Blake nodded encouragement, writing. “What else?”
“Make sure the root valve and burner valve are closed?”
“We’ll make a merchant mariner out of you yet,” Blake said. “Next we’ll line up the fuel-oil system and recirculate fuel through the heater to get it hot enough for atomization.”
“That’s got to be at least 150 degrees,” the chief said. “What if those old heaters won’t get it that hot?”
“They looked okay to me, but if there’s a problem, Sparks can handle it,” Blake said. “Next, we’ll start the forced-draft fan and let it run for a while.”
“A helluva while,” the chief said. “You’re going to have to purge every trace of combustible gases out of those boilers. . . .” The chief paused. “Listen. You hear that?”
“What?”
“Nothing, I guess. I thought I heard . . . a shuffle. It almost sounded like a footstep outside.”
“I’ll check,” Blake said.
The chief stopped him, listening. “No, it’s okay, just the waves against the hull, I reckon.”
“Okay,” Blake said. “We’re almost home. We’ll need to check the water level in the boilers to make sure we’ve got enough, then we’ll gradually close in on the fuel-oil recirculating valve until we’ve got a fuel-oil pressure of at least 150 PSIG. Then we’re clear to light her off. Got your pipe lighter?”
“Never leave home without it,” the chief said, patting the front pocket of his khakis.
“Take care of it. That lighter could be the key to our survival.”
“Funny, ain’t it?” the chief said. “Without a match, we couldn’t move this tub a foot.”
“For want of a nail . . .” Blake said, writing.
“A nail, sir?”
“Poor Richard’s Almanac. Okay. We’ll make a torch out of a burning rag, you shove it into the boiler through the peephole, we’ll open the root and burner valves. When the burner ignites, we’ll close the fuel-oil recirculating line.” Blake started on the next page, writing furiously.
“Listen,” the chief said. “There it went again. That shuffling sound. You hear it?”
“All I hear is the waves against the hull,” Blake said.
The chief cocked his ear. “I guess that’s all it is. I’m getting jumpy. How long you reckon it’ll take these old boilers to come up to line pressure?”
“It shouldn’t take more than an hour.” Blake paused and tapped his pencil against the tablet. “Maybe a little longer because of their age, but not that much.” He shoved the tablet over to Kozlewski. “That’s a pretty simplified list of what we’ll need to do.”
The chief squinted at the yellow sheet. “Looks easy enough on paper, but timing’s critical on some of this stuff. Just hope we’ve got enough hands to pull it off.”
“We don’t have any people to spare, but we’ll have enough,” Blake said. He spent the next few minutes going down the list, writing in names, making assignments, showing the chief how certain jobs could be combined, how it would be tight, but how, with luck, they could make it happen. As he got to the end of the list, he could tell by the grunts and nods that the chief was becoming reconciled to the idea.
“Well, at least we’ve got the right mix of people,” the chief said. “You were right to bring Sparky. There’s no way we could get lit off without the emergency diesel. He’s a pain in the ass, but we’d be screwed without him.”
“He’ll be all right if we can keep him focused,” Blake said, thinking about Maria and the predatory look on Sparks’s face when he was around her. He was grateful that Kelly was here to take care of the girl. She wouldn’t take any crap from Sparks, certainly not where Maria was concerned. In spite of the dangers, he was glad she’d come along.
Blake heard a sound outside the door, the soft snap of wire cutters biting through heavy-gauge wire. He spun around, his breath caught in his throat. The silhouette of a large man was clearly outlined against the white louvers, the door handle rattling softly, the door pulsing in and out.
“Mother of God, he’s outside the door,” the chief whispered.
Blake grabbed his pistol and lunged for the door. Tugging at the handle, he could feel that something was holding it from the outside. He jammed the pistol in his belt and took the door handle in both hands. After several violent yanks, he jerked it open and stepped out into the passageway in time to see the dark figure of a man disappear down the ladder to the deck below. He glanced down at the deck and saw a length of heavy-gauge wire dangling from the bulkhead and a pair of wire cutters. The other end of the wire was tied to the handle of a box containing a fire ax that was adjacent to the door of the stateroom. “The son of a bitch was trying to lock us in.”
