Devour (13 page)

Thor turned to her, favoring his hurt foot a little. “I am ship security,” he said, then gestured toward Frankie. “So is he. We are looking for the girl for hours now.”

The eyes turned back to Frankie, not quite believing, and he could feel his face burning into their brains, the last thing he wanted. No, he supposed, the last thing he wanted was to be here a minute longer, trapped in this domestic drama when he had work to do. They would remember him now, for better or worse. He pulled his radio from his belt and turned it to the command center channel. “Captain Moore, this is Frankie. Taylor’s been found and delivered to her room. She seems fine, but I want you to send Dr. Perle down to take a look. Copy?”

There was a long pause, and Frankie was pretty sure everyone was thinking the same thing:
if the captain doesn’t respond
. . .

Hell, he was thinking it, too.

The radio crackled. “That’s great news, Frank.”

Frankie had never cared for the captain’s tone; dry and deep, it had a commanding tone that made Frankie feel like a working stiff, instead of the guy in charge. But the parents visibly relaxed, and a moment later, when Moore announced over the intercom that the girl had been found, people started moving again, disregarding Frankie as they tried to make their way into the room to see Taylor, not touching her but smiling at her, talking in soft tones about how happy they were to see her. Thor was leaning down to whisper into her father’s ear, and whatever he was saying finally drained the anger out of the man’s face, replacing it with a confused sort of apprehension. Then Thor turned the man to face Taylor, who was still looking up at him, and father and daughter embraced. The people in the room smiled, the women holding their hands to their mouths. A few people actually clapped.

Thor worked his way back out of the small room. “You ready,
chef
?”

“No,” Frankie said. “We wait until Perle gets here.”

It was a good five minutes until the doctor arrived, his fringe of hair rumpled. He nodded at Frankie as he went past, leaving a scent trail of cologne over the top of cheap gin. Perle went into the room, gave Taylor a tight smile, and made a shooing gesture at the crowd. “Everyone out, except the girl and her mother. Back to your rooms.” He turned to Frank. “The captain says thank you, and that you should get some rest. If I see anything of concern, I’ll let you know.”

That did it. The last remaining tension in the room deflated and the people went back to their rooms. He looked straight at them, remembering the old trick he had heard, that it was harder to remember a face that looked you straight in the eyes than it was to remember a face you saw at a quartering angle. He wasn’t sure if it was good advice—the guy he heard it from eventually got picked out of a lineup for a carjacking, spent seven years inside before getting killed in the yard. No, probably it was bullshit, but it did make the people look down right away, so there was some benefit to it.

The father exited last, not looking at anyone. Frankie thought it would be a good time to punch the guy in the kidney, send him down to smell the carpet.

“Come on,” Thor said, putting a heavy hand on Frankie’s shoulder. “Leave him.”

“I ain’t gonna do nothing.”

“Swedes can smell evil thoughts. Come on.”

Frankie watched as Taylor’s father walked down the hall. “What’d you tell him?”

“The truth,” Thor said. “You were good guy, but sometimes with the bad temper.” He glanced down the hallway, saw that Taylor’s father had disappeared, and let his hand drop from Frankie’s shoulder. “And that I, personally, did not care for what he had done.”

Frankie looked up at Thor’s face, which was without a shred of humor. “Sweden is one of those neutral nations, right? Full of level-headed people?”

Thor shook his head. “Only to a certain point. Then Svear go Viking, chop down people who get in the way.” He shifted his weight from his good foot to the bad, then back again. “Sometimes is easier to chop.”

“I got your name right after all,” Frankie said. “Good old fuckin’ Thor. Listen, you stay by my side from now on. We got some work to do, it might need some chopping. How’s your foot?”

“It’s a little sore.”

“Sorry we had that misunderstanding,” Frankie said. “There’s a couple other guys I shoulda stabbed in the foot before you.”

Thor waved it off. “It’s nothing. Do we go to the deck at seven, for the drill?”

“That’s for the civilians,” Frankie said. “We’re gonna go downstairs, get the boys to play some cards.”

