Deadly Cargo: A chilling naval terrorism thriller

by Rich Johnson

  A moment later, she poked her head into the cabin. “I see it, dad. The radar picked it up, too. I’m on the eight-mile range right now, and the object is reflecting a strong signal and is only half a mile away.”

  Dan came up from the port hull nav station to take a look. Cadee handed the binocular to him and jumped down from the seat as he slid into position behind the wheel. A quick study of the radar screen gave him a relative bearing on the object, and he aimed the seven-power binocular that direction. The commotion brought Jacob out of his aft stateroom. In his hand was the sign language book he was studying.

  “What’s up, dad?”

  After a quick glance at his son, Dan smiled and nodded at the book. “Great literature, don’t you think?”

  Jacob grinned. “Spoken like a true author, dad. But hey, it’s not bad. Even I can understand it.”

  “There’s something floating out there.” He handed the binocular to Jacob. “See what you make of it. Where’s your mother?”

  Cadee bounded through the cabin door in search of Nicole, and found her in the galley preparing sandwiches. “Found her,” she called back toward the cockpit. “Hey, mom, dad’s found something.”

  Nicole wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “What is it?”

  “We don’t know.

  It took only a few seconds for Nicole and Cadee to join the men in the cockpit. Dan had switched off the autopilot and was closing in on the mysterious object, now only a few hundred yards away.

  Jacob lowered the binocular. “Looks like a half-submerged shipping container, to me.”

  Nicole took the binocular as Jacob moved to the traveler to adjust the mainsail. “Well, I’m glad you guys spotted it before we ran into it,” she said. “That thing could have sunk us if we hit it at speed.” She looked at Dan, who was steering the boat closer. “What are you doing? Let’s stay away from it in case a swell catches us and we smash into it.”

  “We’re okay, honey,” Dan tried to calm her. “I just want to take a closer look. Jake, will you please lower the outdrive and lock it down? Then furl the headsail and I’ll start the engine. We’ll just circle it under power, so we’ve got good directional control and can stay out of harm’s way.” He emphasized the last part for Nicole’s benefit.

  He switched on the glow plugs for half a minute, then fired the diesel. It started immediately, and he set the autopilot to steer them away from the container and directly into the wind. “I’m going to drop the main,” he told Nicole, in keeping with their standard safety procedures at all times when someone left the cockpit to go up on deck while underway.

  “Be careful, daddy,” Cadee called out.

  In a matter of minutes both the headsail and the main were stowed, and the boat was a few hundred yards past the floating cargo container. “All right, gang,” Dan said with a note of adventure in his voice, “let’s go see what we’ve got here.”

  “What we’ve got here,” – Nicole didn’t sound amused – “is a huge metal object that can sink our boat. What the heck are you thinking?”

  “Well,” Dan said in a soothing voice, “what I was thinking was that maybe we’ve found ourselves a grand treasure. Who knows what might be in that container? It might be a Rolls Royce—”

  “Oh sure,” Nicole interrupted. “Well, did you notice that the container is upside down?”

  “Or maybe it’s a load of Nike shoes, or computers, or money.”

  “Or maybe a bunch of motorbikes,” Jacob interjected with a smile.

  “Or clothes,” Cadee chimed in, looking hopeful.

  “Or just somebody’s junk.” Nicole shot a warning glance at Dan and planted her hands on her hips.

  “Well,” Dan said cheerfully, “we’ll never know until we take a look”

  “And just how do you propose to take a look?” Nicole asked. “You can’t open that thing up out here in the middle of the ocean, and we sure can’t tow it ashore.”

  “You’ve got a point there,” Dan said. “Any ideas from the crew?”

  Silence filled the cockpit, and Dan was almost ready to give up his treasure hunt when a thought entered his mind. His eyes brightened. “I’ve got it.”

  “Stand back, kids,” Nicole mocked, throwing her arms wide in front of the children, “I don’t want you catching whatever it is your father has.”

