Arctic Drift

by Clive Cussler

  But the cold quickly caught up with Trevor. The effects were imperceptible at first, but then Summer noticed his kicking slow. His lips and ears showed a tinge of blue, and she knew he was drifting toward hypothermia. She increased her kicking pace, not wanting to lose their momentum. She struggled another hundred feet, realizing that he was slowly becoming a deadweight. She looked down, hoping to find the seafloor rising up beneath them, but all she could see was a few feet of murky water. She had no clue as to how far they were from the island or whether they had in fact been swimming around in circles. The time had come to risk surfacing.

  Taking a deep breath from the regulator before forcing it back into Trevor’s mouth, she kicked to the surface, yanking him with her. Breaking the calm surface, she quickly spun her head in all directions, trying to get her bearings. Her worst fear proved to be unfounded. They had escaped, at least temporarily, the thick clouds of carbon dioxide, which still billowed into the sky a short distance away. In the opposite direction, the green hills of Gil Island beckoned less than a quarter mile away. Although they had not swum in a direct line, their course had been true enough to approach the shoreline.

  Summer sampled a few breaths of air without consequence, then reached under Trevor’s arm and pressed the INFLATE button on his buoyancy compensator. The vest quickly inflated, raising Trevor’s torso from beneath the water. She looked at his face and he winked in reply, but his eyes were dull and listless. Grabbing the back of the BC, she kicked toward shore, towing him behind her while he loosely flopped his feet.

  The island seemed to keep its distance as fatigue caught up with Summer, who was already burdened by a sense of desperation to get Trevor ashore. She tried to keep her eyes off the shoreline and just focus on kicking, but that only made her realize how leaden her legs felt. She was struggling to keep her pace when Trevor’s BC suddenly jerked out of her hands and his body moved ahead of hers. Startled by his movements, she let go in surprise, observing that his limbs still hung limp. Then a head emerged from the water alongside Trevor’s chest.

  Dirk turned and gazed at Summer, then spat out his regulator.

  “He must be frozen. Did he inhale the gas?” he asked.

  “No, it’s just the cold. We’ve got to get him to shore. How did you find us?”

  “I saw a dive tank was missing from the boat and figured you were making for shore. I surfaced a little to the south and spotted you.”

  Without another word, they made for the island as quickly as they could. Dirk’s appearance served as a morale boost to Summer and she suddenly swam with renewed vigor. Together they moved briskly through the water with Trevor in tow and soon yanked him up onto a thin band of rocky beachfront. Shivering uncontrollably, Trevor sat up on his own but stared off into space.

  “We’ve got to get his wet clothes off. I’ll give him my dry suit to wear,” Dirk said.

  Summer nodded in agreement, then pointed down the beach. A small wooden structure sat perched over the water a hundred yards down the shoreline.

  “Looks like a fishing hut. Why don’t you check it out, and I’ll get his clothes off?”

  “Okay,” Dirk said, slipping off his tank and weight belt. “Don’t enjoy yourself too much,” he chided, then turned and headed down the beach.

  He wasted no time, realizing Trevor was in real danger. Jogging in his dry suit, he crossed the distance to the structure in short order. Summer was right, it was a small fishing hut, used for overnight excursions by members of a local fishing club. A simple log structure, it was smaller than a one-car garage. Dirk noted a fifty-five-gallon drum and a cord of chopped wood stacked along an exterior wall. He approached the front door and promptly kicked it open, finding a single cot, a wood-burning stove, and a fish smoker. Spotting a box of matches and a small stack of dry wood, he promptly ignited a small fire in the stove, then hustled back down the beach.

  Trevor was sitting on a log shirtless as Summer removed his soaking pants. Dirk helped him to his feet, and with Summer on the other side, they half dragged him toward the cabin. As they moved, Dirk and Summer both gazed out at the strait. The white clouds of CO2 were still surging from the water like a volcanic eruption. The vapor had swelled into a towering mass that stretched across the strait, rising over fifty feet into the air. They noted a reddish tinge in the water and saw dozens of dead fish bobbing on the surface.

