Pirate

Chapter Fifty-nine

New York City

NEITHER HAWKE NOR THE CAPTAIN SAID A WORD DURING the elevator ride to the ground floor. Nor did they speak crossing the lobby. Instead of taking the cruiser idling out front of the hospital entrance, they jumped into a cab at the corner of York and Seventieth Street and headed across town. It was Sunday night and the traffic was light going through the park. They pulled up at the passenger ship terminal, Pier 93, just after nine-thirty.

“Got any ideas?” Mariucci said to Hawke as they climbed out of the cab.

“Nothing yet,” Hawke said, “I was hoping you’d have one by now.”

Hawke handed the driver a twenty and joined the captain on the sidewalk. The upper decks of the enormous ship, illuminated, blocked out the sky above the terminal. She was, Hawke knew, two times longer than the Eiffel Tower was high, and four times the size of the Titanic. Hawke saw the word Leviathan stenciled in gold on her beautiful black bow. No doubt about it, she was monumentally impressive.

“Let’s go find the captain,” Hawke said.

They raced through the terminal and arrived at the deserted check-in area. The floor was still littered with streamers and confetti. The French Line had decorated the entire area with paintings, ribbons, and pictures of the great liners of the past, the Île de France and the Normandie. A massive oil painting dominated the scene. In the foreground of the painting, the largest ship ever built, Leviathan. In the background, almost hidden by the arcs of water jetting from the fireboats, the Statue of Liberty.

There were two desultory guards at the boarding door who barely looked up from their newspapers as Mariucci flashed his shield and barreled through. When they got outside on the dock, they couldn’t even see the ship. It was too close to the building. It looked like a black wall.

There was a gangway leading up the side of the black wall, its rails festooned with wilted red, white, and blue streamers. Hawke raced up, followed closely by Mariucci. There was an officer in white at the top with a clipboard. At the sight of two men running toward him, he put on a welcoming smile to hide his confusion. The passengers were all long gone and these two men didn’t look like crew.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” the officer said.

“Yeah, how are you doing tonight? Listen, I’m Captain John Mariucci, NYPD, and this is my colleague Alex Hawke. Royal Navy. Mind if we take a look around?”

“I am so sorry, sir, but you see we do not allow tours or uninvited visitors. The ship is—”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” Mariucci said, moving right up into his face. “You are?”

“I am the ship’s chief purser, monsieur. And, I will have to ask you to—”

“Look, Alain, that’s what it says on your security tag thing there, you’re new, so let me explain how this all works. This is New York City, see. We have our own unique style. Like, I’m a cop here. I don’t have to be invited.”

“We’d like a brief word with your captain,” Hawke said. “Would you be so kind as to take us to the bridge?”

“Well, I—”

“After you, Alain. Lead the way.”

“As you wish.”

As it happened, the ship’s captain, Francois Dechevereux, was not on the bridge at all. He was standing alone on the open observation deck, high above the graceful curve of the bows, looking at the pristine New York skyline. He was a tall man, angular, and his white uniform hung on him the way a tent hangs on poles. Hawke noticed his yellow fingertips and the unfiltered cigarette that seemed a permanent fixture in the corner of his mouth.

“Beautiful ship, Captain,” Hawke said after they’d been introduced by the purser. “Magnificent lines.”

“Yeah, nice,” Mariucci said. “Big. But nice.”

Captain Dechevereux whispered something in the purser’s ear and sent him scurrying away. Then he turned to Hawke, removing his cigarette only to speak. He didn’t look happy to see them.

“Leviathan is a wonder, Monsieur Hawke, a symbol of the new French Renaissance. Our great leader, President Bonaparte, has given her to France as proof of her restored glory. La Gloire. I am glad you appreciate her. I don’t mean to be rude. But, may I ask why you gentlemen wished to see me? Is there some problem? Some irregularity with our paperwork?”

“There certainly is a problem, Captain,” Mariucci said, “But I’m here to make it go away.”

“How can I help you?”

“It’s the mayor, Captain. Of New York. He’s a greenie, see? One of those tree-hugging environmental wackos, right? Hizzoner has never much liked the idea of a nuclear-powered vessel with a foreign flag zipping in and out of New York Harbor and—”

“He is anti-French,” Captain Dechevereux said with disdain, flicking his cigarette over the rail and immediately lighting another. “I have read this about him.”

“No, no. The mayor of New York loves France. It’s not that. He—”

Hawke cast a sidelong glance at Mariucci. “Captain,” he said, “I’ve heard you can do well over thirty knots. Staggering. Please tell me about your propulsion system.”

“Ah. The most advanced in the world, monsieur. Two pods, submerged under the stern, that can rotate 360 degrees. Driven by 4.2-megawatt thrusters controlled by a joystick.”

“Amazing. How many reactors? Four?” Hawke asked.

“Mais certainement. Four nuclear reactors each generating one-hundred-thousand-shaft horsepower. We keep her speed confidential. In brochures we say ‘It’s sufficient.’”

“That’s great,” Mariucci said. “But look around you here. Pretty densely populated area here in Manhattan. People get nervous when they even hear the word ‘nuclear.’ You understand that.”

Hawke said, “Captain, I saw a poster depicting Alaska at the dock-side check-in. I take it you intend to sail in waters where there are strict environmental controls?”