“And he damn near did it. Come on,” the chief said, fumbling with his pistol. “Here’s our chance to catch the sneaky bastard, kill him before he can kill us.”
“No,” Blake said, holstering his pistol. “That’s just what he wants us to do. He’d have the advantage in the dark.”
Kozlewski stopped short, seeming to come to his senses. “Reckon you’re right about that.” He let out a visible shudder. “What do you think he was trying to do?”
“We’re the only two guys with side arms,” Blake said. “He obviously planned to lock us in and go after the others.”
“Jesus Christ,” the chief said. “What the hell do we do now?”
“I’ll check on everyone, make sure they’re okay. Right now, you’d better get some sleep.”
“I ain’t gonna be sleepin’ much, after that.” The chief sighed heavily. “What time you want me to wake you up?”
“We’ll get started at 0300.”
Blake walked the chief to the number three stateroom located just behind his own and waited for him to open the door, looking both ways down the quiet passageway. A single white light glowed in the overhead from the emergency generator, dimly illuminating the black-and-white-tiled corridor. Kozlewski leaned into the door and cracked it open. He looked at Blake over his shoulder. “Sure you don’t want me to stay with you?”
Blake smiled. “Neither one of us would get any sleep.”
“Reckon you’re right. I’ll wake you up at 0300.” The chief closed the door behind him.
Blake waited to hear the click of Kozlewski’s lock, then made the rounds to each stateroom, gently rapping on each door and asking through the louvers if everything was okay, reminding everyone to stay in their staterooms. He wasn’t surprised to find that everyone was still awake. No one’s going to get much sleep tonight. Still shaken, he returned to his cabin, pulled the door closed behind him and locked it.
He unbuckled his pistol belt, laid it across a chair and stretched out on the bed. A wave of exhaustion rolled over him. The ship was gently heaving on smooth rolling swells now. He lay with his hands behind his head, the weariness draining out of him, staring up at the overhead, listening to the pleasant murmur of waves lapping against the hull.
He should have been pleased with the sudden improvement in the weather, but in a bizarre way, he knew it was the worst thing that could happen. The ship appeared to be in no danger; there was no reason for El Callado not to kill them all and wait for his masters to arrive. Almost as bad, the good weather began to make him doubt his own judgment. What if the chief was right? What if the storm did pass them by while they were in the process of getting under way? It wouldn’t be that hard for something to go wrong, lighting off an unfamiliar plant with a skeleton crew of inexperienced people. They could end up causing a fire or an explosion that could kill them all, when all they would have had to do is stay together and wait for the Colombian frigate to arrive. But what if he waited and the storm took them by surprise? Then it would be too late. He decided he couldn’t take the chance. It was a risk either way, but the odds were with the start-up. He would proceed as planned. He closed his eyes and tried to rest for a few hours, knowing sleep would be impossible.
“So I see now how the other half lives.”
Dana Kelly glanced around the stateroom, marveling at the relative elegance of the passenger accommodations. “Or did, anyway.”
Kelly pitched her helmet on the nearest bed and ran a hand through her hair, shaking it out. She breathed deeply and wrinkled her nose. The room smelled old, like her grandmother’s parlor. It was a place she had been forbidden to go as a child, and for a moment she had a sense that she was trespassing. She glanced around, sizing it up. The cabin was surprisingly large, about ten by twelve feet, with furnishings that looked like they were straight out of the 1930s. She’d never cared much about material things, never thought she had the nesting instinct most women seemed to have, but her eyes took a quick inventory: A rich-looking Persian carpet, woven in a complex pattern of blue, green and ivory, covered the teak deck. Mahogany panels, split and cracked from decades of exposure to the sea air, lined the bulkheads. Teak bookshelves ran the length of the inboard bulkhead. A few faded volumes, some bound in leather, were held in place by a brass rail, tarnished with age. Two single beds with wooden headboards were separated by an ornately carved nightstand in an oriental design. A small brass table lamp with a Tiffany shade was attached to the center of the stand. The beds were covered with faded green velvet spreads, trimmed with gold fringes.