  “It must be the LNG tanker,” Dirk said. “They’re probably pumping it from a terminal on the other side of the island.”

  “But why do it in broad daylight?”

  “Because they know we’re here,” he said quietly, a touch of anger in his voice.

  They reached the cabin and lay Trevor down on the cot. Summer covered him with an old wool blanket while Dirk brought in some of the cut wood from outside. The stove had already started warming the small hut, and Dirk fed more wood on the fire until a small blaze was roaring. He stood to fetch some more wood, when a deep bellow echoed in the distance, reverberating off the island hillsides.

  Dirk and Summer rushed outside and looked up the strait in horror. Two miles to the north, a large Alaskan cruise liner was making its way down the passage, heading directly toward the lethal bank of carbon dioxide gas.

  45

  THE FRENCH CRUISE LINER DAUPHINE WAS scheduled for a weeklong voyage up the Alaskan coast before returning to its home port of Vancouver. But a major outbreak of gastrointestinal illness had sickened nearly three hundred passengers, forcing the captain to shorten the trip in fear that a large number would require hospitalization.

  At just over nine hundred and fifty feet, the Dauphine was one of the largest, as well as newest, cruise ships plying the Inside Passage. With three heated swimming pools, eight restaurants, and an enormous glass-walled observation lounge above the bridge, she carried twenty-one hundred passengers in high comfort and luxury.

  Standing on the Gil Island shoreline, Dirk and Summer gazed at the gleaming white liner on approach and saw only a ship of death. The toxic carbon dioxide gas still erupted from the seven pipe outlets, expanding the vapor cloud for over a half mile in every direction. A slight westerly breeze kept the gas away from Gil Island but pushed it farther across the strait. The Dauphine would take nearly five minutes to pass through the cloud, ample time for the heavy carbon dioxide to infiltrate the ducts and air-conditioning systems throughout the vessel. Displacing the oxygen in the air, the gas would bring quick death to every portion of the ship.

  “There must be thousands of people aboard,” Summer observed soberly. “We’ve got to warn them.”

  “Maybe there’s a radio in the hut,” Dirk said.

  They bolted into the fishing hut, ignoring the mumblings from Trevor as they tore the small shack apart. But there was no radio. Stepping outside, Dirk looked into the billow of white gas, trying to spot the research boat. It was hopelessly concealed inside the vapor cloud.

  “How much air do you have left in your tank?” he asked Summer hurriedly. “I can try to get back to the boat and call them on the marine radio, but I sucked my tank dry.”

  “No, you can’t,” Summer said, shaking her head. “My tank is almost empty as well, because we had to share air. You’d never make it back to the boat alive. I won’t let you go.”

  Dirk accepted his sister’s plea, knowing it would likely be a fatal attempt. He desperately searched around, looking for some way to alert the ship. Then he spotted the large barrel next to the hut. Rushing over to the grime-covered drum, he placed his hands against the top lip and shoved. The barrel resisted, then lifted with a slight sloshing sound, telling him it was nearly full. He unscrewed a cap on the top and stuck a finger in, then sniffed the liquid inside.

  “Gasoline,” he said as Summer approached. “An extra supply for the fishermen to refuel their boats.”

  “We can light a bonfire,” Summer suggested excitedly.

  “Yes,” Dirk said with a slow nod. “Or perhaps something a little more conspicuous.”

  THE
DAUPHINE’S CAPTAIN happened to be on the bridge checking the weather forecast when the executive officer called to him.

  “Captain, there appears to be an obstruction in the water directly ahead.”

  The captain finished reading the weather report, then casually stepped over to the exec, who held a pair of high-powered binoculars to his eyes. With the whales, dolphins, and stray logs from the lumber boats, there always appeared to be floating obstructions in the passage. None of it was ever cause for concern to the big ship, which just plowed through any debris like so many toothpicks.

  “Half a mile ahead, sir,” the exec said, passing over the binoculars.

  The captain raised the glasses, viewing a billowing white cloud of fog in their path. Just ahead of the fog was a low-lying object in the water that sprouted a black hump and a smaller adjacent blue hump. The captain studied the object for nearly a minute, adjusting the focus on the binoculars.

