Havana Storm (Dirk Pitt 23)

“Assault rifles on a mining ship. Lovely,” he said, angered at the notion they had arrived unarmed.

“We better keep a low profile. It looks like there are a few scattered work details still about as well.”

“That may not be a bad thing, if we can mix with the locals.”

Dirk spied an enclosed operator’s cab affixed to the crane they were hiding behind. “I think I see something.”

He crept to the cab door, climbed inside, and he found a work coat draped over the operator’s seat and a hard hat hanging from a hook. He grabbed both and returned to Giordino.

“Too short for me,” he said, holding up the jacket. “You’re elected to join the ship’s crew.”

Giordino squeezed his torso into the coat and pulled the hat low. “This should pass muster. Let’s go see what we can find.”

He stepped onto the deck and moved along the starboard rail as if he’d worked aboard the ship for years. Dirk followed a few paces behind, holding to the shadows. They passed beneath a massive conveyor apparatus used to offload ore, then approached the bulk cutter machine’s hangar.

Several crewmen were milling about, some wearing full protective suits and breathing devices. Giordino stood at the fringe until a lone crewman carrying a clipboard stepped in his direction. Giordino waved him over as if to point out a problem with some equipment. When he drew near, Giordino put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Where’s the man and woman from the submersible?” he asked.

The crewman gaped at Giordino a moment, then jabbered a litany of his own questions. Dirk materialized behind him and grabbed his arms, allowing Giordino an unfettered punch to the man’s chin. The man instantly fell limp.

“That wasn’t very sporting,” Giordino whispered, rubbing his knuckles.

“The consequence of a wrong answer.” Dirk dragged the crewman behind a large drum winch and stripped him of his jumpsuit and clipboard. He rejoined Giordino, moving forward along the deck. They stopped and ducked into the side of the hangar when they noticed a pair of armed guards approaching from the other direction.

Dirk and Giordino approached the bulk cutter and pretended to inspect its steel treads. The guards paid little attention as they strolled past. Once they were out of sight, Giordino started to exit the bay, but Dirk grabbed his arm.

“Al, over here.”

Dirk pulled him aside as a grease-stained mechanic walked by. He waited a moment, then steered Giordino to the other end of the bulk cutter. At the back of the hangar was a large oblong object covered in canvas tarps. Dirk pulled back a corner and saw a familiar yellow shape underneath. “It’s the Starfish,” he said. “They brought it aboard.”

Pitt and Summer weren’t trapped at the bottom of the sea. In all likelihood, they were alive and well somewhere aboard the ship.

“Why would they bring them aboard and hide the fact?” he asked.

“Who knows? Maybe they’re mining here without authorization.”

They exited the hangar and peered toward the forward section of the ship.

“They probably have them locked in a cabin,” Giordino said. “Let’s see if we can find them.”

They made their way to the six-story accommodations block near the bow. Entering an open side door, they searched the first two floors, finding a galley, a wardroom, and several storage lockers. At that late hour of the night, there were only a few sleepy crew members about, waiting for their shifts to end. On the third level, they stumbled into a lounge fronting the crew’s cabins. Three off-duty soldiers sat playing cards. Giordino eyed the adjacent corridors to the cabins. Finding them empty, he smiled at the soldiers and led Dirk to the companionway.

One of the cardplayers gave a cold stare to the two strangers in ill-fitting jumpsuits, but his partners kept their focus on the card game at hand.

“Lucky for us,” Giordino said as they broached the fourth level, “it doesn’t appear as if the ship’s crew mingles with the Army boys.”

“Not so lucky, we’re running out of accommodations quarters.”

They found the fourth floor identical to the third, absent the cardplayers. There was no sign of visitors under guard.

As they ascended toward the fifth level, an alarm sounded. After thirty seconds, the siren ceased and a stern voice barked through the public-address system in rapid-fire Spanish.

“I think somebody woke up and wants his threads back,” Giordino said.

“Don’t tell me that jackhammer right of yours has lost some steam.”

He shrugged. “We all have our off days. Let’s take a quick look at the fifth floor, then hit the road.”

They scrambled up the stairwell to the next level, which was split between officers’ cabins on one