Arctic Drift (Dirk Pitt 20)

“Glad to know you,” he replied, shaking hands. “My name is Trevor Miller. My older brother, Steve, was captain of the Ventura.”

“We’re sorry for what happened yesterday,” Summer replied. She could tell by the look in the man’s eyes that he was deeply shaken by the loss of his brother.

“He was a good man,” Trevor said, his gaze turning distant. He then looked at Summer and offered a sheepish grin. “My apologies for the gruff behavior yesterday. I had just received word of my brother’s death over the marine radio and was a little upset and confused.”

“A natural reaction,” Summer said. “I think we were all a little confused.”

Trevor inquired about their involvement, and Summer told of their discovery of the fishing boat while surveying the Hecate Strait.

“Your brother fished these waters for some time?” Dirk asked.

“No, only two or three years. He was actually a doctor who sold his practice and turned to fishing out of passion. Did pretty well at it, too, despite all the restrictions placed on commercial fishing these days to protect the stocks.”

“Seems like an odd career transition,” Summer remarked.

“We grew up on the water. Our father was an engineer for the local mining company and an avid fisherman. We traveled around a lot but always had a boat. Steve would be on the water every chance he got. He even crewed on a trawler in high school.”

“He sure kept a smart boat,” Dirk said. “I’ve never seen such an immaculate fishing boat.”

“The Ventura was the pride of the Northwest, he used to joke. Steve was a bit of a perfectionist. He always kept his boat spotless and his equipment maintained in the highest order. That’s what makes everything so troubling.” He gazed out the window, a faraway look in his eyes. Then he turned to Dirk and asked quietly, “They were dead when you found them?”

“I’m afraid so. The boat was circling haphazardly with no one at the helm when we first spotted it.”

“The Ventura would have piled onto the rocks of Gil Island if Dirk hadn’t jumped aboard,” Summer added.

“I’m glad you did,” Trevor said. “The autopsies revealed that the men died of asphyxiation. The police are certain that carbon monoxide poisoning was the cause. Yet I went all over the Ventura and could find no evidence of an exhaust leak.”

“The engine is well astern of the wheelhouse, which makes it perplexing. Perhaps there is no leak and it was just an odd mix of wind and running conditions that allowed the exhaust fumes to accumulate in the cabin,” Dirk suggested. “It does seem odd that the three men succumbed so quickly.”

“It might not be that unusual,” Summer said. “There was a mystery several years ago when a high number of drowning deaths began plaguing houseboat vacationers on Lake Powell. They finally discovered that exhaust fumes were accumulating off the stern of the houseboats and incapacitating swimmers in the water.”

“Steve was such a cautious man,” Miller noted.

“It’s not difficult to be overcome by an unseen killer,” Dirk said.

The discussion was taking a toll on Trevor, and he paled from the strain. Summer poured him a cup of coffee and tried to move the conversation elsewhere.

“If there is anything we can do to help, please ask,” she said, her soft gray eyes showing genuine concern.

“Thank you for trying to help my brother and his crew, and for saving the Ventura. My family is grateful.” Trevor hesitated, then added, “There is one favor I would like to ask you. I wonder if you would consider taking me to the site where you found them.”

“It’s over fifty miles from here,” Dirk said.

“We can take my boat. She cruises at twenty-five knots. I’d just like to see where he was at the time.”

Summer glanced at a clock mounted beneath a sneering mountain lion. “We don’t have to meet with the police inspector until three o’clock,” she said to her brother. “We might be able to make a quick run out and back.”

“I need to check out the ROV and see if we get anything back from the Seattle lab,” Dirk replied. “How about you go with Mr. Miller, and I’ll handle the inspector in case you’re late getting back.”

“Call me Trevor. And I’ll have her back on time,” Trevor said, smiling at Summer as if he were asking her father’s permission to take her out. She was surprised to feel a slight blush cross her cheeks.

“Save me a seat under the hot interrogation light,” she said to Dirk, rising from her chair. “I’ll see you at three.”

7

TREVOR HELPED SUMMER ABOARD HIS BOAT, THEN quickly cast off the lines. As the workboat edged away from the dock, she leaned over the side and noted a NATURAL RESOURCES CANADA logo painted on the hull. When the boat had safely slipped past the port dockage and was speeding

down Douglas Channel, Summer walked into the cabin and sat on a bench near the pilot’s seat.