Ghost Ship (NUMA Files 12)

“Any idea why?” Paul asked. “She should have rusted to pieces years ago.”

“I think it’s the sediment,” the chief said. “It’s very dense, more like clay. It seals so tightly it blocks out most of the oxygen. Less oxygen means less rust, less rust means a strong hull.”

“Sounds good,” Paul said. He wondered how the exterior looked. “Duke, are you finished with your survey?”

Duke’s voice came back after a slight delay. “A f f i r m a t i v e ,” he said.

“How’s she looking below the waterline?”

“The plating is in great shape,” Duke replied. “If the chief is right, then I’d guess the exterior was sealed up with mud almost from the moment she went aground.”

Paul was glad to hear that. “Good news all around.” “Okay if we head back to Condor for some lunch and dry clothes?” Duke had been in the water for three hours already. “You’ve earned it,” Paul said.

“Roger that. Duke out.”

Paul turned his attention back to the interior. “What do you think, Chief? Are we going to make it in?”

NUMA had plans to bring the Waratah into Durban two days hence. She wouldn’t make Cape Town—her official destination when she’d vanished—but if she reached Durban, it would be a triumphant homecoming.

“We have a good chance,” the chief replied. “The only real danger is that she was obviously sitting aground somewhere for a long time. A ship isn’t supposed to be out of the water and resting all its weight on the bottom like that. We can already see some deformity in the plating underneath.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” “I wouldn’t want to ride out a storm on her,” the chief said. “But if the weather stays nice, I think we’ll be okay.”

“Good work,” Paul said. “Check in with me when you get topside.”

“Wilco,” the chief said. “Going to recheck the stern and make sure we’re not taking on water through the propeller shaft tube.”

Paul clipped the radio back on his belt, grabbed a shovel, and joined the crew in clearing the deck.

Meanwhile, Gamay and Elena explored the interior of the ship, hoping to shed some light on the mystery. A dedicated search of the bridge, captain’s quarters, and other official spaces gave little away. The logbooks were gone, along with the vast majority of personal possessions.

“Let’s check the passenger cabins,” Gamay suggested.

Elena nodded and followed Gamay deeper into the ship. They descended the main stairway, encrusted with black mold and layers of gunk, arrived at the main passenger level and entered a hall as dark as any mine shaft. With only their flashlights for illumination, the two women moved slowly.

Down here, the musty odor was almost overpowering, as the floor, ceiling, and walls were covered in the same gunk as the stairwell. The sound of water dripping added to the cavelike atmosphere.

“Kind of creepy down here,” Elena said.

“On that we agree,” Gamay said.

From above they heard occasional clanging and the disembodied echo of the deck crew’s voices as they shouted to one another, but they were muted and distant like voices from the past.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Elena asked.

“No,” Gamay said. “And neither do you.”

Elena chuckled. “Well, if I did, this is where I’d expect to find one. All those people lost and never found. I’ve heard that angry spirits cling to the last place they were alive. Haunting it. Waiting for someone to find them and set them free.”

With Elena going on about ghosts, Gamay felt the prickle of goose bumps on her skin. “I’ll take a ghost over another crocodile any day,” she said.

It took a while but they’d soon checked through every one of the first-class cabins.

“Notice something?” Gamay asked.

“No clothing. No luggage,” Elena said.

“And no jewelry,” Gamay said. They’d been working on the theory that the ship ran aground somewhere and the passengers and crew died waiting for rescue. But the fact that they’d found only one of the ship’s lifeboats suggested something else.