He didn’t really care. This was a one-time job. And according to the post-death recording Lu left for him, Rathman had something in common with the billionaire’s stepdaughter, having also been chucked from a seafaring career.
Rathman had been an able seaman, but he was notorious for being a brutal taskmaster, driving crews to their breaking points. The final straw that cost Rathman his certification was when he was ratted out to the authorities for locking his crew in the freezer as punishment whenever one of them failed to complete a task as ordered.
He hadn’t commanded a ship since then until Lu came calling. Apparently, Lu liked Rathman’s reputation. He said it was exactly what he’d been looking for.
Now as he sailed along the Great Barrier Reef on Christmas morning, Rathman felt at home in his captain’s chair, despite knowing his time as a shipmaster wouldn’t last past this voyage. Although the bridge pitched up and down as rain lashed the windows, there was nothing better than being master of a ship, whatever the size. With the money he’d make on this sailing, he was going to buy his own charter boat, maybe run fishing trips off the Gold Coast for rich businessmen and their model girlfriends.
Then the bridge officer said something that shook him out of his bikini-filled reverie.
“Captain, we’ve got a problem with crane two.”
Rathman groaned. “What is it?”
“It seems the boom wasn’t locked down securely.” The man pointed at the crane a hundred yards from the bridge, and Rathman could see the horizontal boom clanging against the adjacent crane arm with every wave crest. If it wasn’t locked in place properly, the storm could rip it from the tower, causing untold damage to the ship and its cargo as well as delaying their arrival.
“There’s a safe harbor fifteen miles west where we could shelter to make sure it’s secure,” the officer said.
Rathman exploded out of his seat. “We are not changing course. Get a man out there right now and up into that cab to reposition the boom and lock it down.”
“Aye, Captain.”
The officer made the call, and a minute later a crewman went out on deck, holding on to the railing with a death grip as he pulled himself through the fierce wind and rain. Rathman noticed that the idiot wasn’t even wearing a life jacket, but he wasn’t going to bring him back now and cause a further delay. With each wave, the boom banged even harder against its neighbor. If the cables snapped, the whole thing could come tumbling down.
The deckhand finally made it to the crane tower and climbed the stairs inside. Rathman couldn’t see when he reached the cab, but it was obvious that he’d made it when the crane swung around and nestled against the one beside it.
Rathman breathed a sigh of relief that his payday was now as secure as the crane.
The crewman exited the tower and started pulling himself along the deck back to the safety of the stern superstructure.
As Rathman settled back into his chair, he looked back out to sea and gasped when he saw a wall of water the height of a six-story building barreling toward them from dead ahead.
He activated the shipwide intercom. “Rogue wave approaching. Secure all stations.”
Rathman had heard about the phenomenon of a rogue wave, but he had never experienced one in person. On rare occasions in a storm like this one, normal-sized waves intersecting at just the right moment could combine into one giant superwave. Many mariners thought they were myths until they became well documented by North Sea oil rigs.
Now one was about to hit his ship. He braced himself for the impact. The bow of the Centaurus rose into the air, carried aloft by the slope of the wave. Before it could reach the peak, the crest of the wave broke over the ship, sending a massive surge of water across the deck.
The crewman who’d been struggling to make it back inside disappeared for a moment. As the water subsided, the crewman’s yellow rain jacket was visible as he hung from the railing, his feet dangling over the open water. For a moment, it looked like he could climb back over, but his grip gave, and he fell into the ocean.
“Man overboard,” the bridge officer called out automatically. He looked to the captain for orders, but Rathman remained silent as he thought about what would happen next.
Stopping to turn around and search for the man might take hours or days in this weather. And calling it in to the Coast Guard would mean that he’d have to assist in the rescue attempt and answer uncomfortable questions. Either of those options would make their chances of arriving in Sydney on time non-existent.
The officer seemed to understand his thinking. “If we throw a life buoy into the water for him to find, he might be rescued by a passing ship. If we don’t, it’s likely he’ll never be found. Nobody would know what happened here.”
The rest of the bridge crew watched him expectantly, but none of them looked particularly concerned about their fellow crewman. They knew their substantial pay was dependent on completing the voyage on time.
The captain nodded. “Stay the course. I’ll alter the manifest to take his name out.” First, of course, he’d have to find out what the man’s name was.
Rathman felt justified in his decision. After all, it wasn’t his fault, and no careless fool was going to deny him what he was owed. He put the lost crewman out of his mind and thought ahead to sailing into Sydney on New Year’s Eve when he’d toast his new life while watching the famed fireworks show from the middle of the harbor.
THIRTY-SEVEN
THE TIMOR SEA
The Oregon stayed in the vicinity of the Shepparton until Juan was sure that the crew had recovered and the ship could continue on its way to Jakarta safely. The problem was that they had no idea where the Alloy Bauxite cargo ship was now. Vesseltracker and the other marine traffic databases had no record of a ship leaving Nhulunbuy on that date. It was clear her name had been changed, so they couldn’t possibly track her.
