Juan kept his speed in check as he made his way down to Eddie. As he neared Eddie, he slowed more than he expected. But it wasn’t him. It was the ship.
The speed of the tilt’s correction had drastically accelerated. By the time he was under the truck adjacent to Eddie, the ship was undergoing a radical shift to starboard.
“I think we’re—” was all Juan got out before bullets caromed off the truck’s chassis and he had to take cover behind the wheel. Two of Dominguez’s men had crawled under the equipment to get him in their sights.
The ship would be at a level beam in seconds and that meant there was an immediate threat more dangerous than the men shooting at them.
As soon as the sudden shift occurred, Maria knew what was coming. She told Linc and MacD to climb into the nearest SUV. All of the vehicles on the ship were unlocked, with the keys inside, for quick removal during unloading.
The wave of water rushing toward them was only four feet high, but it would be strong enough to knock them off their feet and send them flying if they didn’t get out of the way.
They dived into the SUV and slammed the doors as the water enveloped it. For the moment, they were unscathed, but Maria’s bigger fear was that the weight transfer would tip the ship over.
She held her breath as the water coursed down the loading ramp and settled against the starboard side. The list was only ten degrees—for now. Although the rapid shift had ceased, she could feel the Ciudad Bolívar continue to slowly roll. There must have been a sudden bulkhead failure on a lower level, but the ballast tanks were plainly unaffected and continuing to drain.
The right side of their truck was now submerged in water that was beginning to seep in. Linc turned the ignition key and unrolled the windows on the left side. They slithered out and stood on the hood of the adjacent SUV.
“This way,” Linc said, and they made their way to the port side by hopping across the hoods of the row of trucks parked fender to fender.
In two minutes they were jumping onto the deck next to the stairwell that led to the engine room. The stairs were easier to take while the list was less pronounced, but the steps were dripping and slick from the water that had immersed them only a few minutes before. The lights had shorted out, so Linc and MacD flicked on flashlights for the short walk down.
When they opened the watertight door, their ears were assaulted by the roar of still-running engines. They stopped on the catwalk overlooking the two huge engines that drove the ship’s screw and provided electrical power. The space occupied four stories and was crisscrossed by stairs, pipes, and ventilation ducts. Normally, the equipment was showroom clean, but rings of oil and grease were visible where the water had pooled and splashed before settling to the bottom. Obviously, a large amount of water had flooded into the engine room before it was evacuated and sealed from the bridge.
“Where’s the engineering station?” Linc asked.
Maria pointed at the enclosed room at the stern.
MacD stared down at the water, which had to be at least seven feet deep. “Any way around that?”
Maria shook her head. “We’re going for a swim.”
Something floating in the water caught her eye. It was partially hidden in the shadow of the starboard engine on the far side. She held her hand out to MacD. “Can I borrow your flashlight?”
He shrugged and handed it to her.
She clicked the switch and pointed it at the object.
It was a foot.
Maria gasped and panned the light across the body, which was floating facedown. When the beam reached the holstered pistol, all three of them knew it wasn’t a stranded crew member.
Linc shoved her down behind a vent at the same time MacD opened fire at a hidden figure. Bullets whistling past in response confirmed that they weren’t the first to reach the engine room.
—
Juan’s warning about the wave had come in time for Eddie to use his cat quickness to leap onto the dump truck cab’s ladder and scale it before he was hit by the water. But because he was completely underneath his own truck, all Juan had time to do was loop the rope around the axle and wrap it around his wrist. He held his breath and rode out the rush of water like a fish hooked on a lure.
When the water had flowed to the other side, he could see that the two gunmen who’d been firing at him were bobbing on the water, limp and motionless. The one face he could see was caved in where it had met a metal protrusion.
Eddie called out. “Chairman, are you all right?”
Juan unwrapped the rope from his wrist and crawled out from underneath the truck beside Eddie. “I’m okay, but I have more sympathy for a marlin now. Dominguez is down at least three men. Do you see where he is?”
“I lost him.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll find us.”
The deck was still at a mild slant, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long.
Maneuvering under and around the construction equipment, Juan and Eddie snaked their way to the starboard side. At the last row of vehicles, they would have to cross ten feet unprotected to get to the stairwell door.
They crouched behind a bulldozer. Juan poked his head out and sparks flew where bullets stung the metal. He pulled back.
“Dominguez was obviously expecting that,” Juan said.
“Did you see where he was?”
“About thirty yards away. I couldn’t tell if he was alone. I don’t think we can both make it across without being hit.”
“How desperate are we to get off the boat right now?”
Juan keyed his throat mic. “Linc, tell me you’re about to shut off the ballast tanks.”
A background roar in his earpiece was accompanied by the staccato pop of gunfire.
“I’m glad to hear you’re up and about, Chairman,” Linc replied, “but I’m sorry, they got here first. Two of them drowned, three left. We don’t think they had time to disable the engineering station, though.”
“Can Maria reach it?”
“Not yet, but we’re working on a plan. We wouldn’t mind some help.”
