End of Enemies

30

Nine hours after leaving Japan, Tanner and Cahil were nearing their destination.

Tired, sore, and anxious to be away from the constant hum of the Cessna’s engines, Tanner stared out the window at the barren shoreline jutting into the Chukchi Sea. They were 130 miles north of the Arctic Circle and 150 miles from mainland Russia. The water was a startling royal blue. In another month it would be a solid sheet of ice; already the surface looked slushy. Briggs could almost feel the cold in his bones.

“Reminds me of home,” Cahil shouted over the engines. Bear was a born-and-raised Monhegan Island fisherman.

“Glad you like it. Say, what’s the temp on the ground?”

“Midtwenties,” replied the pilot. “With windchill, five or ten degrees.”

Tanner grunted. “This is the last time I let Oaks plan my vacations.”

It had taken Oaken only a few hours to compute the wind and sea currents around Toshogu’s last known position and come up with a target area that stretched between Point Hope and Cape Lisbourne — almost 100 miles of desolate coastline.

Oaken said the Coast Guard had reported no distress calls from the area, which seemed to suggest Toshogu had not been in peril. So why had the crew allowed such a dangerous buildup of ice on the decks? Tanner wondered. One thing was certain: Rare was the disaster that could sink a ship so fast she couldn’t send a distress signal.

“Hold tight,” the pilot called. “We’re going in.”

They lined up over Point Hope’s single runway and touched down in a cross wind that whistled through the cabin and rattled the windows. They taxied toward a small Quonset hut. Hanging above its door a sign read, Point Hope International Airport — Hub to Nowhere.

“Enjoy, gentlemen,” the pilot said.

“Thanks.” Tanner said.

They climbed out amid swirling snow. The cold ripped the air from Tanner’s lungs. In all directions, all he could see was white. He slipped on his sunglasses.

“Hear that?” Cahil called.

“What?”

Cahil walked a quick circle. His boots crunched in the snow. “That. That’s how you know when it’s really cold.”

“Thanks, Bear, that’s handy information.”

The door of the hut cracked open, and an arm jutted out, waving them over.

Inside they found a bar, several pinball machines, and a short-order kitchen. The bartender/cook, who sat on a stool watching Wheel of Fortune, never looked up as they entered. The person attached to the waving arm was a bearded man in granny glasses. “Simon Braithwaite. Been expecting you.”

Tanner made the introductions. “How much did Walt tell you?”

“No more than I need to know. Come on, I’ve got somebody I want you to meet. I did some digging around.”

Tigara Tim’s bar was a squat log building sitting at the head of Point Hope’s docks. Through the swirling snow Tanner saw several fishing boats rocking at their moorings, and he caught the scent of tar and sea salt.

The bar was warm and dimly lit. Like a bad Western movie, all activity froze when they walked in. They followed Braithwaite to a corner booth. Several dozen eyes tracked them.

“I take it you don’t get many visitors,” Tanner said.

“Not many aside from the occasional cargo barge from Seattle. We’re early. They should be here in a bit.”

“Who?” Cahil asked.

“Shageluk. He and his two sons fish the coast. They’re Inupiaqs… Eskimos. They ran into something yesterday that might interest you.”

“Any luck with transportation?” Tanner asked.

“I think so. Can either of you fly?”

Tanner nodded. “I’d feel better if the weather lifted, though.”

“I’ll check the forecast. Here they are.”

Shageluk, dressed in jeans and a yellow anorak, nodded at Braithwaite then said something to his two sons, who took a table across the room. Simon slid over to make room for Shageluk, who sat down and nodded to Tanner and Cahil.

“You’re looking for a ship,” Shageluk said.

“That’s right.”

“Simon says you can be trusted. No one can know we talked.”

Tanner looked at Braithwaite. “What are we missing here?”

“There are only five registered fishing boats in Point Hope. If you don’t register, you don’t fish. Problem is, the fees run almost a quarter of an outfit’s annual net. Shageluk doesn’t have a permit, but he’s got a family to feed.”

“I understand,” Tanner said, then to Shageluk, “You have our word.”

Shageluk looked at Braithwaite, who nodded. Shageluk shrugged. “It was yesterday morning, about forty miles north of here. The fog was bad, and my radar was not working so good. We almost ran into her, she was so close. We saw her through the fog for a few minutes before we turned away.”

Tanner pulled a map from his pocket and spread it on the table. “Show me.”

Shageluk pointed. “Here.”

“How big was she?”

“About four hundred feet, wide in the beam.”

“Was she under way? Any sign of life?”

“I don’t think so. We didn’t want to be seen, though; we turned away quickly.”

“Running lights?” asked Tanner

“No. And no distress lights. We listened on the radio also. Nothing.”

For the next few hours, Shageluk explained, they kept getting sporadic radar contact on the ship, which seemed to be drifting toward the coast. Then, as they turned and headed for home, they saw her once more, this time ten miles from shore.

He pointed to the spot on the map about thirty-five miles north of Point Hope. “There. Very close to the coast.”

“You said this was yesterday. What time exactly?” Tanner asked.

“About eleven in the morning.”

He and Cahil exchanged glances. Too long, Briggs thought.

Though the Bell Koa helicopter’s heater was blowing full blast, the cabin temperature hovered around forty degrees. Tanner scanned the ground as it swept below the windshield. Aside from the occasional patch of evergreen, the land was uniformly gray tundra sprinkled with glacial scree.

“How’re we doing on gas?” Tanner asked.

“About ten minutes till turnaround,” Bear said.

