Havana Storm (Dirk Pitt 23)

Knight shrugged him off. “Get to the boats and launch them. I’m going to make a final pass forward.”

“Don’t risk it, sir,” the engineer yelled. But Knight had already vanished into a swirl of smoke.

The stern was rising precariously as he stepped across the deck. Through the smoke, he caught a brief glimpse of the bow already awash. He ran to the waterline, scanning the deck for any last crewmen. A pair of loud splashes told him the two lifeboats had jettisoned. The realization gave him a sense of relief—and terror.

The acrid smoke burned his eyes and choked his lungs. He called out a last plea to abandon ship. As he turned to move aft, he noticed a boot protruding from behind a deck crane. It was his executive officer, a man named Gordon. His clothes were charred and his hair singed. He peered at Knight through glassy eyes.

The captain tried pulling him up. “Gordon, we have to get off the ship.”

The exec screamed at his touch. “My leg!”

Knight saw that one of Gordon’s legs was twisted at an obscene angle, a bloodied piece of bone protruding through his trousers near the knee. A knot twisted in the captain’s stomach.

A crash disrupted his thoughts as a bundle of drill pipe broke free and tumbled into the water. Tortured groans emanated from belowdecks as the hull strained under the imbalance of the rising stern. The deck shuddered beneath Knight’s feet as the ship tried a last-gasp fight to stay afloat.

Slipping an arm around Gordon, Knight tried to raise the injured man. Gordon let out a raspy grunt before falling limp in Knight’s arms. The captain struggled to lift the officer, but his own knees, weakened by an ancient football injury, wouldn’t allow it. The two sagged to the deck as a generator broke loose and slid across it, missing the men by inches.

The Alta had but seconds left. Knight resigned himself to a mortal ride to the seafloor.

Then a crisp voice cut the air. “I’d suggest a quick exit before we all get our feet wet.”

Knight snapped his head toward the voice, but a thick cloud of smoke obscured his vision. Then a tall, dark-haired man emerged from the haze, his luminous green eyes surveying the scene.

“Where . . . where did you come from?”

“The R/V Sargasso Sea,” Pitt said. “We received your distress call and came at full speed.”

He looked at Gordon and then at Knight, noticing his shirt’s shoulder insignia. “How bad is your man hurt, Captain?”

“Broken leg.”

A deep rumble shook the ship as its stern tilted higher. Pitt rushed over to the two men, clutching a safety harness attached to a rope. He secured the harness around Knight. “Can you hang on to him?”

Knight nodded. “As long as I don’t have to walk.”

Pitt hoisted Gordon’s limp body and draped it over Knight’s shoulder. “I’m afraid you may have to get a little wet after all.”

He pulled a handheld radio from his belt and called to the Sargasso Sea. “Bring it up gently.”

The deck lurched. “She’s going under!” Knight yelled.

The Alta’s captain saw the harness line pull taut as the ship began to slide beneath his feet. He felt a hand shove him as the water rushed up to him. It was Pitt, pushing him toward the rail.

He clung tightly to Gordon as they were pulled underwater. They banged against a ventilator box, and Knight felt the harness jerk as a boil of water rushed around them. The water suddenly calmed as the harness continued to strain against his chest. Then they broke free and were dangling above the waves.

Knight looked up to see a turquoise-colored ship pulling them to safety, the harness line attached to a crane that stretched over the side rail. He tightened his grip on Gordon’s body, which felt noticeably heavier. The first officer retched, and his gasps confirmed that he was still breathing.

Knight rotated to see the last of the Alta, its bronze propeller cutting the empty sky, just before the ship plunged beneath the surface amid a grumble of twisting metal and escaping air. The ship’s twin lifeboats and the floating decompression chamber pod bobbed nearby, safely clear of the sinking ship’s suction.

Knight focused his gaze on a ring of bubbling water that marked the ship’s demise. A few bits of flotsam drifted to the surface, but there was no sign of the man who had just saved his life.

7

Pitt felt like he was riding the nose of a freight train barreling through a dark tunnel.

After pushing Knight and Gordon clear, he tried to get himself over the rail. But the plunging vessel moved too quickly, and the rush of water threw him against a deck-mounted crane. The acceleration of the sinking ship kept him pinned as the water hurled against him.

He ignored a pain in his ears from the increasing pressure and pulled his way along the crane. A cacophony of muffled metallic sounds vibrated through the water as loose materials smashed into the ship’s bulkheads. A severed stanchion came hurtling into the crane, missing Pitt by mere inches.