by John Hunt
He glanced briefly at the GPS monitor, noted that it revealed the exact position plotted on the chart, and smiled. He moved to his left to sit down.
As he settled down, his tug jerked violently. A thundering explosion from far below and the screech of tearing metal filled the bridge with the intense pressure of the sound waves. The ship listed as it turned sharply to port, and the noise of the engine became a high pitched whine as the starboard propeller lifted into the air with its blades freed from the resistance of the salt water. Hahnemann fell off his chair and rolled to the hatch that led to the port bridge wing. He was barely able to grab the metal rail and narrowly avoided a fifteen-meter fall to the churning water below.
As he struggled to gain his footing, he gazed around this side of the ship in an attempt to make sense of the horrifying development. The sky was blue, the wind was calm, and the sea was quiet except for the turmoil immediately beside the hull. Far astern, the OTEC stood tall and seemed unperturbed by the events ahead.
He pulled himself up on his knees and peered down below him at the maelstrom in the water. Air, without which the tug would have no buoyancy, bubbled out of an enormous breech in the tug’s thick hull. Shredded sheet metal had bent outward from the hull like shark’s teeth and the mouth that appeared so suddenly in the side of his ship consumed the ocean water greedily. The ship groaned as it tipped further and continued its now inevitable process of capsizing.
Captain Hahnemann pulled himself along the rails into the bridge. He called toward the radio room.
“Distress — radio the distress, Freeman!” And then, calmly, “We are sinking.”
Freeman, always the professional, yelled back, “Aye sir. SOS sending with current position.”
Tom Stouffer burst up the ladder that entered into the middle of the bridge. He scrambled down the bridge deck and grabbed the compass binnacle to stop his fall. He ended up right next to his skipper.
“The lower decks are filled with smoke and the afterdeck is on fire, sir. Some kind of explosion.”
The captain responded bitterly. “Sabotage, I would say, Mr. Stouffer. That was a bomb blast.” And then, “Any word on the crew?”
“Most were safe in the galley having breakfast. They’re inflating the life rafts. I assume you want to abandon ship.”
Captain Hahnemann slowly nodded his head. Greasy black smoke began to fill the room. He reached for the mike and shouted the order, “Abandon ship, abandon ship!”
He called to Freeman, “Get outahere, man! There is little time!”
Turning to his first officer he cried, “Get ‘em all off safely, Tom. Head toward the clouds ahead!” Stouffer nodded, turned, clambered up the bridge deck, and disappeared on the steeply slanted starboard wing.
Captain Hahnemann had confidence that his first officer would get everyone alive off the vessel. But he only had one or two minutes until the ship would be under. They had sent the SOS. The crew would be safe. But he had one more task to accomplish.
He leapt up to grab the trim on the side of the ladder that led below the bridge deck. He pulled himself up and rolled through the hatch into the passageway below. The ship already listed at more than thirty degrees, and it would momentarily complete its death roll.
He ran along the bulkhead as the capsize progressed. Smoke seared his nostrils and clogged his lungs. He smashed his knees and shins over and over into the objects that lined the wall: fire extinguishers, now useless, piping, and lockers. But he kept running, oblivious to the pain and bleeding.
There was light ahead, visible through a serendipitous eddy in the dense black smoke. He wiped his hand across his burning eyes and made for the light. Sunlight was coming through an open hatch on the starboard side. He jumped and pulled himself into the open air above.
He was where he needed to be. The enormous starboard winch stood immediately in front of him as he faced the stern. He moved toward it. The ship now tilted more than forty-five degrees. It took only a moment for the captain to reach the giant red handle of the winch release. He gained a foothold, released the safety mechanism, and pulled the lever.
The winch was freed and the wire hawser that held the OTEC in tow began to slide out astern. But it would not go far. The port winch would soon take up the load.
Hahnemann looked towards the bow. Immediately in front of him, the decks blazed. He had traveled right under those flames in the passageway below. He jumped and landed on the side of a storage shed that rested amidships and between the two towing winches. Blood, his blood from some unknown injury, smeared over the white paint. The corrugated aluminum wall groaned to protest his weight and then popped rivets as the ship turned to ninety degrees.
Hahnemann leaped from the shed just as it came free of its deck mounting and fell clattering into the sea below. He now lay upon the port winch, splayed across the thick steel cable that wrapped many times around its neck. Below him the water broiled with foam and debris. There were only seconds left. He slid down the side of the winch head and hung against the deck, now vertical, as he grasped a metal rung. The winch release was within reach. He swung his free arm and freed the safety mechanism, and then yanked the lever. It did not move. He repositioned himself to gain leverage and pulled again. His biceps and shoulders strained with the effort but the lever did not move.
He examined the release lever. It was no different from the lever for the starboard winch. But the steel bands that had been jury-rigged to hold the massive device in place wrapped around this winch. One band blocked the pivot of the lever.
He felt water on his leg and shoulder. The ship groaned and completed its roll. He took a last breath and went under the waves. There was still enough light to see and he began to work, viciously, at the steel band, to pry it back and forth to free the red lever from its tight grasp. The light was disappearing.
