Eighteen minutes after the freighter and junk crossed paths, a distress call was heard by the United States container carrier Rio Grande, bound for Sydney, Australia, with a cargo of tractors and agricultural equipment. The radio room was directly off the spacious navigation bridge, and the operator had only to turn to address the second officer, who stood the early morning watch.
"Sir, I have a distress signal from the Indonesian cargo freighter Mentawai."
The second officer, George Hudson, picked up the ship's phone, punched a number and waited for an answering voice. "Captain, we've picked up a distress signal.
Captain Jason Kelsey was about to take his first forkful of breakfast in his cabin when the call came from the bridge. "Very well, Mr. Hudson. I'm on my way. Try and get her position."
Kelsey wolfed down his eggs and ham, gulped half a cup of coffee and walked through a short passageway to the navigation bridge. He went directly to the radio room.
The operator looked up, a curious look in his eyes. "Very strange signal, Captain." He handed Kelsey a notepad.
Kelsey studied it, then stared at the radio operator. "Are you sure this is what they transmitted''"
"Yes, sir. They came in quite clearly."
Kelsey read the message aloud. "All ships come quick. Freighter Mentawai forty kilometers south-southwest of Howland Island. Come quick. All are dying." He looked up. "Nothing more? No coordinates?"
The radio operator shook his head. "They went dead, and I haven't been able to raise them again."
"Then we can't use our radio direction-finding systems." Kelsey turned to his second officer. "Mr.
Hudson, lay a course for Mentawai's last reported position southwest off Howland Island. Not much to go on without exact coordinates. But if we can't make a visual sighting, we'll have to rely on our radar to spot them." He could have asked Hudson to run the course numbers through the navigation computer, but he preferred working by the old rules.
Hudson went to work on the chart table with parallel rulers, attached by swinging hinges, and a pair of dividers, and Kelsey signaled the chief engineer that he wanted Rio Grande to come to full speed. First Officer Hank Sherman appeared on the bridge, yawning as he buttoned his shirt.
"We're responding to a distress call?" he asked Kelsey.
The captain smiled and passed him the notepad. "Word travels fast on this ship."
Hudson turned from the chart table. "I make the distance to Mentawai approximately sixty-five kilometers, bearing one-three-two degrees."
Kelsey stepped over to the navigation console and punched in the coordinates. Almost immediately the big container ship began a slow swing to starboard as the computerized electronics system steered her onto a new course of 132 degrees.
"Any other ships responding?" he asked the radio operator.
"We're the only one who attempted a reply, sir."
Kelsey stared at the deck. "We should be able to reach her in a shade less than two hours."
Sherman continued staring at the message in bewilderment. "If this isn't some kind of hoax, it's very possible that all we'll find are corpses."
They found Mentawai a few minutes after eight in the morning. Unlike Polar Queen, which had continued steaming under power, the Indonesian freighter appeared to be drifting. She looked peaceful and businesslike. Smoke curled from her twin funnels, but no one was visible on the decks, and repeated hails through a loudspeaker from the bridge of Rio Grande brought no response.
"Quiet as a tomb," said First Officer Sherman ominously.
"Good Lord!" muttered Kelsey. "She's surrounded by a sea of dead fish."
"I don't much like the look of it."
"You'd better collect a boarding party and investigate," ordered Kelsey.
"Yes, sir. On my way."
Second Officer Hudson was peering at the horizon through binoculars. "There's another ship about ten kilometers off the port bow."
"Is she coming on?" asked Kelsey.
"No, sir. She seems to be moving away."