G
illy bent over the doghouse, his tools placed carefully on a piece of canvas on the deck. The deck was dim and wet, the rising sun hidden behind the fogbank. The two cordless lights planted inside the doghouse created huge hand shadows as Gilly maneuvered the Dewalt cordless drill with one hand, backing out the long anchor bolts on the fuel pump.

Brian was quiet. He’d learned at age six that offering advice to a guy with bloody knuckles, especially one forced to work at an odd angle, wasn’t a good idea.

The wind had not swung around to the east. It had stayed north until dawn, and when dawn arrived, the
Tangled Blue
’s wind vane edged to the northwest. For some time their drift remained parallel with the coast, and then they had slowly started to slide out into the open ocean. Overhead, the fog rolled over them in an endless gray curtain, blowing apart and then coming back together.

“There she is,” Gilly said, sliding the pump off its mounting posts. He ran his fingers down the intake fuel line, pinched it, and cut it free. He repeated the process on the other side of the pump and climbed out of the doghouse, holding the pump by the flexible fuel lines. Brian handed him a coffee can and Gilly drained the lines into it, the milky diesel swirling across the bottom of the can.

“Shit,” Gilly said, staring at the bottom of the coffee can. “Look at all that water.”

“Surprised we’re still running,” Brian said. “She looks like half-and-half.”

“That’s a good old American engine for ya,” Gilly said. “But there ain’t a lot we can do about the fuel. I bet most of the water’s floating on top of the fuel. We rev her up, pound into the waves, we’ll just mix it back up.”

Brian stared into the fog, thinking. Gilly was almost always right when it came to matters of the ship. Now that it was daylight they could see the ragged gash in the side of the
Tangled Blue
where the
Archos
’s hull had smashed into them last evening, fracturing the tank. Their entire fuel supply was compromised, and the auxiliary tank had been cracked when Brian had bought the ship six years earlier.

“So we try a Mayday.”

“I guess so,” Gilly said, digging in his shirt pocket for a cigarette. “Shit, Brian. I don’t know what else we can do.”

Brian reached for the radio, then paused. There was a green mark on the radar; it had crept in while they were dismantling the fuel pump. It was about a half mile to their south, somewhere in the thick fog. Gilly stepped up next to him and they both watched as the radar painted its picture on the screen. They were drawing closer to the object, which appeared to be moving slowly south.

“Fishing boat?” Gilly said. “Drifting off a kelp bed?”

“In this?” Brian gestured at the roiling sea around them. “Too big for a trawler, at any rate.”

Brian picked up the radio, confirmed it was on Channel 16, and spoke into the mike. “This is a private American fishing vessel
Tangled Blue
calling the unnamed ship located near—” He paused, and read the coordinates off the GPS. “Do you read me, over?”

Gilly leaned close, studying the shape on the radar screen. “Merchant ship, maybe.”

“I don’t know. It might be a—”

“Copy that,
Tangled Blue
. This is the
Nokomis
, an American entertainment ship operating in international waters. Captain Donald Moore speaking.”

Brian closed his eyes and exhaled softly. “This is Captain Brian Hawkins from the
Tangled Blue
,” he said. “We’re having a bit of engine trouble, Captain Moore. Seek permission to dock alongside
Nokomis
to make repairs.” The large ship would have fuel transfer pumps, and they could suck the bad fuel out, drum it, and probably buy enough fresh diesel to make their way back in. No need for a tow, or even the potential salvage fee.

He waited for Captain Moore to grant permission. After a minute, Brian shot Gilly a quizzical look. “Captain Moore? Did you receive my last transmission, over?”

“Roger, Captain Hawkins. Please stand by, over.”

There was silence, followed by a long burst of static as the
Nokomis
’s captain keyed the mike. “
Tangled Blue
, be advised the
Nokomis
is operating in a disabled state. Docking of your vessel is not recommended in light of the current conditions. Repeat, sideboard docking is not recommended at this time. Over.”