He began to feel as if the steel band that held the winch handle had redirected its anger at his chest. Tighter and tighter it squeezed and forced the air from his lungs. Only his bitter determination gave him the strength and endurance to continue his efforts to free the cable. But determination by itself would not overcome jump this hurdle. Try as he might, the lever would not budge.
As his ship began to plunge toward the depths, the last bit of air escaped through the captain’s nostrils as he struggled still to free his tow. A moment later, the sea claimed the life of one more brave man.
Two bright yellow life rafts, eleven men in each, floated on the surface. All but two of the crew had made it to the rafts.
The men searched the water determined to find the chief engineer and their captain. They had seen the captain free up the starboard winch and, unheard by him, they had cheered loudly as he let the cable loose. Shouting encouragement, they watched him leap to the port winch. Hardy bellows erupted as he reached for the lever. But they were silent as the ship rolled and took him down.
The bubbling vortex of the sea rapidly consumed the ship after its capsize was complete. A blade of the port propeller was the last piece seen. As it sank, the sea continued to fill the hull — the air that this forced out percolated upward and churned the surface.
As the water settled and calmed, the sea and the people floating upon it hushed completely. They turned their attention to the giant shining cylinder still firmly attached to the Mary Brewer by the remaining steel hawser. The men watched helplessly as the cable suddenly tightened and the towering machine tilted. Tom Stouffer knew from the length of that cable that his captain and his ship were now more than a thousand meters below.
The tower heeled further and further. The flying saucer structure that crowned the top splashed into the water. The cylinder’s heavy ballast broke free and the base of the structure, previously 100 meters underwater, shot upward high above the waves as the OTEC performed a clumsy somersault. Then, head first, it too began a long descent, pulled by the sinking tug to the dark depths of the ocean.
Even in death, the Mary Brewer would not lose her tow.
16. Lust and Magic in a Volcano
A FEW DAYS had passed. A few glorious days. Jeff was in heaven.
Sophia had been with him for almost every minute, and every minute had been wonderful. They had not thought about work at all — not for one moment. Well, that was not completely accurate, for on several occasions Jeff had thought how fun it would be to not have to work. So that was almost like thinking about work. Now all he wanted to do was to be free to relax on some tropical islands somewhere with Sophia for the rest of his life.
So it was with great dismay that Jeff received Sophia’s news that she had to leave for a time.
He chuckled. “I just get back and you get called away.”
“Well, don’t worry. I will only be gone for a year!” she said, grinning slyly.
“Oh, I do hope you’re joking.”
Stepping into the bathroom to wash his face, he asked, “How long will you be gone?”
Sophia shook her head gently. “I don’t really know. It takes all day to just get there. I have a lot of projects there. Each takes time. And besides, Petur will need me around for a while. He called last night. He’s upset.”
“You didn’t tell me what was going on. In fact we have talked little about your new job.”
“It is hardly a new job, Jeff. You’ve just been away for a very long time.”
“Is what you do there secret — like the Navy job?”
“No. Nothing like the Navy job. We are much more free with information.”
“Do you release everything to the scientific community?”
Sophia grinned. “As far as people know, we do. I can’t tell you more — yet.”
Jeff patted his face with a towel, turning his face to look back at her. “Yet? And what do you mean by that?”
“Gee, Jeff, you’ve been asking a lot of questions. Be patient.” She smiled. “Patience does not seem to be one of your strengths, at least judging from your eagerness to take me to bed at every opportunity!”
“Now, that is all your fault. If you were not so exciting, I would not have such difficulty controlling myself.”
Sophia sat down on the bed. She had not yet dressed. “Jeff, you really must learn to take responsibility for your actions!”
“You don’t seem to mind my eagerness.”
“Not at all.” Sophia smiled. “In fact, I will miss it terribly.” She paused. “Why don’t you come along? Yes! Please come. You are free to, aren’t you?”
Jeff stepped out of the bathroom and sat down next to her. He blew out his breath through pursed lips. It was an interesting thought. He had just been thinking how he wanted to spend his time on a tropical island with her. Paradise certainly seemed like a good place to start.
“Why not? Will you help me pack?”
Sophia made no attempt to restrain her glee. In fact, she could not restrain herself at all.
Joseph had come to help ease his misery. It had been two days since the sinking of the OTEC, two days of sheer hell for Petur, and tough days for everyone else on Paradise 1 also. The OTEC was the very first part of the plan that Petur had been hatching since he was a youth. He had been eleven years old when he had the first ideas for an organization that would one day become the Island Project. The OTEC had been a key part of those initial ideas. It was to be, in Petur’s mind, a central symbol of the success of all that he had planned. That symbol now lay at the bottom of the ocean along with two good men.
“So, Petur, you have a full right to lay low for a time. No one has any problem with that. But I don’t want you to be bored, so I have come by to chat with you; to fill your time; to distract you from your grief.” Onbacher was patting Petur on the back like a father.
“Thanks, Joseph. I apologize for my foul mood.”
“In time, it will pass, I am sure. You have too much to do to get stuck in despair for long. But for now I have something totally unrelated to discuss with you.”
