Ghost Ship (NUMA Files 12)

“One down, one to go,” Duke shouted, turning back to the right, looking for the other torpedo trail.

“It’s too far ahead,” one of the divers shouted.

“I’m not giving up,” Duke insisted. But even as he got the FRC back on track, he could see it was too late. They were racing headlong toward the Waratah’s stern. The space between them would be used up faster than they could hope to catch the fleeing torpedo.

“Duke, peel off!” came a shout over the radio. “That’s an order.”

Duke followed the command and cut to the left as two streams of gunfire came from the deck of the old ship.

Paul and Gamay were standing at the rail, firing down at the incoming torpedo with the two AR-15 rifles. At a range of a hundred feet, one of them hit the warhead just right. A new shock wave erupted and a column of water exploded upward from the surface of the sea like a geyser. Heat and flame chased the water, burning some of it to steam in midair.

Up on Waratah’s deck, Paul and Gamay were thrown backward by the shock wave. They landed together amid a pile of weeds that the deck crew had yet to clear.

Paul opened his eyes as mist from the torpedo’s explosion drifted down on them. His ears were ringing. He glanced over at Gamay, saw that she was all right, and sighed with relief. “Pretty good shooting, if I do say so myself.”

Gamay propped herself up on one elbow and stared at him. “How do you know it wasn’t my shot that did the trick?”

“You were wide left,” he said. “I could tell from the start. Wind correction.”

“Those were your bullets going left,” she insisted.

Paul laughed and got to his feet. He looked around for the attacking helicopters, hoping they wouldn’t make another run. Thankfully, they were heading back to the north.

They left behind two patches of churning water, a smoking tug, and a bewildered group of people who wondered what could be so important about a derelict ship that someone would want to sink it.

Paul found the radio that had been knocked from his belt. He picked it up and made sure it was working. “Thanks for the help, Duke. You must be half crazy, but it’s much appre ciated.”

“You’re welcome, Paul, sorry I couldn’t get them both. Nice shooting, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Paul and Gamay said in unison and then glanced at each other.

Duke signaled that he was heading back to the Condor and Paul acknowledged the message before reaching out to the Condor.

“Condor, this is Paul,” he said. “I need a damage and casualty report.”

“Mostly cosmetic,” the voice replied. “Two crew were injured by shrapnel. Another seems to have a nasty bump from diving into a bulkhead. But no major injuries or fatalities.”

“Sounds like we got off lucky,” Paul replied. “Contact the tugs and get me a report. I see a lot of smoke coming from the Drakensberg.”

“Roger that,” the crewman said.

“And get in touch with HQ,” Paul added. “We need some protection out here. I haven’t the foggiest idea why someone would try to sink an old derelict like this, but there’s no denying that’s what they wanted to do. Until we figure out who they are and what they want, we can’t put it past them to try again.”

As the Condor signed off, the chief called in from down below. “What the heck is going on up there?”

“Believe or not, we almost got torpedoed,” Paul explained. “Torpedoed?”

“I realize it makes no sense,” Paul said. “Just trust me. It was close but we seem to have survived intact.”

There was a long pause before the chief radioed back. “Maybe not,” he said grimly. “The shock wave must have buckled the old plating. We’ve got water coming in down here.”

The chief’s message was grim news to Paul.

“We may have won the battle but lost the war,” Gamay said, giving words to Paul’s thoughts.

“I’m going down below,” Paul said, handing the radio to Gamay. “Get in touch with Condor and the tugs. We need pumps. We need divers with salvage gear. If there’s a buckled plate, they can weld a patch over it.”

“Are you crazy?” she said. “It’s a miracle this ship is still afloat as it is.”