by Paul Byers
“Like what?”
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something.” She said as she smiled and walked into the casino.
Pike immediately turned to close the curtains over the windows. As he was walking, he noticed a glass of water on one of the tables. The water in the glass was slowly swaying back and forth; the storm was getting worse.
After closing all the curtains, he found the maître d’ who wasn’t too happy when Pike told him to close off that part of the restaurant that faced the ocean. After Pike threw Cain’s name around a few times, the maître d’ reluctantly agreed.
Pike walked back into the casino, happy to find things almost back to normal. A few people were leaving, obviously seasick by the way they were holding the stomach s and their hands over their mouths. He looked around and found Tabatha standing at a roulette table, cheering the players on. She looked up and smiled and waved at him.
Just then the elevator door opened and Cain and Mallory stepped out. They were greeted almost like the Second Coming, everyone stopping in mid-bet and rushing over to them. Cain greeted them like a politician on the campaign trail, smiling and shaking their hands. As they gathered around, he settled their nerves by telling them that everything was fine and that there was no need for concern. He expounded on the safety of the iceberg and the experience of the crew.
After several minutes of mingling with his guests, Cain came over to Pike who was sitting on one of the stools in Starbucks. “Mr. Cain.” Pike began solemnly. “I believe I may owe you some money.”
“Close to twenty grand I believe.”
“Ouch.” Pike flinched. “I wanted to get the people away from the windows and their minds off the storm as quickly as possible. Sorry sir, it was the best I could come up with on such short notice.”
“And a fine solution it was, Gabriel.” Cain said, a smile finally breaking. “You accomplished your mission with flying colors. I would expect nothing less from the Blast from the Past, although I think they would have been just as happy with $100.00 apiece.” He chuckled.
“I guess there goes my paycheck for the trip.”
“Nonsense. Best PR money I’ve spent in a long time.”
“Sir?”
“They say money can’t buy love but in this case it can buy a lot of good will.” Mallory answered, seeing the puzzled look on Pike’s face. “You defused the situation and got their minds off the storm and when this whole thing blows over, all they’ll remember is that it was a little windy outside and how much fun they had playing on Nigel’s money.”
“Glad to be of service.” Pike replied, shrugging his shoulders.
“The offer you extended to the others also applies to you Gabriel. Grab a stack of chips and go have some fun.”
Pike thought about it for a moment then nodded his head. “You know what? I think I might just take you up on that.”
“Good man.” Cain said as he slapped Pike on the back.
“You know Nigel, it would push some fears away and boost confidence if you stayed and played awhile yourself.” Mallory said.
“You are probably right. Maybe I can win back some of my money that Gabriel spent.”
“Good man.” Mallory said as she slapped Cain on the back.
“Very funny. Now go grab us both a stack of chips and meet me at the craps table.
“You know what the only thing better than spending Tom’s money is?”
“What?”
“Spending yours.” She laughed.
“Like I said, very funny. Now go get the chips.” Cain said, pointing his finger at the cashier’s cage like his was ordering his puppy out of the room. As he watched her walk away, his phone rang. As he talked he smiled and waved at people. Mallory looked at Cain when she came back with the chips and instantly knew something was wrong.
She smiled as she handed him the chips, keeping up appearances. “What’s wrong?” she said under her breath as they walked toward the craps table, still smiling.
“We may have a slight problem. I want you to mingle around then work your way over to Gabriel. Tell him the captain would like to see him on the bridge but not to leave right away. He needs to be discrete when he leaves and not to cause suspicion and undo everything he’s accomplished here.”
“Of course.” Mallory said laughing, playing her part. Cain smiled and walked over to the craps table and was immediately swallowed by the crowd of gamblers. Mallory wandered over to the blackjack tables and quickly lost two hands then made her way over to Pike who was playing a slot machine with Tabatha Amies seated next to him.
“Gabe, can I talk to you for a moment?”
“Sure. All I’m doing here is giving Mr. Cain his money back anyway.”
She pulled him aside and explained the situation.
“But what about Tabatha? I’m sure her spider senses are already on alert by the fact that you pulled me aside.”
“I’ll worry about her. Just make your rounds then quietly leave.”
“Okay.” Pike agreed, nodding his head.
Mallory turned back to the reporter. “Tabatha, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” Pike stood back and could see the wheels turning in Tabatha’s head as her eyes darted back and forth between him and Mallory. She could smell a story but wasn’t quite sure if the bigger story was to stay with him or go with Mallory. She fell back on the reporter’s first rule, always follow the source. She kissed Pike on the cheek then turned to Mallory; “I’m all ears.”
Pike left the casino after five long minutes of acting. He had taken the elevator down to the Hoth cave and was just jumping onto one of the carts when Miles came out of the office.
“Hi Gabe, in here please.”
“What’s up?” Pike said as they entered Miles’ office. “Mr. Cain said there was some sort of problem and wanted me on the bridge.”
“You need to see this before you go up there.” Miles replied, worry lines burrowed deep into his forehead. He flipped open his laptop and brought up a screen similar to the control panel he saw on the bridge. He recognized the screen showing the four anchor positions. Three were blue with the aft port anchor flashing red.
