Valhalla Rising (Dirk Pitt 16)

"Another hundred people on this vessel will be the straw that broke the camel's back," said Burch soberly.

McFerrin looked at him. "We can't play God."

The expression on Burch's face was one of torment. "We can if it means the lives of all the passengers already aboard."

"I agree," Pitt said firmly. "They're better off sheltered from the worst of the storm on the Emerald Dolphin than coming on board the Deep Encounter."

Burch stared down at the deck for several moments, considering every option. Finally, he nodded wearily. "We'll keep the boats tied close to our stern in case their situation becomes critical and they have to come on board." Then he turned and looked at the wall of dark clouds that were rushing across the water like a thick swarm of locusts. "I can only hope God gives us a fighting chance."

The storm roared toward the little ship and its mass of humanity. Another few minutes and it would enshroud them. The sun had long disappeared, taking any hint of blue sky. The crests of the waves swirled like dervishes and threw off billows of froth and spray. Warm green water sloshed over the work deck, drenching those who were unable to find room below. As many as humanly possible had been shoved through the hatches, jammed into the passageways like commuters on a rush-hour bus.

Pulled close to the burning ship, those in the boats suffered more from the heat that radiated from the fire than from the wind and waves that tossed them about the stormy sea. Both Pitt and Burch kept a sharp eye on their condition, ready to haul them on board at the first sign of trouble.

If help did not come quickly and the Deep Encounter sank, taking its precious cargo with her, there would be few survivors.

"Do you know if anyone up there has a radio?" Pitt asked McFerrin.

"All officers carry portable radios."

"Their frequency?"

"Twenty-two."

Pitt held the radio close to his mouth and covered it with one side of his coat to cut down the sound of the wind that was building to a howl. "Emerald Dolphin, this is Deep Encounter. Is there an officer on board who can read me? Over." He repeated the request three times through heavy static before a voice came back.

"I hear you, Deep Encounter," a woman's voice replied. "Not well, but enough to understand you."

"I have a woman," said Pitt, looking at McFerrin.

"It sounds like Amelia May, our chief purser."

"The fire is causing interference. I can barely make her out."

"Ask how many people are on the forepeak," ordered Burch.

"Am I speaking to Amelia May?" Pitt inquired.

"Yes, how do you know my name?"

"Your second officer is standing beside me."

"Charles McFerrin?" she exclaimed. "Praise God. I thought Charlie died in the fire."

"Can you estimate the number of passengers and crew left on board?"

"My best guess is four hundred and fifty crew, with about sixty passengers. When can we begin to abandon the ship?"

Burch was looking up at the bow with an intense look of dismay. "No way we can take them aboard," he said again, with a sad shake of his head.

"Either way you look at it," said Pitt, "it's a no-win situation. The wind and sea are rising at an alarming rate. Our boats can't pick them up, and it would be suicide for them to jump into the water and attempt to swim to our ship."

Burch nodded in agreement. "Our only hope is for the British containership to get here in the next half hour. After that we're in God's hands."

"Ms. May," called Pitt. "Please listen to me. Our ship is loaded far beyond capacity. We are also in danger of sinking, due to a crushed hull. You must hold out until the weather slackens or a rescue ship arrives. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand," she echoed. "The wind is blowing the fire aft and the heat is not unbearable."

"Not for long," Pitt warned her. "The Dolphin is swinging around and will begin drifting broadside against the wind and current. The fire and smoke will move closer and pour off to your starboard."