Ghost Ship (NUMA Files 12)

It was only now that Paul realized he was leaning against Gamay. She was behind him, one arm wrapped around him tight, the other holding the flashlight and aiming it at the dead creature.

“Elena?” Paul shouted. “Are you okay?”

She came out of the kitchen, hobbling and holding her weapon up. “I’m okay. Twisted my knee, but I can walk.”

Paul slid off of Gamay and moved to the side, leaning against the wall as she was. “Good work with the flashlight,” he said. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “And strangely enough, I’m no longer afraid of spiders.”

Paul laughed. Among all her other wonderful attributes, Gamay’s spirit and humor were two that he could never resist. “I love you,” he said. He reached over and kissed her, muddy and all.

“I suppose we’re having crocodile for dinner,” she said.

“No,” Paul replied. “But on the bright side, he’s not having us either.”

“He would make a nice pair of boots,” Elena said. “And a matching handbag.”

They all laughed at that.

“Where did he come from?” Paul wondered. “He couldn’t have been in here.”

Gamay pointed the flashlight back toward the entrance. Telltale claw marks and a sliding trail from the creature’s body were easy to see in the muck. “It must have been living on the ship,” she said. “Looks like it followed us in.”

“What’s a crocodile doing on a ship to begin with?” Elena asked. “Not to mention the hundred-acre woods out there.”

Paul had been considering that ever since they’d found it. “I remember Kurt and Joe telling me about a salvage job they did once. The ship had been aground for several years, beached near a protected wildlife refuge on the coast of Burma. NUMA agreed to help because it was leaking oil into the water. Kurt said the ship had become part of the land by the time they got to it. Covered in weeds and filled with plants and insects. They literally had to dig it free.”

He looked around. “I’m guessing this ship had a similar fate.”

“You wouldn’t know it from the weather we’ve had lately, but there have been big storms down here over the last few months,” Elena said.

“So this ship might have been beached for a while and then gotten pulled out to sea with a storm surge,” Gamay proposed.

“Maybe,” Paul said. “And this poor creature was probably caught on board when it was pulled out to sea.”

“Why didn’t he just drop back into the water and swim to shore?” Elena asked.

“Maybe the storm was too bad,” Paul guessed.

Gamay looked at the dead animal. It was big in comparison to the three humans but didn’t appear overly large for a crocodile. “I know saltwater crocodiles can cross large sections of ocean, but this one looks different to me. Kind of skinny. Maybe he’s a different species.”

Paul nodded. That made as much sense as anything.

He stood up, pulling clear of the muck and helping Gamay to her feet. It was then that he noticed the large picture frame behind them. The canvas inside was black from mold and decay, and nothing could be seen of the artwork hidden beneath, but a brass plate affixed to the lower edge of the frame seemed to offer some type of inscription.

Reaching forward, Paul began to rub the plate with his thumb, scraping years of debris away. Even as he worked, the plate remained tarnished and dark. But before too long the recessed markings of an engraving became visible. He continued scraping until he could just make out the last part of a name. Three letters: T-A-H. Despite rubbing his fingers raw, he couldn’t make out anything else.

“It can’t be,” he whispered.

“Can’t be what?” Gamay asked.

He thought about the advanced age of the kitchen appliances, the dimensions of the vessel as they’d estimated them, and the logo on the serving plate he’d found.

“You may be right,” he said to Gamay. “This might be a ghost ship after all.”

Gamay looked at him suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”

“Let’s get to the bridge,” Paul said. “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions.”