“The safety pin that secures the anchor to its cradle has fallen out and we can’t get it back in.”
“Okay, what does that mean?”
“The pin is used to keep the launch mechanism for the anchor frozen. In theory, with it gone, nothing should happen as the weight of the anchor should hold it on the cradle. But without the pin, in these heavy seas, it’s possible the anchor could slide off.”
“What’s the worst case scenario if this happens?”
“The anchors as you know are sealed in their rooms. The outside wall is only a foot thick. If the anchor breaks free and slides forward, it will punch through the ice like it was a wet paper a bag.”
“Can you bring up the schematics please?”
“Sure thing.” Miles tapped a few keys and brought up a 3-D view of the anchor room, with the view slowly circling around the anchor. “See, that’s where the pin is supposed to be.” He said pointing to an area highlighted in red.
“Okay, expand it out a bit.”
Miles expanded the view that now showed the entire back half of the iceberg with a view of the starboard anchor as well.
“What’s this here?” Pike said pointing to the center of the screen.
“Those are the winches for the anchors. Each anchor has its own winch but for efficiency we housed them together.”
“And these?”
“Support beams running out from the winch housing to each anchor room. They’re used to strengthen and disperse the load when we raise the anchor.”
“May I?” Pike asked as he took the laptop. Pike brought up a cut-away view of the stern showing steel beams running vertically from the two ships buried below to the anchor rooms.
“This girder work is attached to the housing floor plate and then secured to the deck of the ships, correct?”
Miles nodded his h
ead. “Yes, again for support since it’s very difficult to secure something as large and heavy as anchors to justice.”
“Just how heavy are these anchors?” Pike asked, worry lines now beginning to form on his face.
“These aren’t anchors to your 25 foot Bayliner here. This barge is as big as an aircraft carrier and so are its anchors. Each anchor weighs close to 60,000 pounds and there are about 200 links per chain, weighing in at 360 pounds per link.”
Pike’s frown grew deeper. “Does your laptop have modeling software?”
“Yeah, give me a second.”
“How deep of water are we in?” Pike asked while Miles was setting up the program.
“About 12,000 feet or so. I could get you the exact depth if you need it.
“What is the length of the anchor chain?”
“Six hundred feet.”
“Here.” Miles said as he gave the laptop to Pike. Pike took over and started typing like a madman, muttering numbers as he went. Every once in a while, Pike would shake his head then mutter some more, but all the while his fingers never left the keyboard.
After five minutes of furious typing, he turned the laptop around for Miles to see. The worry lines that had formed earlier were now etched like the Grand Canyon on his face.
“What is this?” Miles asked.
“It’s a computer model, projecting what will happen if the port anchor slips off its cradle and falls into the ocean.”
Pike pushed the button and the screen came up showing a line drawing of the barge. It zoomed in to where the port anchor was, then it showed it dropping. It showed the anchor in free fall and when it reached the end of its chain, it yanked the winches free, pulling the cross-support beam that ran from the housing plate down to the ship, acting like a giant meat clever, slicing off the stern of the iceberg, pulled by the enormous weight of the anchors.
“What just happened here?” Miles asked, staring blankly at the screen.
“That’s the worst case scenario if the anchor breaks loose and falls. The winches are designed to lift the anchors, not lower them. They have no brakes. When it goes, it goes. When the chain reaches the end, it’s not stopping. The housing and winch platforms weren’t designed to stop 35 tons of free falling steel. So when the starboard anchor goes, it will yank both winches out of their housings and probably drag the starboard anchor with it. It will literally rip the stern off the barge.”
“Wow,” was all Miles could say.
“Can we cut the chain?”
“No.” Miles shook his head. “We don’t have the proper equipment on board to cut through that thickness of steel.”
“Can we weld the anchor onto the cradle?”
Again, Miles shook his head. “There’s not enough surface area that would make the weld strong enough to hold against the tension.”
“All right, let’s get up to the anchor room to see what we can see.” Pike said.
“Right. Follow me.”
By now, Pike was used to seeing his breath panting out like stream from a locomotive in the ice passageways and he was familiar with climbing the ladders in the confines of the missile silo tubes that connected the decks; but what he wasn’t used to was the amount of physical labor it took. He thought he was in shape until he took this job.
“You know you guys couldn’t have put a few more elevators in this thing.” Pike said, gasping for breath after climbing up the last set of ladders.
“You know, you’re not the first person to say that,” Miles smiled, “come on.” Pike followed Miles as they entered through a plain wooden door into the anchor room.
Stepping into the room, Miles turned on the light and Pike stopped dead in his tracks; he was amazed at the sheer size of the anchor itself and awed by the two-foot size links of the chain that held it. The anchor was lying at an angle on the cradle, but even then, it was still taller than he was. In amazement he slowly walked around to the front and gawked at the two flukes that were big enough to use as a bed, and marveled that it was well over six feet at the base. It looked to be every bit the 35 tons Miles said it was.
“Here,” Miles said, calling Pike over to the other side. This is where the pin was supposed to be. As you can see, the anchor has shifted just enough that we can’t get it back in.”