  “Now come on,” Dan encouraged them, “a little support from the crew. At least hear me out.”

  A look of resignation crossed Nicole’s face. “Okay, what is it?”

  “Well,” Dan said, “I admit there’s nothing we can do with that big box by ourselves. But maybe we can hire somebody to salvage it for us. Haul it to shore so we can see what’s inside. What do you say?”

  Jacob got a big grin going. “Yeah, just think what we might find inside. Maybe we’ll be rich.”

  “I don’t know,” Nicole said. “Where are you going to get a salvage company out here? Besides that, how much do you think it’ll cost to hire it done?”

  “Don’t know ’til we try to find out, right?” Dan was almost gleeful.

  Jacob was all encouragement. “Right, dad, let’s go for it.”

  “Cadee, what do you say?” Dan asked. “We’ve got to take a vote, before we spend any of our cruising kitty.”

  Cadee looked at her mom, worried that their disagreement about this might turn into a serious argument. “I don’t know,” she stammered, her eyes on Nicole.

  Nicole sensed her daughter’s insecurity, and knelt to look her in the eye. “Hey, it’s okay, kiddo. No big deal here.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really,” Nicole assured her. “What’s your vote?”

  “Well then,” – her face lit up – “I vote to see what’s inside. It’s like a giant Christmas present.”

  “So, since it’s only early November, does that mean we have to wait a couple months?” Dan teased.

  Cadee clapped her hands. “Okay, late Halloween,”

  “So let’s see by show of hands,” Dan said. “Only unanimous votes are moved upon, so we don’t go against the wishes of anyone.”

  Cadee’s hand went up first, followed quickly by Jacob’s. “You know where I stand,” Dan said, looking toward Nicole, who still had her hands firmly planted on her hips.

  “Come on, mom,” both kids pleaded in unison. Jacob offered the final encouragement, “At least we should find out what it costs to salvage it.”

  “So where’s the nearest salvage operation?” Nicole asked.

  Dan picked up the VHF radio microphone. “Reach out and touch someone.” He shrugged. “If everyone agrees, I’ll see if I can raise someone on the radio who can give us a lead to a salvage company. Who knows, maybe there’s someone right here in the islands.”

  After a moment of holding out, Nicole relented. “Okay. Let’s at least make the call.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Susan Vellum stood at the door to Josh Adams’ hotel room and knocked quietly.

  He heard the faint rapping, looked at the clock on the nightstand and shook the sleep from his brain. “Three in the morning? What the heck is important enough to wake a man at three in the morning?” He threw back the covers, grabbed his robe and walked to the door. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Susan.” The voice was intimately familiar, but it made no sense that Susan was here in Panama. Wasn’t she in a hospital in the Philippines?

  He threw off the chain lock, flipped open the deadbolt and swung the door wide. Susan melted into his arms, and they kissed deeply.

  A bioelectric shock from somewhere in his nervous system shot through his body, and he jumped, waking himself from the dream. He was sweating. His t-shirt was wringing wet around the collar, and his breathing came hard and fast. In the distance, he heard a knock at the door and wondered if his dream had written itself in his brain at the speed of neurons, to make rational sense of the knock; a rational sense that was acceptable to him – even longed for.

  “Who is it?” he called
out.

  “Mr Adams,” a young male voice responded in perfect American English, “Captain Pfister sent me to get you. They’ve located a container.”

  Josh reached for the lamp and switched on the light. “I’ll be right there!” he yelled through the door, then scrambled into his pants and shirt, tucking his pistol into the back of his waistband. In less than a minute he was out the door and heading down the steps behind a young man in a Coast Guard work uniform. They got into a car that had been left at the curb, and raced off into the night.

  “What’s the situation?” Josh asked.

  “Don’t know the specifics, sir,” the young man answered. “Only that a report came in from a cruise ship that they had hit a hard submerged object. Turned out to be a container.”

