Ghost Ship

THIRTEEN

Two days later, as dusk approached, Kurt and Joe sat on the gunwale of a small fishing boat as it rose and fell on the gentle waves of the Persian Gulf. The long-nosed boat had a small cabin at the back, twin outboards, and heaps of netting and storage containers — normally filled with ice to keep the day’s catch fresh. Two rods sprouted from holders at the stern, their lines strung out into the sea.“You sure you want to do this?” Joe asked.

“You sure you want to help a guy who might have lost a few screws recently?”

“Recently?” Joe laughed. “This may come as a shock to you, amigo, but I never thought you were playing with a full deck to begin with.”

Kurt couldn’t help but laugh. “You know you’re the only one who hasn’t asked me why I’m doing this.”

“That’s because it doesn’t matter to me,” Joe said firmly. “You need help. I’m here for you.”

Kurt nodded and looked beyond the fishing poles to the glittering buildings of Dubai, lit up in shimmering gold and bronze tones as the sun began to set behind them. Ignoring the glitter, he lowered his gaze and trained a powerful spotting scope on the burly profile of Acosta’s Massif.

“She’s thick all around,” Kurt said.

Mohammed El Din stepped from the small pilothouse. “Like Acosta himself, no?”

Kurt smiled and continued to study the vessel. “How fast do you think she is?”

“No idea,” El Din said. “I don’t design ships for a living.”

“I’d guess about twenty, twenty-five knots maximum,” Joe offered. “A lot faster than we’ll be in this thing.”

“She’s making smoke,” El Din said. “They must be getting ready to leave.”

Kurt agreed. “Time to put this plan into action.”

El Din moved to the driver’s seat and turned the key. The twin outboards sputtered to life amid a cloud of bluish smoke.

Joe went to the stern and began to reel in the fishing lines as El Din nudged the throttles off idle and eased the boat forward. He brought it around in a wide semicircle that would take them toward the channel.

Kurt pulled off his dishdasha to reveal a wet suit. He dropped to the floor and slid a tarp from what looked like a small torpedo with handles.

“Do you think this contraption of yours will work?” El Din asked.

“Of course it’ll work,” Joe interjected. “I built most of it.”

With care, Kurt and Joe had taken the batteries from the abandoned Tesla and mated them with an electrical motor from one of the car’s wheels. With a little ingenuity they’d welded that motor to a propeller taken from a speedboat.

After testing the motor and confirming their ability to control it, they’d wrapped the entire design in a thick plastic lining and then constructed a watertight body around it with fiberglass sections from the ruined Jet Ski and another small craft. High-strength epoxy sealed the joints in a messy fashion, and a coat of dark gray paint had been added to make the contraption less visible.

It looked like a child’s science project on steroids. Kurt would straddle it, controlling a rudder at the tail with his feet, and manipulating a pair of dive plains via handlebars would let him guide the propulsion unit.

“I admit, it’s not our most aesthetically pleasing design,” Kurt said. “But Joe and I were on a budget and a little pressed for time.”

“At least you go on the outside,” El Din said, then offered a look that suggested he might have misspoken. “You do sit on the outside, right?”

Kurt nodded. With the flick of a rubber-booted switch, he activated the power. A set of LEDs came on in the makeshift control unit. He twisted the throttle and the propeller spun with instant power. The electrical motor’s whining and the displaced air were the only sounds. But the power was obvious and instant.

“If you survive this,” Joe said, “I might start selling these on street corners.”

“I think you’ll find cash flow to be a problem,” Kurt said, “considering we took all the parts from an eighty-thousand dollar car.”

As the old fishing boat chugged forward, El Din asked the next question. “How do you plan to get on board once you catch them?”

“Like Spiderman,” Kurt said.