“We’re kind of busy ourselves,” Juan said, “but we’ll keep you posted.”
“Roger that.”
Juan dropped to his belly. His sodden clothes squished against the metal. He was certain one of Dominguez’s men would be circling around in a pincer movement.
There. Feet scurried from the protection of one giant wheel to the next. Juan anticipated the path he was taking and placed the red dot sight on a spot five feet past the wheel.
On cue, the feet appeared. Juan led his target and shot a three-round volley. One of the bullets slammed into a knee and knocked the man to the ground, howling. He saw Juan and tried to get a shot off, but Juan cut him down with another burst.
“We know where you are, Dominguez!” Juan shouted in Spanish. “You can’t stay there forever.”
Dominguez didn’t respond. Instead, a hand grenade bounced against the wall and skittered across the floor until it stuck against the forward chain anchoring the bulldozer to the deck. Juan and Eddie dived behind the dozer’s blade, which rang with the blast.
Juan looked out and saw that the blast had severed the anchor chain. Nothing was holding the front of the forty-ton bulldozer in place except its treads.
“We need to take care of Dominguez and get down to the engine room,” Juan said.
“I saw where he was when he tossed the grenade,” Eddie said. “He’s in the bed of a dump truck. Good sight lines and a stellar defensive position. A head-on attack wouldn’t be the best idea.”
The deck tilted farther and the bulldozer was losing traction. It skidded to starboard with a shriek of metal on metal until it came to rest against the dump truck next to it. Juan held his breath, thinking this might be the start of a vehicle avalanche. The truck’s anchor chains squealed in protest at the added
weight but held.
“That’s not going to last long if the list gets worse,” Eddie said.
“I agree.” Juan radioed Linc again. “I don’t mean to put pressure on you guys, but we’ve got a loose bulldozer up here that is getting ready to take half the cargo with it to the starboard side. If you don’t stop this list in the next few minutes, none of us are making it out of here.”
—
Maria’s heart pounded as the gunfire echoed through the engine room. She had no idea how Linc and MacD stayed so calm.
“We’ve got two men left behind those pipes above the engine,” MacD said, before snapping off another shot.
“The Chairman says the situation up there is critical,” Linc said. “We need to get to the engineering station now. Do you think you can make it?”
“Maybe, but I wouldn’t have any idea what to do when I got there.”
“Maria could tell you over the radio how to turn off the ballast drains.”
“No, I have to do it,” Maria said. “It will take too long to talk MacD through the procedure.”
She added, “This is my ship. I’m not going to let Ruiz sink her.”
Linc grudgingly relented. “Okay. They don’t have a good angle on the lower level, but even with our covering fire you’ll be too exposed to use the stairs from the catwalk. They’ll pick you off before you get fifteen feet.” He pointedly looked down at the pool of water and Maria understood what he meant. Instead of using the stairs to get down there, she was going to have to dive over the railing directly into the water.
“I can make it,” she said more confidently than she felt.
“We’ve got another problem,” MacD said. “I’m down to my last magazine.”
“Me too. Make every shot count. Ready?”
Maria took a deep breath and nodded.
Linc said, “On my mark. Three, two, one . . . Go!”
MacD and Linc snapped up and shot three-round bursts in rapid succession. Maria didn’t wait to see if the suppressing fire worked. She jumped to her feet, pivoted around the ventilation duct, and launched herself over the railing, praying that the water was as deep as she thought it was.
She plunged into the pool feetfirst and stopped herself against the deck. There was just enough light to see the steps ahead of her, but the oil in the water stung her eyes.
Maria had the impulse to close her eyes and surface, but the less exposure to the gunmen, the better. She used a dolphin stroke to propel herself all the way across underwater. Her lungs were screaming for air by the time she reached the stairs to the engineering station.
She lunged out of the water, half expecting a bullet through her brain as soon as she hit the air, but the fire was still concentrated at the other end of the engine room. She sucked in a breath and heaved herself up the stairs. Those three steps were the longest of her life, but the moment she flung the door open and dived inside she nearly let out a victory cry. The door shut behind her, blocking out the sounds of the engine and gunshots.
Maria raced over to the terminal and tapped on the keyboard to bring up the ballast controls. She was so intent on shutting down the draining tanks that the reappearance of the noise from the engine room barely registered. Someone had opened the door.
Maria didn’t bother to see who it was, but she didn’t need to when she heard the man yell, “¡Alto!”
She ignored him and tapped on the mouse. The screen confirmed that the tanks were closed, and then the display exploded in a hail of bullets.
She closed her eyes and prepared for her own end, but the death blow never came. She turned to see the gunman staring blankly, a bloody third eye drilled through his forehead. The rest of his body knew he was dead a second later and slumped to the floor. Behind him, a neat hole had penetrated the glass, and Linc stood beyond it with his pistol raised.
He charged through the door and made sure the man was dead.
“Are you hurt?” he asked her.
“No. I was able to shut off the ballast tanks before he destroyed the terminal.”
“Good. This guy went after you, so I came after him. MacD took out the last guy, but he’s clearing the rest of the engine room to be sure.”