  Minutes later, they checked in through the security gate and drove to the captain’s office. Through the window, Josh saw Pfister talking on the phone.

  “Thanks for the lift.” He got out, slammed the car door and waved as he headed up the steps.

  The door opened as he was reaching for the handle, and the captain stepped into the night air. “You ready for a ride?”

  “You’re asking if I’m ready to cheat death again?”

  Pfister grinned. “A Carnival cruise ship hit something hard and metallic about an hour ago. They hit it so hard that it punched a triangular hole the size of a Volkswagen just below the waterline.”

  “You figure they hit the corner of a container?”

  “Looks that way. After they sealed off the damaged compartment so the whole ship wouldn’t flood, they trained spotlights on the water to see if they could spot what caused the damage. There it was, about ninety percent submerged, a shipping container.”

  “Color?”

  “Your favorite and mine, red lead.”

  “Were they able to see a serial number?”

  “Not that lucky, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, I’d say let’s go have a look. Can we land a chopper on the ship?”

  “Oh yeah,” Pfister said. “I’ve already deployed a cutter, but the chopper will be faster for us. And the cruise ship is equipped with several full sets of scuba gear onboard, so we can go down and check the serial number from under water, if necessary. You’re certified, I assume?”

  “Since I was eleven years old. Got certified with my dad, so we could spend some quality father and son time getting a nitrogen fix.”

  “Good. By the time the cutter arrives to take the container in tow, we’ll already have some answers.”

  ****

  The sun was still below the horizon when Josh spotted what appeared to be a Las Vegas hotel with all the lights on, floating on the black sea below them. The chopper circled, then fell into an approach toward a helipad on the stern of the ship. The skipper met them at the pad and handed them off to a crewman who showed them down seven flights to the equipment room where the scuba gear was stowed.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” the skipper said. “Just have a few things to take care of first. I have a skiff waiting for your use on the swim platform. It’ll save you having to swim a couple hundred yards to get to the bow.”

  “Is the container still at the bow?” Josh asked.

  “Yes. Actually, it hung up in the penetration, so we know exactly where it is.”

  Moments later, Josh buckled his weight belt and took a suck on the second-stage regulator to check the system and make sure the air was clean. Even the slightest hint of an oily taste indicates a compressor problem that would fill the tanks with lung-damaging contaminated air. He switched on the dive light to check its operation, then turned if off again.

  “I’m almost there,” he said. “Just got to spit in my mask and I’ll be ready.”

  “Here,” – the equipment room steward handed him a small plastic bottle – “we don’t encourage our guests to spit in the masks. Use this anti-fog, instead.”

  “Hey, my spit’s clean,” Josh said in mock protest.

  The steward rolled his eyes, showing no sense of humor. “Right.”

  With fins in hand, Pfister and Josh followed the steward down the hall, through the door leading to the swim platform where the skiff waited with a driver aboard. The pilot pushed the throttle forward and two minutes later, they were at the bow of the ship. Looking up from the skiff, Josh thought it was like sitting at the base of an enormous white skyscraper that slanted out overhead to block part of the sky. Lights from more than a thousand staterooms shimmered from the black water like a sea full of silver mirrors.

  Under the skillful hands of the skiff pilot, the small boat hovered effortlessly in the corner created by the ship’s hull and the container that was still loosely stuck in the penetration. The two men made eye contact, gave the ‘okay’ hand signal, placed a palm against their masks and rolled backward off opposite sides of the skiff.

  In the dark water, the rust red color of the container was an ugly, vague form that seemed to grow as an appendage from the white hull of the cruise ship. Josh swam to the corner that penetrated the hull, and saw that the connection was tenuous. We’re lucky it hung on this long. A quick examination of the wound showed that extricating the container would be fairly easy, with a tug line pulling from the cutter. But this cruise was over. The ship would have to return to Panama for professional repair, and all the passengers would get full reimbursement to cover the cost of their ruined vacations. An expensive bump in the night. Josh thought about the millions this little accident was going to cost the cruise line.

