Ghost Ship (NUMA Files 12)

“We’re caught in a crosscurrent swirling over the superstructure,” Elena explained.

“Can you compensate?”

“With ease.”

As they repositioned, Duke’s voice came over the radio. “This side is in fairly good shape. No sign of damage that couldn’t be attributed to hitting the bottom. Continuing inspection.”

By now Elena had repositioned the sub, and Gamay was ready with the cutting torch.

With a snap and sizzle, the acetylene torch flared to life. A stream of bubbles flowed toward the surface. They cut through the hinges and grasped the door with the gripper handle. With a light pull, Gamay drew the heavy steel door back and it toppled slowly onto the deck with a muted thump.

“Releasing camera,” Gamay said.

In a moment the Scarab’s little swimming camera was heading inside the sunken yacht. It had its own spotlight and power source but was tethered to the Scarab by a thin fiber-optic line through which the camera feed was relayed.

“The bridge is filled with debris,” she noted. She directed the camera to pan and scan and soon they had a three-sixty swath of everything on the bridge. The glass wall—which Kurt had seen—was still in place, though it was covered with a network of cracks.

“Looks like a Pennsylvania road map,” she noted.

Between the damage and the thin film of slime that had grown upon it, they could not see through it.

“Have to go around,” Gamay said.

An open hatchway suggested a possible route, and Gamay sent the camera in that direction.

“Weird that all the hatches are open.” This came from Paul, who was seeing the same video feed as they were. “Considering that the ship was in distress and going down, all the watertight doors should have been shut.”

As Gamay directed the small camera toward the hatch, Duke chimed in.

“Got something over here, Condor. Sea cocks for the engine cooling system appear to be open.”

“If the ship was taking on water, those should have been closed as wel

l,” Gamay replied.

“My thoughts exactly,” Duke said. “Heading to the stern.”

Gamay guided the camera into the main salon. She couldn’t bring herself to hope they’d find a drowned woman and her children. Not even if it meant the end of the mystery.

“Scoping out the salon now,” she said.

Like the bridge, the main salon was filled with debris. The heavier items remained on the floor. The buoyant items— cushions, life vests, plastic bottles, and bins—floated around the ceiling. She had to guide the camera beneath them, like flying under a cloud layer.

Fortunately, they were deep enough that little algae could grow, but there was plenty of silt in the water, courtesy of the Mozambique current and the “snow” falling from above. And despite the fact that the camera’s thrusters were tiny, they stirred it up with each maneuver.

Duke came on the line again. “Got a gaping hole at the stern end.”

“Impact or explosion?” Paul asked from above.

“I’d say neither,” Duke replied. “The edges are too sharp. It almost looks like an entire plate is missing from the hull. I’ll deploy the camera and send up some pretty pics.”

Gamay listened to the chatter but concentrated on the task at hand. Having reached the far corner, she turned the camera around for another run to the front of the salon.

“Going idle for a minute,” she said. “The main cabin is getting clouded by silt. I need to let it settle.”

As she waited for the water to clear, Duke’s voice came back over the radio. “Something odd here. I’ve put the camera in through the hole on what I’m fairly certain is deck number two. Should be aft staterooms. Instead, it’s like some kind of equipment bay.”

“Better check the schematics,” Elena said. “Knowing Duke, he’s cut into the wrong deck.”