Petur pulled himself up from the couch. “What can I get you?”
“A beer would do nicely.”
“One beer for you, one for me. I should have two, maybe three.”
“Go ahead. I can talk for a long time.”
Petur removed two bottles of beer from the refrigerator, leaving the door open as he removed the tops. “What do you have on your mind?”
Onbacher sat down, and then squirmed in his chair, struggling to get at his pants pocket, and pulled out his pipe. “Mind if I smoke?”
With Petur’s nod of approval, he packed some tobacco into his pipe and lit it with a wooden match from a small box. He puffed several times, until he was satisfied. Petur sat down into his soft couch.
“Petur, when we first met, I told you that I had a tale to tell you, but I only mentioned a small, though key, portion of it and provided no details. Now let me tell you that tale. It begins in the late eighteenth century during the exploration of the South Pacific by Captain James Cook, and his visits to the island of Tahiti. The first visit was prompted by a desire to witness the path of Venus across the sun. Tahiti was one among hundreds of islands in the area suitable for these astronomical observations, and it was by chance alone that he chose Tahiti and made contact with the natives. But of all the islands in the Pacific, it was the Tahitians who turned out to be the most cultivated and friendly.
“The women were beautiful, with golden skin and shining black hair. They were all topless, which was awe-inspiring for the men on Cook’s ships. They had been at sea for months, and all hailed from Georgian England — not a time or place in which exposed skin of women was commonly seen. Like the crew, Cook’s officers were enamored with the women’s exotic charms. They had great difficulties in communicating, but a rapport developed between the English and the Tahitians on that first visit. I recall that I mentioned to you that Sir Joseph Banks, who later became the head of the Royal Society for a staggering 42 years, accompanied Cook on that trip. Banks was one of the most influential and important scientific men of his time.
“His so called ‘third voyage’ to the Pacific, in about 1778, brought Cook back to Tahiti for his final time, where the Tahitians honored him as a visiting king. The Tahitians had learned from Cook on his earlier visits of an even more powerful king. The natives remained constantly vigilant for King George’s arrival, when the King of Tahiti would welcome him.”
Petur interrupted. “I can’t imagine that King George was planning any vacations to the South Pacific.”
“No, he certainly was not. But the Tahitians had no clue as to the size of the world. To them, he was the chieftain of a great island across the water. The Tahitian king, during this visit, lobbied heavily for Cook to return with King George. In an effort to encourage Cook further, the natives demonstrated how they would welcome the English monarch. And so, on the night before Cook was to set sail, there was a great celebration with much feasting and dancing. It is all carefully recorded in Cook’s logbook.”
“I remember that you have an impressive collection of ships’ logs. It’s your hobby, right?”
“A passion, I suppose.”
“And you have Captain Cook’s logs.” Petur stated.
Onbacher nodded. “Well, actually just one. His last logbook: the logbook from this third voyage. But I have read the others.”
Petur was intrigued.
Onbacher continued. “On several occasions over the years, I have visited the British Admiralty’s historical section. Over time, I have become well known there, and now I get free access to almost everything. One day I hit upon an unexpected treasure. Hidden in a back corner of a back room in an old warehouse in Portsmouth was a dried out and dusty leather satchel. Within it were diaries — the journals of several of Cook’s men. At first, I thought that these must be the chronicles of men who had died on Cook’s voyages, but in perusing them I learned that they were not. Most of the diaries had entries written in England long after the end of Cook’s third expedition. Mostly they were the midshipmen’s journals: the youths were required to
keep careful journals on their early voyages. It was part of their training.
“The great celebration of that last night in Tahiti was vividly documented in each of the journals. It was apparently most raucous, and to a great degree carnal. It was clear that it made a great impression on all who witnessed it. In fact, the portion of each journal discussing this feast was marked with a torn slip of paper. I put those torn slips of paper together. They came from one sheet of stationery.” Onbacher was miming the tearing of a piece of paper. “Someone was obviously interested in that night, and had gone to great efforts to collect the writings of the men who were there.”
Petur was sitting upright on the couch now, paying attention. As Onbacher wetted his mouth, Petur took the opportunity to interject. “Sounds like whoever it was had an appetite for erotica. Did you find out who it might have been?”
“You are jumping ahead, my friend. Be patient.” Onbacher took a quick sip of his beer, and then took a match to his pipe once again. The sweet smoke was filling the room. “I soon learned that the person who collected all these journals was not a literary voyeur, but he had very powerful reasons to be interested. You see, one of the journals had a second bookmark within it — torn from the same piece of paper as the others.
“This journal belonged to a midshipman named John Carver. He was serving on board one of Cook’s ships, the Resolution. His record was much more personal than many of the others. I picked up on that rapidly, and in fact I blushed on several occasions while reading his words. It was clearly designed to be private, a personal record, and I was clearly invading that privacy.”
Onbacher smiled thinly. “But I read it anyway. He was eighteen years old when he visited Tahiti. It seems that he became a man of the world on that last night. The girl was named Lohanai — apparently a girl from one of the lower families. They communicated with gestures primarily, but that night they also communicated via the universal language of love.