“What is the nature of your mechanical issues?”

Another long pause. “We have lost power to our outdrive.” Moore’s tone was clipped. “We are taking on a small amount of water and have deployed the anchor. We have very limited maneuverability,
Tangled Blue
.”

Brian glanced at Gilly. His first mate gave him a shrug and Brian pressed down on the mike as he turned the rudder of the
Tangled Blue
toward the
Nokomis
. “Thank you for your advisement, Captain. We’ll be on your western flank in fifteen minutes.”

* * *

They pulled in the drift sock and Brian brought the boat up to four knots, nursing the port engine toward the green demarcation on the radar. In a few minutes, the ship appeared, a darker shape amid the gloom. He approached slowly, taking the waves at a quartering angle. The ship was bigger than he’d thought, and they were running crossways into the seas.

“Lost its outdrive?” Gilly mused. “And what’d he say it was, an entertainment ship?”

“Yeah.”

“Like a floating brothel?”

“You wish,” Brian said. The glimmer of hope was growing by the minute. He wouldn’t lose his ship, he wouldn’t lose his profession. And they had not returned empty-handed; they had saved a life. At the very least it would make a good story to tell at the Riff-Raff. “Pretty high-flanked.”

“Yup,” Gilly said. “We’re gonna scratch her pretty paint, we don’t come in just right.”

“I can’t come up aft,” Brian said. “We’ll smash right into her in these waves. I’ll run alongside, nestle right in.” He glanced at Gilly. “They don’t offer a tender, you throw a grapple up there. Don’t snag a hooker.”

“If I do, I get to keep her,” Gilly said. He checked the inflatable life vest on his belt. It was the only kind Brian liked; just yank on the cord, it inflated, and all you had to do was slip it over your head. “You serious about the grapple?”

“They don’t offer a rope,” Brian said, “You hook on to her. We aren’t going to float away with our good manners.” They could see the ship’s lettering now, could see a crowd of people standing on the deck. He handed Gilly the binoculars. “What’re they doing up there?”

Gilly raised the binoculars. There were large groups of people standing in knots along the length of the
Nokomis
, listening to several men, one of whom was gesturing with his arms. The rising sun was somewhere behind them, a brighter area in the fog. “Looks like he’s showing them how the lifeboats are launched.”

“Great,” Brian said. He picked up the mike and hailed the
Nokomis
. “We’re coming alongside,
Nokomis
. Send down a rope.”

Brian nosed the
Tangled Blue
forward, and now some of the people on the deck had seen him and were gesturing their way. It was hard to tell in the fog and low light, but the
Nokomis
looked like it was noticeable lower in the stern, the bilges spraying out steady streams of water.
Taking on a bit of water
, Moore had said. Well, it was a big ship, and big ships didn’t go down easily. As long as he had a few hours for Gilly to work his magic, the
Tangled Blue
would be fine, too.

Brian swung the bow around so it was facing into the waves, then put the transmission in reverse to feather them alongside the
Nokomis
. The deck way was about five feet above the flybridge. Gilly moved to the starboard side and dropped down a line of inflatable bumpers to keep the two hulls from touching. They were on the leeward side, the water as calm as he’d been in since leaving the marina.

“
Tangled Blue
is on your starboard,” he called out on the loudspeaker. “Toss a rope over and we’ll hook up.”

They were more than halfway down the flank of the ship when a rope thumped onto the deck. Gilly dropped his grapple and quickly looped the rope around the cleat aft of the captain’s chair, then walked to the stern cleat and repeated the process. When he was done, he had twenty feet of rope left, which he threw back up to the
Nokomis
’s deck way. A moment later the rope was pulled tight, the
Tangled Blue
bumping lightly alongside the
Nokomis
.

Brian let out a long breath. It was the same feeling he’d had when he first started fishing, back when he would run out into the building storms, setting lines as the barometer plunged. The fish would often be extremely aggressive just before the storms, but the best action happened well offshore and he would have to battle his way home, white-knuckled, the lightning cracking the sky open above them. Everything inside clenched and puckered—
we’re all watertight now
, Gilly would say—the fish slopping in the hold, waves crashing against the pier heads. And then, finally, entry into the calmer waters of the harbor, everything loosening up in him that had been clenched. The sudden relaxation that washed his mind of everything.

