Arctic Drift (Dirk Pitt 20)

“She’s bone-dry, sir,” he said to Stenseth.

The Narwhal ’s captain knew it was coming. They would have made it to shore had they sailed solo. But the two fully laden Zodiacs tailing behind had acted like a sea anchor, sapping their forward progress. Fighting choppy seas and a strong southerly current had not helped matters. But there was never a thought of abandoning the men in the other boats.

“Break out the oars, a man to a side,” Stenseth ordered. “Let’s try and hold our heading.”

Leaning over toward the helmsman, who was an expert navigator, he quietly asked, “How far to King William Island, would you estimate?”

The helmsman’s face twisted.

“Difficult to gauge our progress under these conditions,” he replied in a low tone. “It seems to me that we ought to be within five miles or so of the island.” He shrugged his shoulders slightly, indicating his uncertainty.

“My thoughts as well,” Stenseth replied, “though I hope we’re a far sight closer.”

The prospect of not reaching land began to gnaw at his fears. The seas had not turned, but he was certain that the breeze had stiffened slightly. Decades at sea had honed his senses to the weather. He could feel in his bones that the waters were going to roughen a bit more. In their precarious state of navigation, it would probably be enough to do them all in.

He gazed back at the black inflatable boats trailing behind in the mist. Under the faintly brightening dawn, he could begin to make out the faces of the rescued men. A number of them were in poor shape, he could tell, suffering the ill effects of prolonged exposure. But as a group, they were a model of quiet bravery, not a one lamenting their condition.

Murdock caught Stenseth’s gaze and shouted out to him.

“Sir, can you tell us where we are?”

“Victoria Strait. Just west of King William Island. Wish I could say that a passing cruise liner is on its way, but I have to tell you that we’re on our own.”

“We’re grateful for the rescue and for keeping us afloat. Do you have an extra set of oars?”

“No, I’m afraid you are still at our mercy for propulsion. We should reach landfall before long,” he called out in a falsely optimistic tone.

The Narwhal ’s crew took turns pulling at the oars, with even Stenseth working a shift. It was a laborious effort to make headway, made frustrating by the inability to gauge their progress in the misty gloom. Stenseth occasionally strained his ears to detect

the sound of waves rolling against a shoreline, but all he could hear was the sound of swells slapping against the three boats.

True to his forecast, the seas began to gradually rise with the stiffening breeze. More and more waves started splashing over the sides of the tender, and several men were soon assigned bailing detail to stem the flooding. Stenseth noted that the Zodiacs were suffering the same fate, taking on water repeatedly over the stern. The situation was rapidly becoming dire, and there was still no indication that they were anywhere near land.

It was when a change of oarsmen took place that a crewman seated in the bow suddenly yelled out.

“Sir, there’s something in the water.”

Stenseth and the others immediately gazed forward, spotting a dark object at the edge of the fog. Whatever it was, Stenseth thought, he knew it wasn’t land.

“It’s a whale,” somebody shouted.

“No,” Stenseth muttered quietly, noting that the object sitting low in the water was colored black and unnaturally smooth. He looked on suspiciously, observing that it didn’t move or make a sound.

Then a loud voice, electronically amplified to thundering proportions, burst through the fog. Every man jumped, losing a beat of the heart at the sudden divulgence. Yet the words came forth with a puzzling sentiment, incongruous with the harsh surrounding environment.

“Ahoy,” called the invisible voice. “This is the USS Santa Fe. There is a hot toddy and a warm bunk awaiting any among you that can whistle ‘Dixie.’ ”

79

CLAY ZAK COULD NOT BELIEVE HIS EYES.

After disposing of the NUMA ship, he’d turned the icebreaker back toward the Royal Geographical Society Islands, then retired to his cabin. He’d tried to sleep but only rested fitfully, his mind too focused on locating the ruthenium. Returning to the bridge after just a few hours, he ordered the ship to West Island. The vessel plowed through the bordering sea ice, advancing to his revised location of the ruthenium mine.

The geologists were roused from their bunks as the ship slowly ground to a halt. A minute later, the helmsman noted a bright object at the edge of the sea ice.

“It’s the submersible from the research ship,” he said.

Zak jumped to the bridge window and stared in disbelief. Sure enough, the bright yellow submersible was wedged in the ice off to their starboard, just barely visible through the gray fog.