Devil's Gate (NUMA Files 9)

“There’s a line of smoke off our starboard beam,” Kurt said. “Someone’s got a fire going, and I don’t think it’s a barbecue.”

The captain stood straight, the joking look gone from his face. A fire at sea is an incredibly dangerous event. Ships are filled with pipes and conduits that carry flammable liquids like fuel and hydraulic fluid. They often carry dangerous and even explosive cargoes: oil, natural gas, coal, and chemicals, even metals like magnesium and aluminum that burn. And unlike a fire on land, there’s really nowhere safe to run unless you abandon ship, the last option in any captain’s handbook.

Kurt knew this, as did every man on the Argo. Captain Haynes didn’t hesitate or even attempt to confirm the accuracy of Kurt’s assessment. He turned to the helmsman.

“Take us around,” he said. “Make your course one-nine-zero. Bring us to flank speed.”

As the helmsman executed the order, the captain grabbed a pair of binoculars and headed out onto the starboard wing of the bridge. Kurt followed.

The Argo was fairly close to the equator, and at such latitudes the light grew quickly. Kurt could see the smoke plainly now, even without the binoculars. Thick and dark, it rose skyward in a narrow vertical column, thinning out only marginally on the way up and drifting slightly to the east.

“Looks like a cargo vessel,” Captain Haynes said.

He handed the binoculars to Kurt.

Kurt trained them on the ship. She was a midsize vessel, not a containership but a bulk carrier. She appeared to be adrift.

“That’s oil smoke,” Kurt said. “The whole ship is shrouded in it, but it’s thickest near the aft end.”

“Engine-room fire,” Haynes said. “Or a problem with one of the bunkers.”

That would have been Kurt’s guess as well.

“Did you pick up any distress calls?”

Captain Haynes shook his head. “Nothing. Just regular chatter on the radio.”

Kurt wondered if the fire had taken out her electrical system. But even if it had, most ships carried backups, and every vessel of that size would have a few handheld transceivers, an emergency beacon, and even radios in the main lifeboats. To hear nothing from a 500-foot vessel burning and adrift seemed all but impossible.

By now the Argo had finished its turn and was heading dead at the stricken ship. Her speed was coming up, and Kurt could feel them surging through the water. The Argo could make 30 knots in calm seas. Kurt guessed the range at just over five miles, closer than he’d first thought. That was a good thing.

But ten minutes later, as he trained the binoculars on the superstructure and increased the magnification, he spotted several things that were less than good.

Flames were licking out through various hatches all along the deck, meaning the entire vessel was burning, not just the engine room. The ship was definitely listing to port and was down at the bow, meaning she was taking on water as well as burning. But worst of all, there were men on the decks who seemed to be dragging something toward the rail.

At first Kurt thought it was an injured crewman, but then they let go of the person, dropping him to the deck. The man tumbled as if he’d been shoved and then got up and began to run. He made three or four steps, only to fall forward suddenly onto his face.

Kurt snapped the binoculars to the right just to be sure. He could clearly see a man holding an assault rifle. Without a sound he saw the muzzle flash. One burst and then another.

Kurt turned back to the man who’d fallen. He lay utterly still now, facedown on the deck.

Pirates, Kurt thought. Hijackers with assault rifles. The cargo vessel was in deeper trouble than he’d guessed.

Kurt lowered the binoculars, fully aware that they were now heading toward more then a rescue.

“Captain,” he said. “Our problems just multiplied.”

4

ABOARD THE KINJARA MARU, Kristi Nordegrun struggled with the darkness. Her ears rang with a strange sound, and her head pounded as if she’d been drinking all night. She lay on the floor, her limbs stiff and folded under her in an awkward tangle.

Try as she might, she could not even remember how she’d gotten there, let alone what had happened. Based on the numbness in her legs, she guessed she had been in that position for a long time.

Unable to stand yet, Kristi propped herself up against the wall, fighting an unbalanced equilibrium.

She was in the deepest part of the crew’s quarters, several flights below deck and near the center of the vessel. She’d come here because the mess was on this deck and she was going to meet her husband for a late meal before they retired for the night. She looked around but didn’t see him. That concerned her.

If she had been knocked unconscious for some time, surely her husband would have found her. Then again, if the ship was in trouble, his first duty was as captain.