  “There’s a man in the water,” he suddenly blurted. “Looks to be a diver. Helm, decrease speed to five knots and prepare for a course adjustment.”

  He handed the binoculars back to the exec, then stepped over to a color monitor, which displayed their position against a nautical chart of the passage. He studied the immediate water depths, finding with satisfaction that there was plenty of water on the eastern side of the strait to sail through. He was about to give the helmsman a course adjustment to veer around the diver when the exec called out again.

  “Sir, I think you better take another look. There’s someone on the shore who appears to be signaling us.”

  The captain grabbed the binoculars a second time and looked ahead. The ship had advanced enough that he could now clearly see Dirk in his blue dry suit swimming along a floating Y-shaped log. Wedged into the log’s joint was a fifty-five-gallon drum. He watched as Dirk waved to the shore, then pushed away from the log and disappeared under the water. The captain swung his gaze toward the shore, where he spotted Summer wading up to her chest in the water. She held a shard of wood over her head that appeared to be burning. He watched in disbelief as she flung the burning stick out into the channel toward the floating log. When the burning embers hit the water, the surface immediately ignited in a thin burst of flames. A narrow trail of fire slowly snaked to the floating log, engulfing the driftwood in a flickering blaze. It took just a few additional seconds for the gasoline vapors inside the barrel to ignite, erupting in a small explosion that sent the shattering drum careening across the water. The captain stared bewildered at the fiery scene, then finally came to his senses.

  “Full astern! Full astern!” he shouted, waving his arms in excitement. “Then someone get me the Coast Guard.”

  46

  DIRK SURFACED TWENTY YARDS FROM THE BURNING gasoline and lazily swam in the direction of the cruise ship, occasionally raising one arm and slapping it down to the surface in the diver’s signal for distress. He cautiously eyed the carbon dioxide cloud, which was still burgeoning a few dozen yards behind the burning log. He could hear shouts from the shore and glanced over to see Summer yelling and waving at the ship to halt.

  He looked north to see the massive ship still bearing down on him. He began to wonder if anyone was awake on the bridge and had even seen his pyrotechnic display. Questioning his own safety in the path of the ship, he turned and swam a few strokes toward the shore. Then he heard the distant wail of an alarm sounding on board. The water near the vessel’s stern caught his eye as it churned into a turbulent boil. Dirk realized the fiery signal had in fact been seen and that the captain had reversed engines. But he began to wonder if it was too late.

  The Dauphine continued gliding toward the toxic cloud without any appearance of slowing. Dirk swam harder to avoid the oncoming bow of the ship as it bore down on him. Its towering presence drew over him, the bow cutting the water just yards away. All but giving up hope that the ship would stop, he suddenly detected the liner shudder and falter. The ship’s bow eased up to the dying line of flames, then ground to a halt. With a pained slowness, the Dauphine began backing up the strait, moving a hundred yards to the north, before drifting to a stationary position.

  A small orange launch had already been lowered over the side and quickly raced toward Dirk. As it pulled alongside, two crewmen reached over and roughly yanked him aboard. An austere-faced man seated at the stern growled at him.

  “What kind of fool are you? Greenpeace?” he asked in a French accent.

  Dirk pointed to the billowing white vapor to the south of them.

  “Sail into that and you’ll be a dead man. You be the fool and ignore my warning.”

  He paused, staring the crewman in the eye. Flustered and suddenly unsure of himself, the Frenchman remained quiet.

  “I have an injured man ashore who requires immediate medical attention,” Dirk continued, pointing to the fishing hut.

  Without another word, they raced the launch to shore. Dirk jumped off the boat and ran to the hut, which was now blazing hot from the stove fire. Summer was seated with her arm around Trevor, talking to him on the cot. His eyes looked brighter, but he still mumbled in a state of grogginess. The launch crewmen helped carry him to the boat, and they all returned to the Dauphine.

  After Trevor was hoisted aboard in the launch, Summer accompanied him to the ship’s medical station while Dirk was escorted to the bridge. The ship’s captain, a short man with thinning hair, looked Dirk up and down with an air of disdain.