He moved to a locker, opened it, and pulled out four metallic objects. The first two were attached to a type of wrist brace. He slid them over his forearms and strapped them into place. They looked like the gauntlets worn by knights of old. The next two were attached to knee braces, like those worn by skiers who’d injured themselves. They were bulky and awkward, but they strapped on tightly, fitting over Kurt’s wet suit.

Kurt smiled, proud of his ingenuity. Each brace had a lithium-ion battery of its own and a powerful electromagnet attached to it. After adjusting the braces for comfort, he powered up the one on his right arm by tapping a thumb switch and held his arm out over a metal tackle box. The box levitated from the deck and stuck to his arm with a sudden clang.

Despite pulling with his other arm, Kurt could not break the tackle box loose. He switched the unit off and the box dropped back to the deck. “If the Massif has a steel hull, I should be able to climb right up the side.”

“What if she’s made of fiberglass?” El Din asked.

“In that case,” Kurt began, “I’ll need you to pick me up as soon as possible and take me somewhere I can drink enough to forget all my troubles.”

Joe and El Din chuckled while Kurt finished his preparations. In a minute, he was ready to go. He slid a small transmitter into a waterproof pocket designed to stash one’s keys in when diving and then zipped it shut. He stashed a compact 9mm Beretta pistol in a second pocket and strapped a diving knife around his calf.

“When I get off the yacht, I’ll get the transmitter wet. It will automatically activate. It has a very dim light that you should be able to see if you’re within thirty feet, but farther out you’ll have to use the scanner to home in on me.”

Joe nodded and held up a small device that looked like a smartphone. “Checked and working,” he said.

“Follow at a distance, but keep it casual. And if Acosta opens up throttles, don’t try to keep up,” Kurt added. “It might look suspicious if you tail her all the way down the coast at high speed.”

“These waters are filled with fishing boats,” El Din said.

“Yes, but most of them are engaged in fishing, not chasing yachts.”

“Good point.”

Kurt nodded. “If everything goes according to plan, I’ll find Sienna and get her off the boat without them even knowing I’m there. In that case, wait for them to move off before you swoop in and get us.”

“What if all doesn’t go according to plan?” Joe asked.

Kurt looked at him askance.

“I only ask since it never has before.”

Kurt shrugged. He couldn’t deny it. “In that case, use your best judgment and adjust to the situation as needed, depending on exigencies and circumstances.”

El Din looked perplexed by that response.

“He means wing it,” Joe explained, “which I assume is what we’ll be doing right from the start.”

“You’re wise beyond your years,” Kurt said.

“I just know you too well.”

By now they were nearing the end of the half-mile-long channel, the No Wake zone that led out of the harbor and into the open water. It would take the yacht seven or eight minutes to cover the distance if they held to the rules.

“Let me off here,” Kurt said. “They’ll probably start bending the speed limit before they pass the final buoy. I don’t want to miss my ride.”

“It’s shallow here,” El Din said. “Twenty feet.”

“She can’t draw more than eight or nine,” Kurt replied. “I’ll wait on the bottom and catch on as she passes by.”

El Din slowed the vessel further, making a slight turn to port to shield Kurt from view.

With Joe’s help, Kurt lifted the torpedo-shaped propulsion unit and balanced it on the transom. He gave the thumbs-up, pulled down his mask, and bit into the soft rubber of his regulator. With a nod from El Din, he and Joe pushed the DPV off the edge and it hit the water and submerged like a model submarine. Kurt slipped into the gulf right behind it.

With the weight of his belt, Kurt sank faster than the propulsion unit, which had only a slight negative buoyancy. He reached it quickly, guided it to a spot in the silt and then settled down on top of it, listening to the sound of the small fishing boat trundle away.

Immersed in the warm gulf water, Kurt soon heard nothing but his own breathing as the air traveled through the lines, into his lungs, and back out to the rebreather. The advantage of this system was that it left no trail of bubbles. He doubted the crew of the yacht would be looking for anything so simple — more likely, they’d be paying attention to their depth sounder and the radarscope — but he wasn’t taking any chances.