“Not exactly my taste,” Kelly said, winking at Maria, “but it’ll do.” She unbuckled her life preserver and smiled at the girl, who was standing awkwardly by the door, still clutching the dark gray blanket around her throat. Her eyes were sharp and focused, following Kelly’s every move. Kelly thought it was the clear-eyed look that comes from food deprivation and fear, the look animals in the wild have. Lieutenant Blake had asked her to talk to the girl to find out anything that might be useful, and Kelly was dreading it. The last thing she wanted to do was make this vulnerable-looking child relive what she’d seen. “Well, let’s see if we can get you cleaned up. My guess is, there’s a muy bonita chica under that grime.”
Maria flashed an embarrassed grin.
“With any luck, there’ll be some shampoo in here,” Kelly said, peering into the wooden medicine chest above the sink. “Or something that will pass for it.” She rummaged through an assortment of bottles and tubes and retrieved a small shampoo bottle half-filled with a waxy-looking substance the color of rust. She held the bottle under the hot water tap of the porcelain sink and let the still-warm water flow around the cap. She twisted it off with a grimace and filled the bottle with tepid water.
Maria watched intently.
Kelly winked at the girl. “A little trick I learned in college.” She screwed on the cap and vigorously shook the bottle. Gradually the clump of hardened shampoo dissolved into a reddish mixture the consistency of sludge.
“This stuff must be twenty years old, but it’ll still work. Freeze-dried shampoo. Just add water.”
Maria had a dubious expression on her face.
“Here we go.” Kelly maneuvered the girl over to the sink. She bent her head down and spooned tepid water over her stringy black hair with a cupped hand, then poured a glob of the rust-colored pulp into the palm of her hand. She added a little more water and worked it up into something that resembled a lather. “Don’t worry,” Kelly said, rubbing the grainy mess into her hair. “The worst that can happen is your hair will fall out.”
Maria’s head jerked up.
Kelly laughed and pushed her back down. “Relax. Just kidding.” She poked the girl in the ribs. “If it does, I’ll loan you my helmet.”
The girl started giggling.
“Hey, this rooming together is neat,” Kelly said, scrubbing Maria’s tangled hair. “I always wanted a little sister.
“You have no family?” Maria asked. Her voice sounded garbled under the running water.
“Not really,” Kelly said. “I have some early memories of my mother, but I never really knew her. She died when I was three.”
“You have no padre?”
“Somewhere, I guess, but I don’t know who he is. Or where.”
“How did you live?”
“I was raised by my grandmother,” Kelly said. “She was a great lady. Daughter of a Spanish count who had to leave the country in a hurry for some reason. They emigrated through Mexico and ended up in San Jose, California. No money, but she was so elegant. When she walked into a room, everything stopped. She hated my father, an Irish guy who left when things got rough. She taught me that I had the blood of Spanish kings, that I could do anything. I loved her a lot.”
“She is gone?” Maria asked.
“She died five years ago.” Kelly cupped her hand and added a little more water to the thin layer of foam around Maria’s head. She worked it up into a respectable lather. “I got a job as soon as I could and saved enough money to get me through a year of college. When that ran out, I enlisted.”
“Why do the Norte Americanos have women in their Navy?”
“Why not? Women can do anything a man can do.”
“More,” Maria said, rubbing water out of her eyes. “But a wise woman does not try to do the things men do. A woman is more powerful when she is a woman.”
Kelly looked at her askance. “How old did you say you were?”
“The teniente, he is muy guapo, no?” Maria said.
“Only if you like tall, athletic guys with a tiny little scar over their left eyebrow, a crooked nose and hazel green eyes that make you melt,” Kelly paused to look off into the corner. “Oh yes, he’s quite the topic of conversation in the women’s compartment.”
