The Steel Shark

Chapter 31

Vivian hauled herself one-armed onto the deck and glanced over the side at the pitching black waves. Wright had already submerged. No going back now.

She headed across the dark deck to a bank of windows and a closed door. She couldn’t really tell the size from the sub, but it had looked like a pretty big powerboat — maybe eighty feet long. Hopefully, they’d turn on the lights soon.

A man in black cargo pants and a black sweater stepped out of the doorway in the side of the cabin. He was tall, probably about six-foot-four, and barrel-chested. He looked like he could throw her off the boat one-handed. “I’m Captain Glascoe.”

“Vivian Torres.” She held out a hand, and he shook it.

“We weren’t informed you would be boarding as well. I thought you were here to deliver the dog and Mr. Tesla.”

“It was last-minute.” Very last-minute.

“We’ll have to bring you inside to verify with Mr. Tesla before we leave.”

“Of course.”

Glascoe gestured for her to enter the darkened door ahead of him. She didn’t like turning her back on a stranger in the dark, and she held her wounded arm straight by her side so he couldn’t see the cast and tried to walk like a civilian, and a woman, instead of a retired Army sergeant with her arm in a cast carrying a pillowcase.

“What do you do for Mr. Tesla?” Glascoe asked.

“Personal assistant.” She shrugged her shoulders in what she hoped was a helpless-looking gesture. “A little of this. A little of that. And I help take care of the dog.”

The door to the main cabin opened from the inside. Someone flicked the light on when she entered like it was some kind of surprise party. She squinted. Tesla sat on a bench seat with the dog pressed up against his legs and a wooden table in front of him. Stairs behind him and a set of closed wooden doors. Lots of places for people to pop out of.

Tesla looked like death warmed over — pale and shaking. Next to him, a hairy redhead was leering at her. There had to be at least one more guy driving the boat, maybe two. Based on the boat’s size, she was guessing there were at least six crew on board.

“How are you doing, Mr. Tesla?” she asked.

“Fine,” Tesla said. “Seasick.”

“I met Captain Glascoe on my way in,” she said. “I explained I’m your personal assistant and it was decided last-minute I would come with you.”

“Will you be needing your own cabin?” The hairy guy smirked. Apparently, he thought she was that kind of assistant. As angry as it made her, she couldn’t really blame him. She’d shown up at the last minute with the clothes on her back and a sack. Her position was odd.

“She’ll need her own cabin,” Tesla said quickly. “And clothing and supplies.”

“Marshall, show Miss Torres her bunk,” barked Glascoe.

“Where is it?” the hairy guy asked.

“Next to Mr. Tesla’s cabin.”

“That’s my bunk.” Marshall’s eyes narrowed.

“And clear your crap out.” Glascoe smiled. “I hope you enjoy the voyage, Miss Torres. Welcome aboard the Voyager.”

“Thank you.”

Marshall stood. He was a good six inches shorter than Vivian, but muscular and he looked as if he’d be good in a fight. “Let’s go.”

She followed him down a set of stairs toward the stern. He was bowlegged, but his straight posture indicated a stint in the military, or maybe a back disorder.

It had been an expensive boat once, but even a landlubber like her could tell it hadn’t been well maintained. The floor in the initial cabin had looked like teak, but it was gray with age, and the metal fixtures were corroded green. She hoped they took better care of the engines and the radio. Tesla could afford a much nicer boat, so there must be another reason besides comfort to explain why he’d rented this tub.

Behind the doors was a dimly lit galley with a curved island, a table with bench seats, a stove, microwave, refrigerator, a stocked bar, and barstools upholstered in what looked like orange velvet. Everything was clean, but it looked dilapidated.

They went down a spiral staircase like the one that led to Tesla’s elevator. Marshall headed toward the bow, opened a door, and slammed it, leaving her alone in the corridor. She tried the door handle. Locked.

“Marshall?” she called.

“Just a sec.”

She looked around the corridor. Next to Marshall’s door was another one, probably to a second cabin. On the other side of the stairs was another door, probably a third cabin. Based on the hum she’d been hearing, the engines were aft of that.

Marshall came out carrying a duffel bag, a paperback, a towel that smelled like it hadn’t been washed since Edison was born, and a lamp with a half-naked hula girl on the base.

