“Let’s hope they’re still there,” Ryan said. “Helm, what kind of depths are we going to have to work with when we get closer? Also, what’s this structure made of?”
“It’s mostly wood, though I remember cars driving out at least partway. So, maybe some asphalt as well,” Donovan said.
“Captain, from the bend in the pier until the edge, we’ve got at least twenty fathoms under the keel.”
“Okay, my plan is to nudge the starboard side of the ship up to the seaward edge of the pier,” Ryan said. “I want to be able to use the entire length of the Buckley to bring people aboard. It will take less time that way.”
As they drew closer, Donovan watched as rolling clouds of ash and red-hot sparks were lifted into the sky. Through his binoculars, he spotted the aquarium, and to his profound relief, the massive concrete structure, though blackened and windowless, looked mostly intact. All up and down Cannery Row, other buildings were either on fire or had collapsed into the water and were being dismantled wave by wave.
“Ethan,” Ryan said into his radio. “I’m putting you in charge deckside. Get everyone you bring aboard straight into the hangar. Alert the medical teams to set up a temporary-aid station in the hangar. They can provide triage, and from there send the more severely injured to the infirmary. All the firefighting stations need to be manned and ready. I’ve also taken the liberty of assigning the crew of the Olympia to work alongside the Buckley’s crew. That gives us twice as many crewmen helping to pull the survivors aboard.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
“Now, let’s pray there are survivors,” Ryan said to no one in particular and then raised the handheld radio. “Lookouts, stay sharp. There is a chance people will be in the water. Let’s not run over anyone.”
“Captain, Monterey wharf number two in sight,” the helmsman called out.
Donovan and Lauren swung their binoculars forward. Through gaps in the smoke, Donovan caught sight of the pier and surrounding carnage. He could see the bulk of Monterey’s fishing fleet piled up on the shore and burning. He still couldn’t see enough of the structure to see if the people he’d spotted earlier were there.
“This is a mess,” Ryan muttered as he, too, took in the scene through his binoculars. “Helm, slow to five knots, and stand by for full reverse.”
Donovan lowered his binoculars. Lauren continued sweeping the wall of smoke looking for breaks, alleys that might give her a better view of the pier. The wave heights had eased, and shattered debris, sections of ships and buildings bobbed up and down in the murky water. Donovan could smell the heavy fuel oil. A body floated nearby, arms spread and motionless. As the Buckley entered thick smoke, Ryan ordered the ship’s speed reduced once again.
“Sound the ship’s horn,” Ryan ordered. “One long blast should suffice.”
Donovan stepped closer to the window as the bow of the ship pushed out of the smoke into nearly clear air. A hundred yards straight ahead was the wharf, and just beyond was nothing but a swirling tempest of flames. The wooden pier was burning near the elbow, flames eating away at the oiled wood structure. In the marina, crushed ships and leaking fuel had ignited, and the growing fire was working its way across the water. On the very end of the pier, trapped, were people who began waving their arms as the Buckley emerged from the smoke.
“Helm, steer twenty degrees to port, aim for the pier this side of the fire,” Ryan called. He reached for the microphone, and his voice boomed ship-wide. “All hands, brace for impact, we’re using the Buckley’s hull to take out the section of the pier between the fire and the survivors. Again, brace for impact.”
Donovan reached for Lauren. As the ship altered course, terrified people on the pier began to stampede toward where they thought the ship was heading.
“Attention,” Ryan’s voice boomed from the Buckley’s loudspeakers. “People on the pier, hold your position. I repeat, stay where you are. We’re going to ram the pier to cut off the fire.”
“They’re not listening,” Donovan said as he watched helplessly.
“Fire teams,” Ryan said into his handheld. “Make a wall.”
Large-diameter jets of water erupted from the nozzles of the high-pressure water cannons mounted at key points on the ship’s superstructure. The powerful streams arced out and carpeted the pier, stopping the crowd as the Buckley continued forward. The ship vibrated as it ran over floating debris. Donovan held Lauren’s hand as they braced.
