Deadly Cargo: A chilling naval terrorism thriller
Page 32
“Hey, that’s cute,” – Josh pointed at her – “we have nearly matching face wardrobes. You don’t mind if I call you Patch, do you?”
Susan bent over his hospital bed, cradled his face in her hands and moved in as if she were about to give him a kiss. He wetted his lips, closed his good eye and puckered up. She stopped six inches short, grabbed his nose and whispered, “You might think you’ve faced death before, buster, but keep it up and I’ll show you what real suffering is.”
“Okay, I’ll be good,” he promised and she released his nose and stepped back. He massaged his nose, pretending it hurt, then smiled at her, cleared his throat and softened his voice. “I have been wanting to ask you a question.”
Her face brightened. “I’m listening.”
“Would you …” his words caught in this throat and he choked.
“Would I what?”
He grinned. “Would you sneak me a pizza?”
“What?” she almost yelled, then caught herself. “What kind of question is that?”
Josh grinned. “Nah, actually, I had another question in mind. But you know what they say about the way to a man’s heart.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard. So what’s your real question, Mr Adams?”
“Well, if pizza is out, would you, uh …” he stammered, “would you dance with me?”
She stepped back with surprise. “Dance with you?”
“Yeah,” he choked again. “Would you dance with me at our wedding? Please say you will. I love you, Susan.”
Her lips softened and a warm smile slowly spread across her face. She bent and hugged him, then kissed him tenderly. “Mr Adams, what am I going to do with you?” When she straightened up, he noticed a tear on her cheek. She grabbed a tissue from the bedside box and said, “I’ll be right back.”
As she walked away, he half sat up, but was too weak and plopped back on his pillow. “Where are you going? Don’t leave me now. I want another one of those kisses.”
She reached for the door handle, turned to face him and smiled. “I’ll be back. I’m going after that pizza.”
Epilogue
Bill Martin turned away from the computer screen, rubbed his eyes and looked at Fenster Roberts, his partner in the Molly B treasure-hunting boat. “I think we’re searching in the wrong place. We’ve been over this grid a hundred times. If Captain Guillermo Ascente’s account of the Tesoro do Rei is right, that ship should be on the bottom, right out there.” He pointed out the cabin window at the wide Caribbean Sea. “But it isn’t.”
“So where is it?” Roberts barked his frustration. He jumped up from the table and strode out the cabin door, turning to shout over his shoulder. “Where do we go from here? We’ve tied up six years, not to mention a lot of money.”
Martin sank back in the seat and sighed. “I know. But I’ve got a hunch. I’ve been studying these NOAA current charts, and I think I know what happened. We’ve got to head north. Follow the path a wounded Tesoro do Rei would take if she were driven before a hurricane. She might have stayed afloat after Ascente abandoned her, then gone down later. I’m betting she’s on the bottom, somewhere between here and here.” He poked his finger at the chart and moved it between two spots.
Roberts stepped back into the cabin and looked at the chart. He waved his arms in resignation. “Why not! Couldn’t be any worse than this place.”
Three days later, Martin squinted at the monitor. “The metal detector is picking up something. Nothing on the screen yet. Only the signal from the magnetometer.”
“How high is it set?”
Martin looked away from the screen. “High. At this depth, it needs to be high. Especially to read something that’s buried under centuries of silt and muck.”
“Well, chase it down and see what it is. If we can find a cannon, or even a cannon ball, or maybe part of the anchor or chain …”
“It isn’t a strong enough signal for any of that,” Martin said. “It could be nails in a plank or something. If it’s anything that’s part of the debris trail, we can track it to the main wreck.” He pushed the joystick, and the ROV moved toward the sea floor. “Still can’t see anything, but the signal is getting stronger.”
“Good.” Roberts leaned in and watched the monitor, as Martin manipulated the ROV to zero in on the signal.
“I’m on it,” Martin shouted. “Signal is strong. Still can’t tell what it is, though.”
“Can you get it in the scoop?”
Martin twitched the joystick back and forth, and a cloud of silt rose from the sea floor, obscuring the view through the ROV camera. “Can’t see a thing. I’ll have to feel my way along.” A moment later, Martin whispered, as if he were afraid that a loud voice might disturb the ROV. “Got it.”
“Bring it up. I’ll get the big net ready.”
Bill Martin stayed at the controls, his eyes riveted to the monitor. Fenster Roberts stepped outside to the aft deck and moved the boom into position. A moment later, the bright yellow underwater pod broke the surface. Roberts swung the big net below the ROV and lifted it aboard.
His job finished at the controls, Martin stepped onto the rear deck and found Roberts bent over the ROV. “What is it?” he asked. “What did we find?”
Roberts stood up, a look of disappointment on his face.
“Nothing but this flashlight.”
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About the author
Richard H. Johnson is the author of Rich Johnson’s Guide to Wilderness Survival as well as The Ultimate Survival Manual, and Rich Johnson’s Guide to Trailer Boat Sailing.
Rich is one of America’s best-known experts on wilderness survival, urban suvival, disaster survival, emergency preparedness, and sailing. As an Army National Guard Special Forces veteran, he developed his outdoor skills further while living off the land and off the grid for a year in wilds of southern Utah with his wife Becky and two young children.
He has been a regular columnist for Outdoor Life magazine and has published hundreds of articles on outdoor subjects. Find him at www.facebook.com/rich.johnson