coordinates of the suspected explosion and the unsuccessful search of the area, his friend could add nothing. No other sightings of debris had been reported and there were no plans to repeat the previous search. Other search and rescues were under way that were drawing upon all their resources. Marco put down the phone.

  ‘Where can I find a fast ocean-going cruiser?’ Marco said to himself before an ironic smile formed on his face.

  He found Shaun and Patrick on the dockside. They were flushing out the bank of radiators that cooled the Moffat diesel. They could tell that Marco was agitated as soon as he started to speak.

  ‘An explosion, mid Adriatic, was reported this morning at two a.m. It was directly on the track of the Blizanci. The Italian coast guard report debris in the water but no sign of life. They have abandoned the search. I've tried to raise them on the radio but they don't answer. I've phoned the generator company in Trieste and they say they haven't arrived. It may not be the Blizanci but if it is, and our friends are in the water, we need to get to them as soon as possible.’

  ‘We can have the engines and everything else up and running in twenty minutes,’ replied Shaun. ‘Can you clear us to leave the harbour, get the workers off and some people to help us handle the ship?’ he asked before he and Patrick sprinted for the walkway and onto the Sultano. Meet you onboard asap,’ Shaun shouted.

  It took over thirty minutes for Marco to clear their departure with the harbour master, assemble a skeleton crew and have everything stowed. On the bridge Marco and Kev stood around the navigation table looking at a chart of the search area. Shaun and Patrick were poised in the engine room.

  ‘Officially the Sultano is still my responsibility,’ said Marco, ‘until the final sea trials are complete, any problems fixed and payment made.’

  Marco paused and placed a hand-written note on top of the chart. Then, with a pencil in his hand, he drew a circle around a plot he had made at the site of the explosion.

  ‘Of course, if you, as representatives of the Marine Salvage & Investigation Company, wished to undertake sea trials in this general area I'd be more than happy to do so,’ he said with a smile. ‘I happen to have men available to help in the engine room, on deck and with navigation and steering.’

  Kev picked up the pencil and scribbled his signature.

  ‘So, what are we waiting for?’ he asked.

  Chapter 20

  A case of survival

  It was hot and airless under the tarpaulin. Jack poked his head from under its edge and was greeted with an expanse of deep blue water butting onto a clear pale blue sky. It was just after dawn and the sun already felt warm. It was going to be a hot day! Sandro was still asleep and so Jack carefully pushed back the tarpaulin and started to examine the wreckage that had probably saved their lives. He leaned over the side and looked underneath. The platform rocked and Sandro began to awake.

  ‘Sandro, wake up,’ urged Jack. ‘Guess what we are sitting on? It's the life raft! Look under the edge of the plastic we have been sitting on. You can see the orange fabric of the life raft that was lashed to the for'ard deck between the two hulls. I reckon the explosi
on blew off that section of the boat and it landed upside down in the water. This is what we have been lying on all night! We can right the raft and access the survival gear stowed in the pockets,’ he said with a grin. ‘There should be water and emergency rations, fishing hooks and line. You can try fishing!’ he added with an enthusiasm that seemed out of place.

  In the early morning sunlight Jack and Sandro struggled to turn the combined weight of the piece of deck and raft over. In the end they snagged rope on the corners of the plastic debris and, holding firmly, gradually shuffled backwards until they were perched on the edge of the platform. Slowly the raft and attached plastic deck reared in the water until it was nearly vertical. A final pull and as it started to fall towards them they flung themselves sideways. As it finally tipped over, the scalpel-sharp edges of the plastic deck just missed them. It seemed like a major success and both Jack and Sandro were grinning from ear to ear as they splashed in the water and hauled themselves back aboard the raft. However, the next few minutes were disappointing. The pockets in the life raft, designed to hold tins of water and emergency rations, had been plundered long ago.

  Their search of the immediate area was more successful. Sandro spotted floating debris a couple of hundred metres away. With Jack guiding him Sandro swam in a lazy crawl to the first piece. He was about five metres away from it when he realised what it was – a small aluminium suitcase! He had no sooner grabbed the handle and was about to tow it back to the raft when Jack was shouting and pointing off to the left. He swam on and almost bumped into a section of foam-backed carpet. It was shredded and scorched; Sandro thought he recognised it from the Blizbanci. Sandro finished towing the suitcase back to the raft, handed it up to Jack and hauled himself back onto the raft. Sandro was just about to say something when Jack's expression and gaze stopped him. He looked back over his shoulder and saw a dorsal fin sweeping towards the raft.