  There was no serial number painted on the corner nearest the ship, so Josh caught Pfister’s attention and pointed at the far end of the container that angled down to a depth of forty feet. A quick knife action at the waist cocked his body and he kicked into the darkness below. Pfister followed, and in a few moments they hovered at the deep end of the container and stared at the painted serial number. Disappointment was in their eyes as they looked at each other and Josh shook his head then jerked his thumb upward. Pfister nodded, and they slowly began the ascent to the 15-foot level where they paused for a safety stop before hitting the surface.

  Back in the equipment room, Josh stripped out of his wetsuit. “One down, eight to go.”

  “Yeah,” Pfister agreed. “But you saw how low in the water this one was floating. Some of them might have gone to the bottom by now. We might never find all of them. In fact, I would bet against it.”

  It was a grim reality – the ultimate quandary of the rock and the hard place. Josh knew they might never find the container with Husam al Din and his weapon inside. But he also knew that he could never breathe easy until they did.

  140 miles south – Off San Luis Miguel Island

  An hour before sunrise, Dan looked up from the book he was reading and stretched. Night watch in the cockpit was a lonely job, but he didn’t mind too much. The quiet emptiness of the open ocean brought peace to his soul. He had relieved Nicole at two o’clock and spent his time alternately reading and keeping an eye on the floating container, now two hundred yards off. He didn’t want to be too close, but didn’t want to lose sight of it either. That big metal cargo box might hold a treasure, or it might just be somebody’s household stuff being shipped across an ocean to a new residence. He didn’t know, but it really didn’t matter. It was the adventure of the whole escapade that counted.

  From far away to the west, the deep, chugging sound of a diesel engine suddenly disturbed the early morning air. Well, it looks like the man gets up early. Dan picked up the binocular and stepped to the rail. It was still too early to see much through the dim morning light, but the throaty growl of the motor carried across the water with unmuffled clarity. The sound of that motor, Dan hoped, was coming from the barge of Senor Juan Baptista de la Vega, a salvor from the island of San Luis Miguel that he contacted by radio the evening before.

  “Si, senor,” the man had assured Dan, speaking fair English with a heavy Spanish accent. “I can salvage the container for you. I have a barge with a
crane, and can lift the container right out of the water. Please, senor, give me your coordinates, and I will come to you in the morning.”

  The whole thing sounded almost too easy.

  Nicole poked her head out through the cabin door, her eyes still sleepy. “How you doing? I thought I heard something.”

  Dan pointed toward the island. “I think its de la Vega. Sounds like an old diesel that is badly in need of some attention. Out here in the middle of nowhere, that’s what I would expect.”

  “I’ll get dressed. I think we can let the kids sleep.”

  Twenty minutes passed, and the sound of the distant engine grew louder. Finally, through the binocular, Dan was able to see a dark spot on the horizon and a column of black smoke rising and then drifting apart in the morning breeze. Nicole stepped into the cockpit, her hair in a ponytail and wearing a flowered calf-length dress.

  Dan whistled, ”Wow, don’t you look nice!”

  “Well, it isn’t every day we get visitors on board. He sounded so nice over the radio, talking about his grandchildren. I thought it would be nice to clean up a bit to welcome him. Do you think I should prepare some breakfast for Mr de la Vega?”

  “I don’t know about him, but I could use some.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” – Nicole put an arm around Dan – “if that container is full of valuable things, maybe we should try to notify the rightful owners, so they can come and get it.”

  A frown built on Dan’s face. “If it’s anything valuable, the insurance will pay off the owners.”

  “Then we should notify the insurance company,” Nicole said.

  “What about finders keepers?”

  She shrugged. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

  “Well, I think the right thing is for us to claim salvage rights. It’s the law of the sea. Senor de la Vega is charging us a thousand bucks just to haul that thing to the island so we can open it up. The least we can do is consider it an investment and feel good about keeping whatever we find inside.”