Arctic Drift (Dirk Pitt 20) - Page 90
Murdock led the way across the hold, startling a pair of rats that somehow flourished even in the bitter cold.
“Didn’t want to say it in front of the men but that sounded like an onboard explosion to me,” he said.
“My thoughts as well,” Roman replied. “Do you think they mean to sink us?”
“We’ll know soon enough.”
The two men found another steel ladder on the opposite side of the hold, which they climbed up to a short passage that led to the number 2 hold. They repeated the process twice more, crossing the next two holds. As they climbed up the far side of the third hold, they could hear a distant sound of sloshing water. Reaching the last passageway, Roman scanned the number 4 hold with his light.
On the opposite corner, they spied a small river of water streaming down the bulkhead, splashing into a growing pool below. The explosion had left no gaping hole in the side of the hull but rather created a series of buckled steel plates that let the water seep in like a broad sieve. Murdock studied the damage and shook his head.
“Nothing we can do to slow that down,” he said. “Even if we had the proper materials, it’s too widely dispersed.”
“The water inflow doesn’t look too extreme,” Roman said, searching for something positive.
“It will only get worse. The damage appears to be just above the waterline, but the rough seas are spilling in. As the hold fills, the barge will begin to settle by the stern, allowing more water to rush in. The flooding will only accelerate.”
“But there’s a hatch on the passageway that we can lock. If the water is confined to this hold, shouldn’t we be all right?” R
oman asked.
Murdock pointed overhead. Ten feet above their heads, the bulkhead ended, replaced by a series of support beams that rose several more feet to the overhead deck.
“The holds are not watertight compartments,” he said. “When this hold floods, it will spill over into the number 3 hold and keep moving forward.”
“How much flooding can she withstand?”
“Since she’s empty, she should stay afloat with two holds flooded. If the seas are calm, she might hang on with a third flooded. But once the water starts hitting that number 1 hold, it will be all over.”
Dreading the answer, Roman asked how much time they had left.
“I can only guess,” Murdock said, his voice turning low. “I’d say two hours, tops.”
Roman aimed the dimming bulb of his penlight toward the trickle of water and slowly traced it down toward the bottom of the hold. A growing pool of black water was reflected in the distance, its shimmering surface a calling card of death.
68
AT THE FIRST VISIBLE SIGNS OF A LISTING STERN, Zak ordered the Otok to pull away from the barge. The sinking black hulk was quickly swallowed up by a bank of fog, its death throes proceeding without an audience. Zak himself quickly turned his back on the barge and its condemned occupants.
“Make for the NUMA ship,” he ordered. “And kill the running lights.”
The captain nodded, bringing the helm in line with the research ship’s fixed position, then gradually building speed until the icebreaker was running at ten knots. The lights of the Narwhal were unseen under the blanket of fog, so its pursuit was accomplished by radar. The research ship still held to a stationary position as the icebreaker quickly closed the gap between the vessels.
“Captain, when we approach to within three kilometers, I want to accelerate under full power. We’ll cross her bow about a kilometer off, to make her think we are running inland, then we will arc back as we draw near and strike her amidships.”
“You want me to ram her?” the captain said incredulously. “You’ll kill us all.”
Zak gave him a bemused look. “Not hardly. As you well know, this vessel has a five-foot-thick steel prow fronting a highly reinforced double hull. She could bull through the Hoover Dam without a scratch. Providing you avoid the Narwhal ’s own heavy bow, we’ll slice through her like butter.”
The captain peered at Zak with grudging respect. “You’ve studied my vessel well,” he said brusquely. “I just hope that Mr. Goyette takes the dry-dock repairs out of your salary and not mine.”
Zak let out a deep chortle. “My good Captain, we play our cards right and I’ll personally buy you your own fleet of icebreakers.”
T HOUGH THE DARK NIGHT and fog masked the sea, Bill Stenseth attentively tracked every movement of the icebreaker. With his radar operator absent, one of the many crewmen sent ashore in Tuktoyaktuk, Stenseth sat down and monitored the radar set himself. He had become alerted when he noted the distant radar image slowly split in two. Correctly guessing that the barge had been separated from the tow ship, he carefully began to track both images.
He anxiously watched the icebreaker close within three miles on an intercept course when he reached for the marine VHF radio.
“Unidentified vessel approaching south at 69.2955 North, 100.1403 West, this is the research vessel Narwhal. We are presently conducting an underwater marine survey. Please give clearance of two kilometers, over.”
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