He turned to Gilly, who was shrugging on his backpack, and nodded. His first mate grinned back at him and had just opened his mouth to say something when the back of the
Tangled Blue
exploded.

A wall of water washed over Gilly, sending him against the gunnels. Underneath the water was a huge head with massive jaws. Brian watched, paralyzed, as the head swung from side to side like a battering ram, smashing into the hull and then thrashing from side to side, ripping the boat apart from the inside out. The back half of the
Tangled Blue
went under, sending water rushing up the tilted deck, flooding over his boots and pouring into the cuddy.

The creature bulled its way forward, halfway hidden in the water and fragments of the disintegrating boat. Gilly was cornered, the boat disassembling in front of him, the high flanks of the
Nokomis
blocking his retreat. The creature surged forward and the boat crinkled, structural runners snapping like toothpicks. Brian could see a tail lashing at the surface, many yards away. His first thought was that there must be two of them, whatever they were, and then he realized that, no, it was just the one.

“The rope!” he shouted to Gilly as the boat tipped backwards, porpoising, the bow pointing to the sky. “Climb the rope!”

Gilly leaped for the stern mooring rope, which had broken loose under the impact. He caught it and clenched his feet around it, beginning to worm his way upward, curling his body around the thick rope.

My fat ass will never do that
, Brian thought, and then the beast smashed into the hull again and the back half of the
Tangled Blue
was ripped free. Released from the weight of the engines, the front of the boat slapped back down onto the water. Almost immediately it filled with water and began to list to one side, held in place only by the stern mooring line. Brian saw instantly that the rope wouldn’t last. Once the boat filled with water, the rope would snap or the cleat would pull free.

“Wells! Get up here!”

Wells let out a strangled cry from the cuddy, which was already almost submerged. Brian clambered down the stairs into chest-deep water and saw Wells struggling to get out of his sleeping bag. His eyes were wide with panic, his left arm clawing at the zipper. He unzipped him, grabbed Wells in a loose headlock, and pulled him toward the stairs, which had turned into a surging waterfall. Something barred his path and he looked down in the water. The old Ithaca flare gun had fallen loose from its clips and was leaning across the stairwell. He grabbed it in his free hand, slung the strap over his shoulder, and pushed Wells onto the deck.

The
Tangled Blue
was nearly swamped, held afloat only by one strained rope. The foam insulation blown into its cavity had been shredded under the assault, and the water was covered with the sheen of fuel and smashed pieces of fiberglass. The top of the flybridge was almost level with the deck on the
Nokomis
; they could jump from the flybridge to the safety of the larger ship.

He pushed Wells up the first couple rungs and was about to follow when he heard the water boil behind him. The creature was just off the stern, partially hidden by the distortion of the rainbow-colored sheen. Then two huge nostrils broke the surface, followed by the eyes. Brilliant green, and containing an awareness Brian had never seen in a fish or sea creature before. It was striped, Brian saw, long jagged lines that looked like the sea’s surface on days when the clouds raced across the sun.

And for a moment, as the jaws began to open, he thought it was not only colored like the ocean—it
was
the ocean, the savage embodiment of it.

Above him, Wells stumbled across the
Tangled Blue
’s flybridge to where she was butted up against the larger ship. Wells held up his arms, and Gilly and another deckhand yanked him over the railing and onto the
Nokomis.
Brian was still only a quarter way up the flybridge ladder.

“Climb!” Gilly shouted from what seemed like an incredible distance. “Jesus, Brian,
climb
!”

Brian shrugged the shotgun off his shoulder, broke it open, and slapped in two flares from the elastic shell carrier that was fitted over the stock. He heard the creature suck in air, heard the slither as water passed over its hide, and forced himself not to look up until the breech snapped closed.