Out of leads for the moment, there didn’t seem to be much to celebrate, but Juan made sure the chef put together a huge midday turkey dinner for the entire crew. At least for a few hours, they distracted themselves with good food, wine, and gift exchanges. Everyone especially loved Murph’s new skateboard from Eric, ignoring the grim possibility that he might never use it and instead focusing on the hope it brought everyone.
Toward the end of the meal, while the rest of the crew was still enjoying the festivities, Juan returned to his cabin alone. To lend his quarters a classic vibe, he had re-created the furnishings from his cabin in the previous Oregon that evoked the style of Rick’s Café Américain from the movie Casablanca. He could hold small meetings in the anteroom with its authentic 1940s dining table, sofa, and chair, while his bedroom had a rolltop teak desk and a large vintage safe holding the Oregon’s valuables, including cash, gold bullion, and cut diamonds for untraceable purchases, as well as Juan’s personal weapons. An original Picasso oil painting on one wall was one of the pieces of artwork that was saved when the old ship went down. The large television screen on another wall currently displayed portholes straight out of a nineteenth-century ocean liner.
Juan took a seat at the anteroom table to review the files on April Jin and Angus Polk, looking for anything that might point out how to find them. Two convicts little more than a year out of prison couldn’t possibly be funding such an expensive operation without help from someone with deep pockets. Using their experience in the police and military, they certainly had the skills to carry out their attacks, but why? What was the ultimate target? Who was behind it all?
There was a knock at the door, and Juan said, “Enter.”
Maurice, the Oregon’s elderly steward, glided in holding a silver tray with a coffeepot, cup, and a slice of pumpkin pie with whipped cream.
“You left before dessert was served, Captain,” Maurice said, setting the dishes on the table. He was wearing his standard pristine white uniform with a napkin draped over his arm, an
affectation he’d brought over from his decades in Britain’s Royal Navy. He also insisted on calling Juan Captain instead of Chairman to maintain naval tradition.
“Thank you, Maurice. How are our guests doing?”
“I’m doing my best to make Ms. Chang and Mr. Parsons comfortable. I believe the young Mr. Stone has taken a shine to Mr. Murphy’s sister.”
Despite Maurice’s elegant demeanor, he was the ship’s go-to person for onboard scuttlebutt. If something was happening on the Oregon, Maurice knew about it.
“I hope it doesn’t cause a rift between Eric and Murph,” Juan said. “I’d hate to see their friendship blown apart by something like that.”
“I’ve been assured that nothing has occurred but flirting. They’re more concerned with Mr. Murphy’s unfortunate medical condition at the moment.”
“So am I.”
“Nonetheless, I am glad that Mr. Murphy has his sister with him at this difficult time. It’s always more comforting to go through something like that with family, although I like to think we are all his family. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
Maurice left as quietly as he’d entered, leaving Juan to ponder his last words.
Who but family would trust disgraced felons like April Jin and her husband with a well-armed ship and a huge factory pumping out poisonous gas?
He rechecked Jin’s file and there it was, buried in a footnote. For several years, her stepfather had been a Chinese billionaire named Lu Yang. According to an internet search, Lu had died almost eighteen months ago. No information about his beneficiaries was available, but Jin had to be the recipient of the bulk of his estate.
He called Eric. “Stoney, I know it’s Christmas, but I have a question for you to investigate.”
“Actually, Chairman, we’re already back at work.” He didn’t have to say why. Julia had already told Juan about their time crunch related to the antidote for Murph.
“I believe Lu Yang, April Jin’s stepfather, might be the source of their funds. Check to see if Lu has any link to Alloy Bauxite or ever purchased a trimaran in the same class that Sylvia and Parsons described.”
“We’re on it,” Eric said and hung up.
Ninety minutes later, Eric, Sylvia, and Murph appeared at Juan’s door, and he asked them in. All three were still wearing the Santa hats they’d put on at the party.
“I guess you found something,” Juan said.
“You were right about Lu,” Murph said, his voice box mimicking Samuel L. Jackson. “He’s neck-deep in this, which is appropriate since he’s dead.”
“Alloy Bauxite was created through a series of Australian shell companies,” Sylvia said. “The intent was to make it look as if the Australian military had funded it.”
“But they forgot to completely cover their tracks on the purchase of the hovercraft,” Eric said. “Guess who Alloy Bauxite bought the Marsh Flyer from.”
“If it isn’t a subsidiary of Lu Yang’s companies,” Juan said, “I’ll be very disappointed.”
“Exactly. Not only that, the same organization that bought the hovercraft also supplied trimarans to various navies around the world, including China and Australia.”
“So now we know who we’re up against.”
“But that’s not the best part,” Murph said.
“We kept looking through the computer files you found at the factory,” Sylvia said. “Something very interesting popped up. A reference to an archaeological dig in Western Australia.”
“Apparently, it’s the source of the antidote,” Eric said.
“What did they find?” Juan asked.
“We don’t know,” Sylvia said. “Most of the file was corrupted. Just that it involved ancient ruins of some kind and that the archaeologists were all lost in a plane crash returning from the dig site. None of them survived to report their findings.”
