Arctic Drift (Dirk Pitt 20)

The captain grabbed the binoculars a second time and looked ahead. The ship had advanced enough that he could now clearly see Dirk in his blue dry suit swimming along a floating Y-shaped log. Wedged into the log’s joint was a fifty-five-gallon drum. He watched as Dirk waved to the shore, then pushed away from the log and disappeared under the water. The captain swung his gaze toward the shore, where he spotted Summer wading up to her chest in the water. She held a shard of wood over her head that appeared to be burning. He watched in disbelief as she flung the burning stick out into the channel toward the floating log. When the burning embers hit the water, the surface immediately ignited in a thin burst of flames. A narrow trail of fire slowly snaked to the floating log, engulfing the driftwood in a flickering blaze. It took just a few additional seconds for the gasoline vapors inside the barrel to ignite, erupting in a small explosion that sent the shattering drum careening across the water. The captain stared bewildered at the fiery scene, then finally came to his senses.

“Full astern! Full astern!” he shouted, waving his arms in excitement. “Then someone get me the Coast Guard.”

46

DIRK SURFACED TWENTY YARDS FROM THE BURNING gasoline and lazily swam in the direction of the cruise ship, occasionally raising one arm and slapping it down to the surface in the diver’s signal for distress. He cautiously eyed the carbon dioxide cloud, which was still burgeoning a few dozen yards behind the burning log. He could hear shouts from the shore and glanced over to see Summer yelling and waving at the ship to halt.

He looked north to see the massive ship still bearing down on him. He began to wonder if anyone was awake on the bridge and had even seen his pyrotechnic display. Questioning his own safety in the path of the ship, he turned and swam a few strokes toward the shore. Then he heard the distant wail of an alarm sounding on board. The water near the vessel’s stern caught his eye as it churned into a turbulent boil. Dirk realized the fiery signal had in fact been seen and that the captain had reversed engines. But he began to wonder if it was too late.

The Dauphine continued gliding toward the toxic cloud without any appearance of slowing. Dirk swam harder to avoid the oncoming bow of the ship as it bore down on him. Its towering presence drew over him, the bow cutting the water just yards away. All but giving up hope that the ship would stop, he suddenly detected the liner shudder and falter. The ship’s bow eased up to the dying line of flames, then ground to a halt. With a pained slowness, the Dauphine began backing up the strait, moving a hundred yards to the north, before drifting to a stationary position.

A small orange launch had already been lowered over the side and quickly raced toward Dirk. As it pulled alongside, two crewmen reached over and roughly yanked him aboard. An austere-faced man seated at the stern growled at him.

“What kind of fool are you? Greenpeace?” he asked in a French accent.

Dirk pointed to the billowing white vapor to the south of them.

“Sail into that and you’ll be a dead man. You be the fool and ignore my warning.”

He paused, staring the crewman in the eye. Flustered and suddenly unsure of himself, the Frenchman remained quiet.

“I have an injured man ashore who requires immediate medical attention,” Dirk continued, pointing to the fishing hut.

Without another word, they raced the launch to shore. Dirk jumped off the boat and ran to the hut, which was now blazing hot from the stove fire. Summer was seated with her arm around Trevor, talking to him on the cot. His eyes looked brighter, but he still mumbled in a state of grogginess. The launch crewmen helped carry him to the boat, and they all returned to the Dauphine.

After Trevor was hoisted aboard in the launch, Summer accompanied him to the ship’s medical station while Dirk was escorted to the bridge. The ship’s captain, a short man with thinning hair, looked Dirk up and down with an air of disdain.

“Who are you and why did you set fire in our path?” he asked pointedly.

“My name is Pitt, from the National Underwater and Marine Agency. You can’t proceed down the strait or you’ll kill everyone aboard. That white mist ahead of you is a lethal cloud of carbon dioxide gas being discharged by a tanker ship. We had to abandon our boat and swim to shore, and my sister and another man barely escaped death.”

The executive officer stood nearby, listening. He shook his head and snickered.

“What an absurd tale,” he said to another crewman loud enough for Dirk to hear.

Dirk ignored him, standing toe-to-toe with the captain.

“What I have said is true. If you want to risk killing the thousands of passengers aboard, then go right ahead. Just put us ashore before you proceed.”

The captain studied Dirk’s face, searching for signs of lunacy but finding only stone-cold reserve. A crewman at the radar station broke the tension.

“Sir, we’re showing a stationary vessel in the fogbank, approximately one-half mile off our starboard bow.”

The captain digested the information without comment, then looked again at Dirk.

“Very well, we shall alter course and avoid further progress through the strait. Incidentally, the Coast Guard is on their way. If you are mistaken, Mr. Pitt, then you will be subject to their prosecution.”

A minute later, a thumping noise approached, and an orange-and-white U.S. Coast Guard helicopter from Prince Rupert appeared out the port window.

“Captain, if you would, please advise the pilot to avoid flying into or above the white cloud. It might prove enlightening if he also did a flyby around the northwest coast of Gil Island,” Dirk requested.

The captain obliged, advising the Coast Guard pilot of the situation. The helicopter disappeared for twenty minutes, then reappeared above the cruise ship and called on the radio.

“Dauphine, we have confirmed the presence of an LNG tanker at a floating terminal on the north coast of Gil Island. It appears you may be correct about an unlawful discharge of gas. We are issuing marine hazard warnings through the Canadian Coast Guard and Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Advise you to alter course to the channel west of Gil Island.”

The captain thanked the Coast Guard pilot, then configured an alternate route around Gil Island. A few minutes later, he approached Dirk.

“It would seem that you have saved my ship from an immeasurable tragedy, Mr. Pitt. I apologize for our skepticism and thank you for the warning. If there is anything at all I can do to