Pike nodded as he examined the anchor and cradle. Just then the iceberg rolled enough to the left that he had to reach out and grab the chain to steady himself. At the same moment, they heard the groaning of metal. Both men instantly jumped back from the anchor and a split second later there was a loud snap. Pike felt his heart stop as he stood in horror and watched as the front half of the anchor slipped off the cradle and fall onto the ice floor with a dull thud.
Large fissures spiraled out in the ice from the point of impact like streaks of lighting. Pike and Miles stared at each other, just waiting for the floor to give way at any second or for the anchor to slide the rest of the way off its cradle and mow them down like a runaway freight train.
Barely breathing, Pike carefully slid under the taunt chain and moved gingerly back to the door and stood by Miles.
“What are we going to do?” Miles whispered, afraid the sound of his voice would crack the ice.
“I don’t know,” Pike whispered back, “I’m trying to think.”
The ship rolled again, leaning even farther this time and with another sickening thud, the anchor slid the rest of the way off the cradle and gently nudged the front panel of ice, creating another spiraling art display. Pike held his breath as he saw cracks forming and shooting up the wall. It was horrifyingly beautifully to watch as the fissures formed. Some shot out like lightning bolts while other slowly crawled up the wall like slithering snakes in sand. Even with the storm raging outside, he would never forget the hideous sound the crackling ice made. As the anchor slid forward and kissed the wall, he prayed that the one-foot thick piece of ice was enough to keep the 35-ton monster at bay.
“Think, think, think.” Pike said out loud. ‘What’s below us?”
Miles nervously fumble with his computer pad as he took it out of its case. “Nothing,” he reported. “It’s solid ice all the way down to the keel except for piping carrying the juice.”
“Okay, no help there. How about above us?” Pike asked, never taking his eyes off the anchor. He watch with morbid fascination as one large fissure ran straight up the middle then split out like a T, eight feet up and stopped two feet short of either edge.
Miles brought up another screen then showed it to Pike. “There’s not much on the stern. You’ve got the golf tee, the swimming pool and sunbathing area.”
Sunbathing area, on an iceberg? Pike frowned at how ridiculous that sounded as he forced himself to take his eyes off the wall and look at the pad. He started to turn back and stare at the wall when something caught his eye. “What’s this here? Is that what I think it is?
“That’s your plane if that’s what you mean.”
Pike grabbed the pad and stared at it. “Is this the exact location of the plane? Is it is sitting directly above us?”
“Yes.”
“And the pool? This is its correct location?”
Miles nodded his head.
“How thick is the ice above us?”
“Five feet.” Miles could hear the growing excitement in Pike’s voice. “What is it? What are you thinking?”
“I can’t tell you yet. You’d think I’m crazy. Come on, we need to get up on deck,” he said as he rushed out the door.
Chapter Twenty Five
Stepping out of the health spa onto the sundeck, Pike felt like he had been transported into another world. Gone was the relative quiet, peace and warmth of the indoors. He suddenly felt like he was living in a National Geographic special as he trudged forward, assaulted by blasts of arctic air hurled at him by eighty mile an hour winds.
Gone were the sounds of civilization, the beeps and bells of the casino, the sound of people talking, the humming and clattering of mechanical thing
s. The only sound now was the raw roar of nature.
The gale howled as it whipped across the deck, taking everything with it that wasn’t fastened down. In its anger, the wind sent the snow flying sideways, flashing by like tracer bullets, reflecting the light from the building. It also chopped mercilessly at the ocean, making it bleed white spray as it severed the tops off the waves.
Pike shivered as he leaned into the wind, bracing himself against its wrath, taking careful, measured steps that led him to the swimming pool. Nearly exhausted from his short battle with nature, he leaned against a palm tree and stared at the pool. How odd he thought; it reminded him of a miniature version of the ocean, reflecting its anger and turmoil, spilling over its sides. Looking around, he saw that everything else on the deck was covered either in snow or a thin layer of ice with small drifts forming around the few deck chairs that hadn’t blown away.
With the white blanket of snow, it looked like a Christmas scene, but not a cheery one, surrounded by friends and family. This was a dark Christmas, one with no joy. The first Christmas with your children gone, with your loved one serving overseas or the first time there is no present under the tree from them because they’re gone. The tree is still there, the lights are still on but the smiles are strained and empty.
Between the gusts of snow, Pike saw the one shiny ornament from that tree, the one thing that might bring them all hope and the reason he was out there: the Yankee Clipper. Pike slowly made his way over to the plane. Twice, he nearly fell as the wind and waves conspired against him, a classic one-two punch rolling the iceberg and hitting him with heavy gusts.
Reaching the plane, he walked around it, inspecting it and the surrounding area. He tugged on the tie-down straps, checked the wheel chocks on the launch platform, then brushed the snow and ice away and inspected the launch controls. Satisfied that she was weathering the storm, he unzipped his jacket and pulled out his c-pad, tugged his gloves off with his teeth then tapped in a few commands. He surveyed the area, getting his bearings, checked the pad, then nodded and quickly retreated to the warmth and safety of the spa.