Fuel was their main concern. Braithwaite had only been able to secure enough fuel for twelve hours’ flying time. Such was life in the Arctic Circle. Almost everything came at a premium… even light. This time of year, days and nights were equally divided, but with each passing week, Point Hope lost about an hour of daylight. By early December, they would have none at all until February.

According to their map, the coastline between Point Hope to Cape Lisbourne was pocked with hundreds of coves and inlets, any one of which could hide Toshogu. The likelihood of her running aground on a straight stretch of shoreline seemed slim. In three hours they’d found two grounded shipwrecks, both derelict trailers.

“You were up here last year, weren’t you?” Cahil said. “The pipeline thing.”

“Yep. Nearer Fairbanks, though. By comparison this is the dark side of the moon. Not exactly on Oaks’s vacation list.”

Cahil chuckled and tapped the gas gauge. “Time, bud.”

Bear swung the Koa around, dropped the nose, and headed south.

Tanner raised the binoculars. “We better get lucky soon, or we’ll be spending the winter up here.”

Their luck changed when they returned to their motel, the Starlight Inn. Their room was an aqua and gold nightmare. The pillows smelled like Lysol, and the bedspreads were emblazoned with the words, Starlight Inn: Comfort at a Discount. It was warm inside, though, which went a long way to balance the scales.

Tanner was taking off his boots when there was a knock at the door. Cahil opened it to find Abe, the motel’s owner/ manager/janitor/maid.

“Somebody called for you!” Abe was excited; Abe didn’t see many patrons.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Here. I didn’t read it.” Abe peered into the room. “You boys need anything? Towels? soap? More shampoo—”

“No, thanks, Abe. We’re doing great,” Tanner said.

Cahil said, “Maybe some coffee?”

“Surely! I’ll be back.”

Cahil shut the door and read the note. “Walt’s got something.”

“Don’t thank me,” Oaken said. “Thank Skip.”

“I’ll do that,” Tanner said. “Who’s Skip?”

“NPIC. He worked some overlay magic with the thermal images. From there, I punched in the current and weather data, and voilà.”

“How about ice? The water’s getting thick up here.”

“All in the numbers.”

“Oaks, you’re the best,” Tanner said, putting another mental check on his number-of-times-Oaks-has-saved-the-day list.

“Thanks. Hook up; I’ve got an image for you.”

Tanner attached his cell phone to their laptop computer. “Okay.”

“Go to channel four, then get back to me.”

Tanner switched channels, and moments later, the laptop’s screen was filled with an image of the coastline. Tanner switched back to Oaken. “Got it. What’re we looking for?”

“See the red dot about fifty miles north of you? Unless my numbers are skewed, that’s were she should be, give or take. That is, if she didn’t sink before she got there.”

Forty-eight miles north of Point Hope, Cahil lifted the Koa through the fog and swept over a ridge of evergreens. Through the mist Tanner caught a glimpse of a cove so small they’d almost passed it when something caught his eye: an elongated shape, straight lines against the cliff face.

“Swing her around, Bear, I think we’ve got something.”

Cahil banked hard and reversed course. As the cove again came into view, he stopped in a hover. Tanner opened the door, braced himself on the cabin frame, and leaned out. “Bear, are you seeing what I’m seeing?” he shouted.

“Damned right I do!”

The ship lay half-grounded on the beach, her bow on the sand, her stern still afloat in the cove. She was awash to her gunwales and listing a few degrees to port, with only the deck railing and the pilothouse visible. Wave after wave had washed over the decks, leaving an ever-thickening coat of ice.

“Size looks right,” Cahil said. “Superstructure, too.”

“There’s a moon pool on the afterdeck. Looks good.”

“Where do you want me to put her down?”

“Try the cliff. We can rope down.”

They secured one end of the rope to the helicopter’s landing strut, then tossed the other end over the edge. Tanner peeked over and saw the rope dangling into a three-foot gap between Toshogu and the cliff. The ship groaned and shifted, grating against the face. Ice popped, each as loud as a gunshot.

“She ain’t long for this world,” said Cahil.

High tide was less than twenty minutes away. Once it came, she would likely float free and capsize under the weight of the ice.

Tanner lowered himself over the cliff and rappelled to the bottom, where he swung out and hooked his foot over the encrusted railing. Ice snapped off and crashed to the deck below. He tied off the rope and belayed Cahil as he came down.

Every inch of exposed deck was thick with ice — a skating rink broken only by the derricks and J-shaped ventilators. The ice sparkled dully in the gray light.

Slipping and clutching for handholds, they left the railing and began picking their way across the canted deck. “Watch yourself, Briggs. If we fall in…”

“I know.” Three or four minutes to live, Tanner thought. “Check aft; I’ll go forward.”

Five minutes later, they met back on the forecastle. All entrances to the pilothouse were as good as welded shut. Even with blowtorches, it would take an hour to break through. They continued forward, scrambling and clawing until they reached the bow railing. Four feet below them, waves licked at the hull. Tanner shuffled forward, peered over the edge, then pulled back.

“Do you hear that?”

“What?” said Cahil

“Some kind of echo. Here, hold on to me.”

With Cahil clutching his belt, Tanner leaned farther over the railing. After a moment, he pulled himself back up. “There’s a hole about the size of a VW in the hull. The water’s filling it, but I think if we time it right…”

Cahil groaned. “Oh boy. We’re gonna get wet doing it. And you complain about Oaks planning bad excursions. So who goes first?”

“Me. It’s my bad idea.”