“You and the teniente,” Maria said. “You are his woman?”
Kelly laughed. “That’s a hot one. He doesn’t know I’m alive.”
Maria nodded and laughed softly. “He knows. I see the way he looks at you when you do not see. You are muy hermosa.”
Kelly glanced at herself in the blackened mirror above the sink, grateful for her mother’s cheekbones and complexion. Her eyes weren’t bad, either, with the right touch of eye shadow. “There were a few guys on campus at San Jose State who thought so.” She shook her head. “If they could see me now.”
“You like the teniente?”
“It’s not worth talking about,” Kelly said. “He’s an officer, and I’m enlisted.”
“He is a man, and you are a woman.”
Kelly bent down and looked at her. “How old are you, anyway?”
“Next April I will be thirteen years. Then I will be a woman, like you.”
Kelly laughed. “It takes more than birthdays. I’m pushing twenty-three and I’m not sure I’m there yet.” Kelly paused. Her mood got somber. “Would you like to talk about what happened?”
Kelly felt Maria’s frail body shudder and instantly regretted raising the issue. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. It’s just that it might help the lieutenant to know what we’re up against if you could tell us-”
“The teniente, he can get us off this ship?” Maria asked, trembling.
“He can do anything,” Kelly said.
“He must get us off the ship,” the girl said. “He must.”
“Why? What is this thing? Is it a man?” Kelly said.
“He looks like a man,” Maria said. “But a man could not do such terrible things.”
“What happened? What set him off?
“I don’t know. We had been at sea for two days. My father told me of the silent one in the vault, never to go there. On the third day, something happened. He killed the chief engineer and disappeared. Then others as they stood watch. No one could find him. Soon the whole ship was in a panic, no one would stand watch alone.”
“But why?” Kelly said. “What made him do it? What made him kill all those people?”
“I don’t know.”
“What does he look like?”
The child started to cry softly. “No mas, por favor.”
“I’m sorry,” Kelly said. “I really am, but we have to know.”
“He is ugly,” Maria said, sobbing now. “He is a huge beast. He stalks like an
animal. Unless we get off this ship, he will kill us all.”
The terror in Maria’s voice made Kelly shudder and look over her shoulder. She looked back at Maria, wanting to say something soothing, but her mouth and throat were suddenly dry.
“The teniente, how will he get us off the ship?” Maria asked again.
“The lieutenant said there’s a frigate on the way to pick us up,” Kelly said.
“When will it come?”
“A couple of days, less now.”
“Two days?” Maria said. “He will kill us all before then.”
“Hey, stop it. You’re starting to scare me, and I don’t scare that easy,” Kelly said. “Anyway, you’re forgetting about that big tall, handsome lieutenant we were just talking about. If anyone can find a way to get us out of this place, he can.”
Kelly wrapped a stiff, musty-smelling towel around Maria’s head and absently dried the girl’s hair, glancing around the compartment, listening to every creak and groan. She’d been raised a virtual orphan, was used to the feeling of being alone, but she’d never felt so isolated in her life. She turned away from the girl; she couldn’t let her see the fear in her eyes. She reached through the curtain behind them and turned on the shower. Standing with her back to Maria, Kelly went through the motions of testing the water with her hand while she stared at the door. It was wooden, with louvers. Designed to keep honest people out. A few good kicks would splinter it. She wanted to believe what she’d said about Lieutenant Blake being able to get them out of this situation, but they were just words. He’d have to get the ship under way and then he’d have to conn it, couldn’t be everywhere at once. And even if the Colombian frigate found them, forty-eight hours was a long time with a lunatic running loose on the ship. She told herself to get a grip. She had to be brave for Maria, couldn’t let the girl see the fear in her face after what she’d been through. She turned around and forced a smile. “Well, I don’t know about you, kiddo, but I’m going to take a shower while the water’s still warm.”
“Which rack do you want?” Tobin said. He threw his life jacket down on the closest bed.
Point of Honor Page 18