Flood Tide (Dirk Pitt 14)

"The Ancient Mariner and the Flying Dutchman had ghostly crews."

"Yes, but they were works of classic fiction."

Cabrillo set his pipe in an ashtray; he was beginning to look tired. "My theory about the United States blowing up the Panama Canal might have held water if you'd found her bowels filled with high explosives."

"Like the old lend-lease destroyer during a commando raid at Saint-Nazaire, France, in World War II," said Pitt.

"The Campbeltown. I remember. The British packed her with several tons of explosives and rammed her into the big dry dock at the Saint-Nazaire shipyard so the Nazis couldn't use it to refit the Tirpitz. With the help of a timing device, she blew to pieces several hours later, destroying the dry dock and killing over a hundred Nazis who came to stare at her."

"You'd need several trainloads of explosives to blow a ship the size of the United States out of existence and everything within a mile around her."

"Qin Shang is capable of most anything. Could it be he got his hands on a nuclear bomb?"

"Suppose he did?" suggested Pitt. "What's his upside? Who'd waste a good nuclear bomb unless you've got a target of conspicuous magnitude? What could he gain by leveling San Francisco, New York or Boston? Why spend millions reconverting a nine-hundred-and-ninety-foot ocean liner into a bomb carrier when he could have used any one of a thousand old obsolete ships? No, Qin Shang is not a fanatical terrorist with a cause. His religion is domination and greed. Whatever his grand design, it has to be devious and brilliant, one that you and I wouldn't have thought of in a million years."

"You're right," Cabrillo sighed. "Devastating a city and killing thousands of people is a no-win situation for a man of wealth. Especially when you consider that the bomb carrier could be traced back directly to Qin Shang Maritime."

"Unless," Pitt added.

"Unless?"

Pitt gave Cabrillo a distant look. "Unless the scheme called for a minimal amount of explosives."

"For what purpose?"

"To blow the bottom out of the United States and scuttle her."

"Now there's a possibility." Cabrillo's eyelids were beginning to droop. "I do believe you may be onto something."

"That could explain why Al found all the doors to the crew's quarters and lower cargo holds welded shut."

"Now all you need is a crystal ball to predict where Qin Shang intends to sink her ..." Cabrillo murmured softly. His voice trailed off as he drifted off to sleep.

Pitt started to say something, but saw that he would only be talking to himself. He quietly stepped from Cabrillo's cabin and softly closed the door.

Three days later the Oregon picked up the harbor pilot, passed through the shipping channel and slipped alongside the dock at Guam's commercial terminal. Except for the stump where her aft mast once stood and her pulverized stern, the ship looked little the worse for wear.

A string of ambulances was waiting on the dock to receive the wounded and transport them to the hospital at the island's naval station. The Chinese marines were the first to be taken away, followed by the ship's crew. Cabrillo was the last of the injured to leave the ship. After saying their goodbyes to the crew, Pitt and Giordino muscled aside the stretcher bearers and carried him down the gangway themselves.

"I feel like the sultan of Baghdad," said Cabrillo.

"You'll get our bill in the mail," Giordino told him.

They reached the ambulance and gently set the stretcher on the dock before loading it onto a gurney. Pitt knelt down and stared into Cabrillo's eyes. "It was an honor knowing you, Mr. Chairman."

"And a privilege to work with you, Mr. Special Projects Director. If you ever decide to leave NUMA and want a job sailing the seven seas to exotic ports, send me your resume."

"I don't mean to criticize, but I didn't exactly find the cruise aboard your ship a benefit to my health." Pitt paused and looked up at the rusty sides of the Oregon. "Sounds strange to say so, but I'm going to miss the old boat."

"Like

wise," Cabrillo agreed.

Pitt looked at him questioningly. "You'll mend and be back on board in no time."

Cabrillo shook his head. "Not after this trip. The Oregon's next voyage is to the scrap yard."

"Why?" asked Giordino. "Are the ashtrays full?"