Ghost Ship (NUMA Files 12)

“I don’t know,” Gamay said. “Go. Just go!”

Elena slammed the throttles forward and pushed the control column down and to port. The yellow shape of Duke’s craft raced overhead and turned back to the left.

“What is he doing?” Elena asked. “Has he lost his mind?”

“I have no idea,” Gamay said. “Just keep us moving.”

“I’ve got the throttles full open,” Elena said. “But Duke’s in a newer ride, with upgraded thrusters and newer batteries. I hate to say it but we’re outclassed.”

Gamay could see that plainly. This time Duke sideswiped them and tried to force them into the hull of the Ethernet.

Elena reversed thrust and the orange submersible slowed. Duke shot past once again.

“Now what?”

“Take us up.”

“He’ll catch us if we try to surface.”

“Not all the way,” Gamay said. “Just over to the other side of the wreck.”

Elena twisted the control column upward and the thrusters pivoted into a vertical position. The sub rose up, cleared the superstructure, and sped across it. As soon as they hit the other side, Elena pushed the column forward and forced the sub down behind the yacht’s stern, tucking them into a spot at the rear section of the hull.

“Douse the lights!” Gamay said, flicking a series of switches on her side.

Elena reached forward and switched off the main floods and the sub was plunged into utter darkness. Gamay sighed. “Now, hold your breath,” she said. “And hope he doesn’t find us.”

Up on the surface, on the racing vessel, Paul dropped onto the main deck and sprinted aft. The Condor was charging across the water like a three-thousand-ton speedboat, all but planing across the sea.

Halfway to the engine room, he found the captain, who was rushing forward to the bridge.

“What in the name of Poseidon are they doing up there?” the captain shouted.

“It’s not the crew,” Paul said. “Something’s wrong with the system.”

“I should have known better than to accept a ship controlled by computers,” the captain said.

“We have to get back to the engine room,” Paul said. “She’s over-revving. We’ll blow out the propulsion units if we don’t shut them down.”

The captain turned around and ran with Paul to the aft end of the ship. They ducked inside and took a ladder down to the engine compartment. The noise was ear-shattering and verbal communication was all but impossible.

They found the chief and another member of the crew trying desperately to slow the engines down. The captain made a cutting motion across his neck.

The chief shook his head.

“What about the fuel pumps?!” Paul shouted at the top of his lungs.

They looked at him.

He leaned closer. “Fuel pumps! There must be an emergency shutoff in case of fire!”

The chief nodded and waved for them to follow. Like many modern ships, the Condor was powered not by heavy diesel engines but by a high-tech gas turbine system. Essentially, a jet engine connected to heavy reduction gearing and then to the propeller shaft or shafts.

As they put a bulkhead between them and the turbines, the sound lessened just enough that shouted communications could be heard.

“There are two turbines,” the chief said. “Two fuel pumps. Climb that half ladder and reach in behind the gauges. The red lever will shut off the fuel. I’ll handle the starboard pump. You take the port.”

Paul nodded and went to the ladder. The ship was shuddering and bucking with the speed. The heat from the turbines was like a blast furnace. With sweat pouring into his eyes, Paul climbed up and found the instrument cluster. He noticed the rpm indicator at one hundred thirty-nine percent. Well above the red line.