“All yours,” he said.

She opened the door and went in. The smell of mint chewing tobacco was overpowering, and a puddle of wet brown liquid told her his opinion of giving up his room. The bottom bunk smelled like Marshall, and she stripped the sheets and blanket and tossed them on the floor. She sniffed the bottom mattress.

Top bunk.

She found a set of fresh sheets in the locker. They smelled like mildew, but that was way better than Marshall, and luckily, she’d brought her own pillowcase from Tesla’s. Even after being dragged around all night, it was still probably cleaner than what they had here. Next to the top bunk were two tiny windows that didn’t open. A quick look through the lockers turned up a set of rubber boots and a wool pea coat that looked older than she was. Both were too big for Marshall and might actually fit her. A copy of a magazine called Big Asses was under the bottom mattress. She left it there because she didn’t want to touch it. The bathroom was a fetid mess, but she found a bottle of bleach under the sink, a set of towels that looked and smelled fairly fresh in the locker, and a wet towel on the floor. Marshall probably hadn’t noticed the fresh towels.

The cabin could be made livable if the smell of chewing tobacco ever went away. All in all, it wasn’t the worst place she’d ever stayed. No point in whining instead of working. She was, after all, on the clock.

She used the wet towel to mop up the chewing tobacco puddle, moving it around on the floor with her foot. Then she kicked the dirty towel into the corner, sacrificed a washcloth, and wiped everything down with diluted bleach. By the time she was done, the room wasn’t half bad.

Someone rapped on the door while she was washing the slimy feeling of bleach off her hands. She recognized Tesla’s knock and let him in. Edison came in after his master and wrinkled his nose.

“You should have smelled it before,” she told him, and the dog trotted off to inspect her tiny bathroom. He wasn’t going to like that much either.

“I’m sorry your quarters are so… ” Tesla looked around. “Spartan.”

“Spartans made good warriors,” she said.

He closed the door, glanced at the towel she’d kicked into the corner, and gestured to the bottom bunk. “Mind if I have a seat?”

She sat next to him.

“I know you might be wondering why I picked this ship.”

She waited him out.

“The engines have a particular sound signature,” he said.

If he hadn’t said weird things like this all the time, she would have been more surprised. “Uh-huh.”

“It’s outside the range that the particular Swedish-designed sub we’re tracking listens for.”

That sounded like Fred. She’d met him only once, but he seemed like an even weirder version of Tesla. Super smart, but odd. “Did Fred Mulcahy recommend this ship?”

“He did,” Tesla said. “Only a few ships have this particular sound profile, so my choices were pretty limited. But on this ship, we’re as close to invisible as we can get while chasing the sub.”

Made sense, as far as it went. “That’s half of the equation.”

“The other?” Tesla hated to forget things.

“How do we find them?” Edison came back out of her bathroom and licked her knee, probably out of sympathy.

“I know where they were a few days ago. I have an idea where they might be now—”

“Like, you drew a giant circle on a map?” She wished she’d had the chance to pack more clothes. This might take a while.

Tesla laughed. “Better than that. I was able to track oxygen generators I think they ordered online.”

Of course he had. Everything led through the Internet for Tesla. “Where are they?”

“They’re being delivered to a yacht called Shining Pearl in Halifax tomorrow. We ought to be able to intercept the yacht, then follow it at an undetectable distance until it meets up with our sub.”

“Then what? This ship doesn’t look like a destroyer. A submarine could kick our ass. Hell, a luxury yacht could probably sink us.”

“I’ll stay in touch with my naval contacts, and hopefully, they’ll step in.”

“Like they have in the past?” All they’d done was give him Fred Mulcahy, and she suspected that was because nobody else wanted him. Either way, she was going to locate the life rafts and make sure they were well stocked.

“I’m going to take pictures and slap a transponder onto the side of the sub. It transmits on a specific band Fred can track. Once they see this ghost ship, they’ll step in then, or I hope so. Once I’ve done that, I’ll have done all I can.”

“First off, I’m sure you’ll think of something more to do.” He always thought of more. “‘Done all I can’ doesn’t ever really stop, not with you.”

He shrugged.

“Second, how are you going to stick a transponder on a submarine in the middle of the ocean?”

“Rest up,” he said. “Because I have a plan.”

He always had a plan.