With a massive lurch, accompanied by the sound of snapping wood, the heavy steel bow came up out of the water. The hull continued across the width of the pier as the massive weight of the ship splintered pilings and ripped apart cross members until it ground to a stop. The water cannons continued to keep the people at bay as the Buckley rocked back and forth in the water.
“All astern,” Ryan said to the helmsman.
Donovan felt the rumble under his feet ebb and then increase as the Buckley began to pull away from the pier. Once the ship eased away from the pilings, Donovan saw that Ryan had created a fifty-foot-wide gap in the structure. Giving a series of deft orders, Ryan and the helmsman used a combination of thrusters and main engines to back the Buckley parallel to the pier. With precise applications of power, they nudged the Buckley against the wood pilings. The last few feet created a series of grinding and screeching noises as the aging wood of the pier met heavy steel.
“Helm, hold this position,” Ryan said. With the handheld radio, he ordered Ethan to begin pulling the survivors off the wharf.
Donovan and Lauren moved to the side of the ship to watch the rescue. Netting was lowered and Ethan and Montero, with several crewmen, went over the side to organize the evacuation at dock level. People on the wharf were met by crewmen of the Buckley and the Olympia, who calmed them as much as possible for an orderly climb to the deck. Donovan spotted Michael amidships, helping an older man who appeared to be wounded. The streams of people were met by more of the crew and shepherded into the helicopter hangar.
“We need to speed things up,” Ryan radioed to Ethan.
Donovan glanced toward the bow. “Ryan, the fire on the pier is growing.”
“It’s moving this way,” Lauren said. “Look, it’s being fed by fuel oil bubbling up from that capsized tug. It’s going to reach across the gap we made with the ship.”
As the fire grew, the wood ripped apart by the Buckley ignited and the flames increased. Donovan placed the palm of his hand on the glass. “It’s hot.”
“Time to go,” Ryan said as the water cannons saturated the pier, trying to maintain a barrier between the roaring flames and the ship. “Ethan, we’re finished here—we’re not going to be able to stop the fire. Helm, sound the horn, one long burst, and get ready to pull us away from the pier.”
Donovan and Lauren looked at the survivors still on the dock. People were going to be left behind.
“Captain,” Ethan’s voice sounded from the radio as the warning blast from the horn came to an end. “We’re all headed to the end of the pier. It’ll buy us some time.”
Donovan watched as Ethan and the other crewmen on the wharf began stopping people, pointing for them to go the other way. Some did as instructed, others panicked, pushing and shoving as they tried to move past. Without hesitation, Michael climbed down to dock level to assist Montero and the others.
“Helm, bow thrusters on my command,” Ryan said. “Okay, it’s time. Move us away from the wharf.”
Donovan heard and felt the particular vibration that came from the propellers mounted on each side of the bow well below the waterline. A muffled screeching emanated from somewhere under their feet and the Buckley remained where it was.
“We’re not moving.” Ryan jumped from his chair and moved behind the helmsman. “We’re jammed against the pier by something sturdy. Helm, rock us back and forth just like when we’re out on the ice.”
Donovan felt the entire ship vibrate beneath his feet as all the engines were put to the task of pushing and pulling the B
uckley.
“Keep the water cannons on the fire,” Ryan said into his radio. “Use one to hose down the ship and keep the exposed crewmen wet.”
Lauren touched the glass, and jerked her hand back from the surface.
“Captain,” a crewman called out as he burst onto the bridge. “On the VHF radio, I don’t know who they are, or what happens when they arrive, but tanker 944 is headed our way.”
Lauren pictured the screen saver she’d seen in San Jose. She squeezed Donovan’s hand and then looked at Ryan. “Tanker 944 is a 747. Ernie is sending us help. Warn everyone to grab ahold of something.”
“Everyone hang on!” Ryan said over the speakers. “There’s a 747 inbound to help fight the fire.”