The dead man’s radio squawked. Linc picked it up. He listened but shook his head.
“I don’t know Spanish,” he said, and handed it to Maria.
She translated as she listened. “A ship has arrived. It’s traveling at a fantastic rate of speed.”
“The Oregon.”
The discussion went on, and she went rigid when she heard the next sentence.
Linc tensed as well. “What?”
“He said the subs are charged and ready to attack. But they’re not aimed at the Ciudad Bolívar. Lieutenant Dominguez has some kind of controller. He’s sending them to sink your ship.”
—
When Linc radioed with the news about the sub controller, Juan told him to warn the Oregon to be on the lookout for any subs. But without any intel on them, he didn’t know if they would be able to spot them or outrun them. He had to get the controller away from Dominguez and deactivate the subs.
Eddie had circled around behind the dump truck where Dominguez was hiding. Juan was waiting behind it in the shadow of another truck’s fender. Eddie prepared to flush Dominguez out.
“I’m in position,” Juan whispered into his radio.
“So am I,” Eddie replied.
Juan unloaded half his magazine into the side of the truck’s enormous bed. Dominguez and another man poked their eyes above the lip and returned fire. At the same time, Eddie used the distraction and noise to climb into the cab. He activated the bed’s hydraulic lift.
With a whine, it started to raise. Juan was hoping Dominguez would scrabble to stay in the truck, but he jumped over the side near Juan while the other gunman went over the opposite side. Eddie would have to take care of that guy.
Juan sprinted after Dominguez on the angled deck. He could see the controller device in the lieutenant’s hand, its screen illuminated. Dominguez stopped to turn and fire at Juan, but his footing failed him and he lurched to catch himself.
Juan tackled Dominguez, sending their weapons flying. The two of them locked together in a vise grip and tumbled until Juan’s back hit the tread of another bulldozer, knocking the wind out of him. But in their fall he’d snatched the controller from Dominguez’s hand.
Juan could see three dots on a grid. Two of them were side by side and labeled “Ciudad Bolívar” and “Bahia Blanco,” which had to be the fishing trawler. The third dot was labeled “Unknown.” It had to be the Oregon. Crosshairs hovered over it.
Dominguez drew his knife from a hip sheath. Not wanting to drop the controller, Juan blocked the knife with one hand while he kept hold of the device with the other. That left an opening for Dominguez’s other hand to squeeze Juan’s neck, cutting off his air.
Juan was intent on the controller. Dominguez had his knee atop Juan’s arm, but he could still move his hand. His fingers shook as he moved his thumb to “Bahia Blanco.” He tapped once and the crosshairs now centered on the trawler. An on-screen button said “Confirm target.” Juan pressed it and with a flick of his wrist tossed the controller away. It slid down the deck and out of sight.
With his free hand he jammed his thumb into Dominguez’s left eye. Dominguez released the grip on his neck and yelped. Now that he could breathe, Juan whipped the knife around and shoved the blade into Dominguez’s chest. The lieutenant gasped in shock, then with a final choking wheeze he fell on his side.
Juan got to his feet in time to see Eddie approach.
“Your timing is impeccable.” Juan nodded at the limp body.
“Mine is history, too. The Oregon?”
“Safe. But the trawler should be heading to the bottom any moment.”
“Then there’s no one l
eft to answer why someone wanted to keep us from saving this ship.”
“I don’t think it has anything to do with the Ciudad Bolívar,” Juan said. “I think whoever sent those Haitian assassins in Jamaica didn’t want us to find out about the subs. When we recover them, we’ll get some answers.”
Juan and the others got up on deck in time to see the smoking ruins of the fishing trawler slip beneath the waves. Max told him that the trawler had exploded, possibly when one of the subs lanced into a fuel line. It was long past sunset. The Oregon swept the sea with searchlights but found no surviving crew.
They left the bodies of Dominguez and the others where they were on the car carrier. Because the incident happened in international waters on a ship owned by a Venezuelan company but flagged in Panama, jurisdiction was hazy at best. Any investigation would likely be carried out by the insurer, but all of the viable evidence would lead back to the Venezuelan Navy.
Gomez had the MD 520N fuel tank patched up and he ferried the five of them back to the Oregon, which had been temporarily renamed the Norego in case they were still around when other rescue ships arrived.
After Maria’s injuries were tended to, Juan suggested that she change into a fresh set of clothes and go to the public mess hall for food and coffee. He then joined Max and Murph on deck to oversee the retrieval of the subs.
Three of them had survived the explosion and were floating on the surface, awaiting their next command. Juan had searched for the controller, but it seemed to have been lost in the standing water in the Ciudad Bolívar’s hold. The car carrier was still listing, but it was stable for now.
Juan studied the subs with binoculars while his crew readied the crane to haul them up. The sleek design made them look like tiny jet fighters, with short wings, a rudder, a water intake on the front end and an exhaust port at the stern. The subs were topped with a dorsal protrusion that housed whatever was used to anchor it to the hull and cut through it. A short antenna jutted from the body to receive the controller’s instructions.
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