“Mais oui. But we are very conscious of the environment issues. President Bonaparte, who, perhaps, found it expedient to become a great conservationist, insisted she exceed every requirement. The ship is designed to operate—”

“Precisely why we’re here, Captain,” Hawke said, leaping through the opening. “Environmental issue. We’re going to need to do a thorough inspection of your reactor rooms. Immediately. I understand you’re sailing back to Le Havre tomorrow evening?”

“No.”

“No? That’s the announced schedule. A six o’clock sailing.”

“There will be an unfortunate delay. A mechanical problem—one of the propulsion monitors has shut down our reactors. The ship is to remain here indefinitely. It is not my decision.”

“Really? You being the captain and all, I’d think—whose decision is it?”

“The builder. He was a passenger on our maiden voyage. All over my ship, with his little notebook, writing and writing. Now, he says we cannot leave. He is flying in some more Chinese technicians to make the repairs, and who knows how long that will take? I’ve just learned all of this myself, Captain. The man was standing here not ten minutes ago. To tell you the truth, I am furious with this decision. It is an embarrassment.”

“The builder is onboard?” Mariucci asked, looking around.

“Mais oui! You know what he said to me? That we have too many screws in the coat racks on the stateroom doors! Eh? Too many screws?” The captain was getting a little hot under the collar. Whatever was going on aboard this behemoth, the captain obviously wasn’t in on it. And he was pissed.

“Bonaparte had Baron von Draxis build this ship in Germany,” Dechevereux said. “The new Queen Mary, she was built in France. Many jobs for Frenchmen. But Germans built this great ship for our beloved President Bonaparte. Germans! Make sense to you? No. Go. Find him. He went to the Normandie Bar for a nightcap before turning in.”

“One more question before we go, Captain,” Hawke said. “Tell me about your keel design. Anything unusual about it?”

“No. It’s lead.”

“Nothing inside? No electronics? Side thrusters?”

“It’s a keel, monsieur. A dead weight. Please. Leave me alone. I am very upset at the moment.”

“Thanks for your time, Captain,” Mariucci said. “We’ll find our way to the bar.”

Under his breath, Mariucci said, “Von Draxis is faking some mechanical problem so his ship can remain in New York indefinitely. Like a permanent Trojan Horse.”

“Right. But I’ve an idea,” Hawke said as they walked quickly aft to find the builder.

“Don’t be shy,” Mariucci said as they entered the vast Art Deco lounge.

“We tell this von Draxis we’re here to save him, and France, a lot of embarrassment. Tell him Port Security was doing random samples and picked up a radiation leak.”

“I like that—look. That’s got to be him, headed this way. Looks like a friggin’ bull.”

“In a bloody China shop,” Hawke said, lowering his voice. “Remember, no inspection, his ship has to leave immediately. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Gentlemen, good evening! Zo, I understand there is some kind of problem. I am the proud builder, Augustus von Draxis. Perhaps I may be of service?”

The captain flashed his creds. “Mariucci, NYPD Anti-Terrorist Task Force. This is my driver, George.”

“Evening,” Hawke said, smiling.

The baron eyed Hawke suspiciously and said, “What seems to be the problem?”

“Pollution,” Mariucci said.

“Pollution? Ha! This is the cleanest ship afloat, Captain. A zero-waste ship.”

“Radioactive leak, Mr. von Draxis. One of my Port Security boats in the East River picked it up in a random sample. Just this afternoon. We’ll need to do an immediate inspection.”

“Inspection? Impossible. If there is a leak, which I doubt, we’ll find it and fix it ourselves.”

“I knew you’d say that. But, frankly, I can’t take your word for it. Two choices, sir. Allow my divers and inspectors and their mobile X-ray scanners aboard, or get out of Dodge. Your call.”

“This is ridiculous. In any event, we are scheduled to depart for Le Havre tomorrow.”

“But you’re not, right? You’re waiting for a powwow with some Chinese technicians?”

“Who told you that?”

“That would be your captain. Dechevereux is his name? Am I right, George? Dechevereux?”

Hawke nodded.

“This is insanity,” von Draxis said, the color rising in his cheeks. “My family has been building the finest ships afloat for four generations. And I am telling you there is no leak. I know her every bolt, every screw on this vessel! You know how some people talk to horses? I talk to boats! She is not leaking radiation. I will not tolerate this!”

“What a world, huh?” Mariucci said. “Hey, listen, Mr. von Draxis. I know it’s a royal pain in the ass. But save yourself a lot of bad PR, all right? We’ll be in and out of here in two hours, max. You don’t want to see your pride and joy on the news tomorrow with police barricades up all around it, do you? What do you say?”

The baron looked like he was about to detonate. “What exactly is it you people wish to see?”

“What we the people would like to see is your fat ass headed due east out of our fucking harbor. But what we will settle for is a complete inspection of your reactor rooms, your hull, your keel, and any other part of this fucking ship I want to look at. Got all that?”

The German, Hawke noticed, was balling his fists and rising up onto the tips of his toes. His thickly corded neck was bulging and his shoulder blades looked like tectonic plates shifting under his dinner jacket. But somehow he managed to control all this and not to take a swing at Captain Mariucci.

“The governor of New York will hear about this outrage. He is a close personal friend of German chancellor Gerhardt’s. I will squash you like a bug.”

“Fine, we’ll do it the hard way, pal. Come on, George. We’re out of here.”