  “Who are you and why did you set fire in our path?” he asked pointedly.

  “My name is Pitt, from the National Underwater and Marine Agency. You can’t proceed down the strait or you’ll kill everyone aboard. That white mist ahead of you is a lethal cloud of carbon dioxide gas being discharged by a tanker ship. We had to abandon our boat and swim to shore, and my sister and another man barely escaped death.”

  The executive officer stood nearby, listening. He shook his head and snickered.

  “What an absurd tale,” he said to another crewman loud enough for Dirk to hear.

  Dirk ignored him, standing toe-to-toe with the captain.

  “What I have said is true. If you want to risk killing the thousands of passengers aboard, then go right ahead. Just put us ashore before you proceed.”

  The captain studied Dirk’s face, searching for signs of lunacy but finding only stone-cold reserve. A crewman at the radar station broke the tension.

  “Sir, we’re showing a stationary vessel in the fogbank, approximately one-half mile off our starboard bow.”

  The captain digested the information without comment, then looked again at Dirk.

  “Very well, we shall alter course and avoid further progress through the strait. Incidentally, the Coast Guard is on their way. If you are mistaken, Mr. Pitt, then you will be subject to their prosecution.”

  A minute later, a thumping noise approached, and an orange-and-white U.S. Coast Guard helicopter from Prince Rupert appeared out the port window.

  “Captain, if you would, please advise the pilot to avoid flying into or above the white cloud. It might prove enlightening if he also did a flyby around the northwest coast of Gil Island,” Dirk requested.

  The captain obliged, advising the Coast Guard pilot of the situation. The helicopter disappeared for twenty minutes, then reappeared above the cruise ship and called on the radio.

  “Dauphine, we have confirmed the presence of an LNG tanker at a floating terminal on the north coast of Gil Island. It appears you may be correct about an unlawful discharge of gas. We are issuing marine hazard warnings through the Canadian Coast Guard and Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Advise you to alter course to the channel west of Gil Island.”

  The captain thanked the Coast Guard pilot, then configured an alternate route around Gil Island. A few minutes later, he approached Dirk.

  “It would seem that you have saved my ship from an immeasurable tragedy, Mr. Pitt. I apologize for our skepticism and thank you for the warning. If there is anything at all I can do to
repay you, please let me know.”

  Dirk thought for a minute, then said, “Well, Captain, at some point I would like to have my boat back.”

  DIRK AND SUMMER HAD little choice but to remain aboard the Dauphine until she docked in Vancouver late the following evening. Trevor was back on his feet by the time they reached port but was sent to the hospital for overnight observation. Dirk and Summer stopped for a visit before catching a train to Seattle.

  “Are you finally thawed out?” Summer asked, finding Trevor under a mountain of blankets in the hospital room.

  “Yes, and now they are trying to cook me alive,” he replied, happy to see her so soon. “Next time, I get the dry suit.”

  “Deal,” she said with a laugh.

  “Have they nailed the LNG tanker?” he asked, turning serious.

  “The Dauphine saw her headed to sea as we skirted around Gil Island, so they must have cut and run once they saw the helicopter. Fortunately, the Coast Guard chopper had their video camera rolling and so captured them at the floating terminal.”

  “No doubt they’ll be able to trace the ship back to one of Goyette’s holdings,” Dirk added. “Though he’ll find a way to palm off the blame.”

  “That’s what killed my brother,” Trevor said solemnly. “They almost got us, too.”

  “Did Summer tell you that she deciphered your brother’s message on the Ventura?” Dirk said.

  “No,” he said, suddenly sitting up in bed and staring at Summer.

  “I’ve been thinking about it ever since we found the Ventura,” she said. “It came to me on the ship last night. His message wasn’t that they choked. It was that they suffered from choke damp.”

  “I’m not familiar with the term,” Trevor said.

  “It comes from the old mining days, when underground miners carried canaries with them to warn of asphyxiation. I had run across the term while investigating an old flooded quarry in Ohio that was rumored to contain pre-Columbian artifacts. Your brother was a doctor, so he would have been familiar with it. I believe he tried to write the message as a warning to others.”