A powerful whine began to build until the sound filled the bridge. The massive, low-flying, red-and-white 747 exploded into view and the converted airliner began to disgorge thousands of gallons of water, obliterating the fire on the pier. Seconds later, the 747 roared over the Buckley, drenching the ship, before making a sharp bank to the right, the nose pitching up into a steep growling climb.
Donovan felt the power of all four engines as the enormous Boeing thundered upward, and just before the 747 vanished in the smoke, he saw 944 painted on the tail.
“God bless those pilots,” Ryan said as the sound of the 747 faded. “Helm, all stop.”
Donovan went to the starboard side and watched as the reprieve given to them by the 747 was being used to direct the remaining survivors on the pier back toward the Buckley. Michael, Ethan, and Montero, all soaking wet, were urging people to climb aboard the ship. They maneuvered the last civilians off the dock and then climbed aboard the Buckley themselves.
“Captain, everyone is aboard,” Ethan radioed.
The Buckley’s engines began to shake the entire ship. Foam, mud, and debris boiled up from beneath the hull. Ryan ordered the large crane on the starboard side of the Buckley to deploy and use the hydraulics like a giant arm to help push the Buckley off the pier.
With the added push from the crane, the hull, screeching in protest, began to pull away. The tip of the powerful crane extended into the water next to the ship. The hydraulics snapped wood and other debris, which boiled to the surface as the main engines and thrusters churned the water. With one final lurch, the Buckley pulled free and was once again floating.
“Helm.” Ryan sat heavily in his seat. “Swing us around and then give me best speed out to sea.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
THE BUCKLEY CHARGED out into the open ocean, leaving the last of the smoke in its wake. Lauren led Donovan out the door that took them outside. She turned and took in the scene behind them. “Listen.”
“For what?” Donovan asked as he scanned the shoreline. Fires were still visible in the blowing smoke, and Monterey and Pacific Grove were smoldering ruins.
“I don’t hear the jets, or the constant rumble of explosions.” Lauren leaned in, hugged Donovan’s shoulder, and kissed him on the cheek. “I think it’s a good sign.”
“We may have an additional problem,” Donovan said as he put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Last night, William, while heavily dosed with morphine, confessed to me, in front of Shannon, that he was sorry he messed up my life by not allowing Robert Huntington to stay and fight.”
“Oh no.” Lauren hugged her husband. “Did Shannon understand the full implications of what she was hearing?”
“Yes, there was nothing to deny, and she quickly filled in the blanks. She explained that she did graduate-level research on PTSD and used Robert as one of her main examples.”
“Have you spoken with her since?”
“No, we’ve been a little busy.” Donovan found a small smile to try to make his wife feel better. “At least for now, she can’t go anywhere, and she can’t reach the media.”
“If she does, we’re trapped on this ship,” Lauren said. “Our daughter is on the East Coast and there is a no-fly zone in effect. She’ll only have my mother as a first line of defense against what we know will be an extremely hostile media. Hell, if they know where to find you, the FBI might step in and detain you until they decide if you’ve broken any laws.”
“We’ve been over this. I didn’t break any laws. Most people who fake their death do it for the life insurance money. I’ve never had life insurance. I did crash a plane and didn’t report it to the FAA—I’ll claim amnesia. There are no legal issues at all. I vanished and changed my appearance and my name. People do that all the time. Maybe not as drastically as I did, but everything was legal—William saw to that detail just for this eventuality. The miracle is that my secret has lasted this long.”
“If this unravels, we’ve always foreseen the need to get out of the country fast. It’s been a while since we discussed this happening. Is the plan still to get to Austria, and sit out the worst of the fallout?”
“For the moment, I think that works to our advantage.”
“We’re going to be slowed down getting out of here, plus we have to collect Abigail.”
“Within an hour we can have people we trust protecting Abigail. We have friends we can trust in Europe. In the short term, your mom is going to be a little freaked out, but we ran that risk by not telling her who I used to be. All of this, it’s going to hurt a great many people. The person I dread most is Michael, and he’s here on the ship. I’ll have to explain in person why I kept him in the dark all these years.”
