“No time,” Steen announced flatly. “If her list increases another ten degrees, we may be too late. I’d better go quickly.”
Captain Korvold sighed. He was going against his better judgment, but it also occurred to him that once the
Finally he shrugged. “When you’re assured none of the
Steen was gone almost before Korvold finished speaking. He assembled his men and was lowered down into the swirling water within ten minutes. The boarding party consisted of himself and four seamen—the assistant chief engineer, Olaf Andersson, and the communications man, David Sakagawa, the only crewman on board the
With Steen at the helm, the double-ender launch plowed through the heavy seas, struggling over the crests of the waves that threatened to swamp her before plunging down into the troughs. The big Volvo marine engine growled without a miss as they bore down on the auto carrier with the wind and sea astern of them.
A hundred meters from the
The seaman at the wheel slipped the boat under the stubby bow on the lee side. It seemed to them the
Stem scrambled up the rope ladder first and over the side. He was quickly followed by Andersson and the rest. After assembling beside the huge anchor winches, Steen led them up a fire escape-like stairway that was attached to the windowless forward bulkhead. After climbing five decks, they entered the largest bridge area Steen had ever seen during his fifteen years at sea. After the small, efficient wheelhouse on the
It was empty of life but littered with charts, sextants, and other navigation equipment that spilled from open cabinets. Two briefcases lay open on a counter as if their owners had just left the room for a short time. The exodus appeared to be bathed in panic.
Stem studied the main console. “She’s fully automated,” he said to Andersson.
The chief engineer nodded. “And then some. The controls are voice operated. No pushing levers or giving helmsmen course instructions here.”
Steen turned to Sakagawa. “Can you turn this thing on and talk to it?”
The Norwegian-born Asian leaned over the computerized console and silently studied it for several seconds. Then he pushed a pair of buttons in quick succession. The console’s lights blinked on and the unit began to hum. Sakagawa looked at Steen with a slight smile. “My Japanese is rusty, but I think I can communicate with it.”
“Ask it to report the ship’s status.”
Sakagawa rattled off Japanese into a small receiver and waited expectantly. After a few moments a male voice answered in slow, distinctive tones. When it stopped, Sakagawa stared at Steen blankly.
“It says the sea cocks are open and the flood level in the engine room is approaching two meters.”
“Order it to close them!” snapped Steen.
After a short exchange, Sakagawa shook his head. “The computer says the sea cocks are jammed open. They can’t be shut off by electronic command.”
“Looks like I’ve got my work cut out,” said Andersson. “I’d better get down there and get them turned off. And tell that damned robot to start the pumps.” While he spoke he motioned for two of the seamen to follow him, and they disappeared down a companionway on a dead run toward the engine room.
One of the remaining seamen came up to Steen, his eyes wide in shock and face as white as plaster. “Sir… I found a body. I think it’s the radioman.”
Steen hurried into the communications room. An almost shapeless corpse sat in a chair hunched over the radio transmitter panel. He might have been a human when he stepped on board the
Yet there wasn’t the slightest indication of excessive heat or fire. His clothes were as clean and pressed as though he’d just put them on.
The man seemed to have burned from within.
Fortunately the digital frequency dial was labeled in Arabic numerals. After a few minutes of trial and error, he found the correct switches and hailed Captain Korvold on the
“Something sinister has happened here, Captain. So far we’ve found a deserted ship with one body, that of the radio operator, who was burned beyond recognition.”
“Is there fire on board?”
“No sign. The computerized automated control system shows only green lights on its fire warning systems.”
“Any indication as to why the crew took to the boats?” asked Korvold.
“Nothing obvious. They seemed to have left in a panic after attempting to scuttle the ship.”
Korvold’s mouth tightened, his knuckles turned ivory as he squeezed the phone. “Say again.”
“The sea cocks were turned and jammed open. Andersson is working to close them now.”
“Why on earth would the crew scuttle a sound ship with thousands of new cars on board?” Korvold asked vaguely.
“The situation must be viewed with suspicion, sir. Something on board is abnormal. The body of the radio operator is ghastly. He looks like he was roasted on a spit.”
“Do you wish the ship’s doctor to come over?”
“Nothing the good doctor can do here except perform a postmortem.”
“Understood,” replied Korvold. “I’ll remain on station for another thirty minutes before I leave to search for the missing boats.”
“Have you contacted the company, sir?”
“I’ve held off until you’re certain none of the original crew is alive to challenge our salvage claim. Finish your investigation. As soon as you’re satisfied the ship is deserted I’ll transmit a message to our company director notifying him of our taking possession of the
“The sooner the better,” said Korvold. “You’re drifting toward a British oceanographic survey vessel that’s holding a stationary position.”
“How far?”
“Approximately twelve kilometers.”
“They’re safe enough.”
Korvold could think of little else to say. At last he said simply, “Good luck, Oscar. Make port safely.” And then he was gone.
Steen turned from the radio, his eyes avoiding the mutilated body in the chair. He felt a cold shudder grip him. He half expected to see the spectral captain of the Flying Dutchman pacing the bridge. There was nothing as morbid as a deserted ship, he thought grimly.
He ordered Sakagawa to hunt up and translate the ship’s log. The two remaining seamen he sent to search the auto decks while he systematically went through the crew’s quarters. He felt as though he was walking through a haunted house.
Except for a few bits of scattered clothing, it looked as if the crew might return at any minute. Unlike the mess on the bridge, everything seemed lived in and ordinary. In the captain’s quarters there was a tray with two teacups that had miraculously failed to fall on the deck during the storm, a uniform laid out on the bed, and a pair of highly polished shoes side by side on the carpeted deck. A framed picture of a woman and three teenage sons had dropped flat on a neat and clean desk.
Steen was hesitant to pry into other men’s secrets and their memories. He felt like an uninvited intruder.
His foot kicked something lying just under the desk. He leaned down and picked up the object. It was a nine-millimeter pistol. A double-action Austrian Steyr GB. He pushed it into the waistband of his pants.
The chiming of a wall-mounted chronometer startled him, and he swore he felt his hair rise. He finished his search and beat a quick path back to the bridge.
Sakagawa was sitting in the chart room, his feet perched on a small cabinet, studying the ship’s log.
“You found it,” said Steen.
“In one of the open briefcases.” He turned back to the opening pages and began to read. ” ‘
Her exterior was a complete departure from other aerodynamic submersibles. Instead of one cigar-shaped hull with a pregnant pod attached beneath, she had four transparent titanium and polymer woven spheres connected by circular tunnels that gave her the appearance of a jack from a child’s game. One sphere contained a complex array of camera equipment, while another was filled with air and ballast tanks and batteries. The third held the oxygen equipment and electric motors. The fourth sphere, the largest, sat above the other three and housed the crew and controls.