“Then how did Jin and Polk know about it?”
“We asked the very same question ourselves,” Murph said.
“Perhaps the archaeologists communicated their findings before they left the dig site,” Sylvia said.
“Or the plane crash was faked and they did make it back,” Eric said. “We’ve seen what this couple does to their own employees.”
“None of this sounds very helpful yet,” Juan said, “which means you’re about to tell me something good.”
Sylvia and Eric looked at Murph, giving him the chance to deliver the news. He smiled, the happiest Juan had seen him since picking him up in Darwin.
“And you thought we didn’t get a present for you,” Murph said. “The file contained the GPS coordinates of the dig site. The ruins they found are along the Ord River on the northwest coast of Australia. We can be there by tomorrow morning.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
HORN ISLAND, QUEENSLAND
The Marauder finally made it to the Torres Strait Islands late on Christmas Day. The archipelago was located at the tip of the Cape York Peninsula, the only place within two hundred miles with an airport large enough for Polk’s jet to land and refuel. He was agitated as the launch made its way to the anchored trimaran.
When he stepped onto the ship, he was met by his wife, who looked equally distressed.
“How could this have happened?” she asked as she hugged him. “Everything was going so smoothly.”
“I don’t know,” Polk replied, looking around at the men idling on deck. “Let’s talk in your cabin.”
They went below decks and locked the door behind them. They didn’t want to give the sense that they were losing control of the situation, even though that’s exactly what had happened.
“Do you think Parsons arranged the attack?” Jin asked him.
“He’s no actor, and I could see he was surprised when I told him he was about to die. No, it was someone else.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. But they had an armed spy ship. It had guns mounted on a crane, and I saw a boat deployed from its hull.”
“A spy ship?”
“That’s what it looked like to me,” Polk said. “The Australian Navy doesn’t have anything like that.”
Jin shook her head. “I don’t know who does. What did it look like?”
“Big cargo ship. Maybe five hundred feet long. Four cranes.”
“Did you catch the name?”
“I checked with the Nhulunbuy harbormaster. It was called the Norego.”
Jin paced the small room. “This doesn’t make any sense. If the military was onto us, they would have mounted a full-scale raid on the factory, not sneak in with a minimal force.”
“It must have been a recon mission.”
That made Jin stop pacing as she looked at Polk in horror. “Did they get away with any intel?”
Polk shrugged. “Doubtful. I set the computer servers to overwrite the drives, but I didn’t have time to see if they took any with them.”
“This is potentially damaging.”
Polk nodded. “I wasn’t expecting last minute visitors. I had to blow the factory as soon as possible in case another team showed up.”
“Who could possibly know?”
“Hard to say. Perhaps there’s a leak with Lu’s people,” Polk said.
“He may have made a mistake somewhere along the way that led these people to us. So what do we do?”
“We try to find them.”
“How?”
“Where would they go next?” he asked rhetorically. “The logical place to start is with our cargo ship. But they would know it as the Shepparton. They have no idea its real name is the Centaurus. I’m confident our shipment is safe.”
“Yes, I think so, too,” Jin said.
“The most damaging info that they could have gotten from the computer files is about the Enervum and its antidote.”
“If they learn that the
re is an antidote, they’ll need the nut oil to make it.”
“Since there are only two places in the world to obtain those nuts,” Polk said, “I could take a strike team to destroy the existing supply. I’ll go to Jakarta first.”
“That’s a good idea,” Jin said. “But what about the archaeological dig Lu sent us to?”
“It’s so remote, I never thought anyone would find it.”
“We can’t make that assumption anymore. I’ll take the Marauder there. Since it’s closer than the original nut source, the people on that spy ship—the Norego—might send someone to check it out or the whole ship might go. Maybe I’ll come across them on the way there. If not, I’ll be waiting to eliminate them.”
“I want you to be careful,” Polk said, taking Jin in his arms. “That Gatling gun I saw them use was pretty powerful.”
“Maybe. But we’ve got some weapons of our own.”
THIRTY-NINE
THE ORD RIVER ESTUARY, WESTERN AUSTRALIA
Juan had the Oregon anchor in the wide Cambridge Gulf, bordered on the west by high sandstone hills and on the east by mudflats and thick mangrove colonies. The northern part of the gulf let out into the Timor Sea, while the southern end was dominated by Adolphus Island. It was bounded by arms of the Ord River, now swollen to more than a mile in width by the heavy seasonal monsoons.
Juan piloted the RHIB up the eastern arm of the river, while Eric guided him toward the GPS coordinates that they’d obtained from the factory computer. Since Juan didn’t expect any trouble on this expedition, Sylvia had joined them, holding a camera that linked back to Murph on the Oregon so he could participate. Juan also asked Bob Parsons to come along since he was familiar with the outback flora and fauna as well as its geography. Julia Huxley rounded out the team. If they found any clues about the antidote, Juan wanted her there to work through the formula.
Even this early in the morning, the summer heat and humidity were oppressive. The breeze as the RHIB motored along the river helped, but Juan’s shirt was still soaked with sweat.
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