“God, I hate this. Have you spoken to Montero yet? She’ll need to know.”
“You’re the only one I’ve told so far,” Donovan said. “At this point, as banged up as William is, I’d rather leave Montero with him. If anyone can keep him safe it’s her.”
“That’s probably smart. What about us? You need a doctor, maybe a surgeon. How does all of that play into us needing to leave?”
“I left my briefcase in the SUV we rented. It was stolen. I also lost my wallet, which means I have no documents that allow me to drive a car, let alone leave the country.”
“I retrieved your briefcase and handed your things over to Montero for safekeeping.”
“That’s a miracle. How did you do that?” Donovan said.
“Take a guess.”
“I’m going to go with Montero.”
“With a little help from Janie.”
“I’ll need to hear more about that later. Look, we’ll figure all this out. We always do. The top story for days is going to be what happened here in California. Plus, Shannon has no vendetta against us. Eco-Watch saved her life a dozen times over the last twelve hours. That should count for something. At the very least she might give us a head start.”
“I’ll let you handle her. Are you sure she’s not angry about Buck’s death? You know her better than I, but we’ll be in cell phone range soon. Then she’ll have access to anyone she wants.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“I can’t believe you were in the ocean for as long as you were. How are you doing?”
“You know, I had some moments where I thought the sea was going to win. There were some insightful flashbacks to when I lost my parents, different than usual, better. We’ll talk about it later. Though I need to ask, whose blood was in the cockpit of the Gulfstream?”
“Rick was hit in the initial barrage. We got him to Stanford Medical Center. He’s had surgery and is expected to make a complete recovery. How did you get hurt?”
“I was shot fighting a gang of drug thieves.”
“You made that up,” Lauren said as her phone pinged, alerting her to a text. “It’s from Ernie, our friend at Cal Fire.”
“What is it?” Donovan leaned in close as she expanded a picture that Ernie had sent. It was infrared, taken from high altitude. Donovan saw the hot spots that depicted the fires burning across the entire peninsula, from Carmel to Seaside, though what struck him was the sharp line of demarcation along an east-west line north of Monterey. “Is that real time?”
“Taken from the Global Haw
k fifteen minutes ago,” Lauren said. “Look, you can even see the Buckley in the harbor. The backburn is working. The main fire reached the one we set. Once the fuel is consumed, it’s a stalemate. That’s probably the reason Ernie could send the 747 to the harbor to help us. It worked.”
Donovan looked at Lauren suspiciously. “The backburn was your idea? The planes dropping napalm, the ones that almost blew me up at the airport, they were your idea?”
“Not all mine; it was an idea we threw together on short notice. I may have suggested a little more horsepower be added to the effort,” Lauren said, shrugging it off. “Had we not damaged the helicopter, I’m confident we would have gotten to you earlier.”
“Exactly what happened to our helicopter?”
“Oh, that,” Lauren said. “It’s kind of a big deal. Janie was remarkable. All the rotor tips were messed up after we clipped a container from a sinking ship. Everyone agreed the helicopter was grounded, but when she saw you arrive at the Monterey airport, Janie went into action and was nothing short of heroic. It was extraordinary, really. Apparently, she’d heard some story once, probably in a bar, from an old-timer in Australia, about rotor damage in Vietnam. She grabbed some guys from engineering, and on a pitching deck, they cut off all four of the damaged tips, trying to make them as even as possible. In a matter of minutes, she fired that thing up and it flew.”
“Amazing. I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Donovan said as he tried to picture the aerodynamics, but couldn’t.
“No one else had either. If it wasn’t for Janie, you’d have been in the water way longer than you were.”
“Speaking of helicopters.” Donovan pointed out across the water. “We’ve got one headed our way. I hope it’s a medevac for William.”
“What if they take Shannon?” Lauren said. “We’ll lose all containment.”
“There’s got to be more seriously injured people than her.”
Speed the Dawn Page 24