Poseidon's Arrow

“No, just four big turbocharged diesels. On a good day, we can run close to forty-five knots. Since we are carrying a light load, we should be able to sail close to that speed.”

“Why fly and miss out on a nice sea breeze?” Giordino said.

“That’s what the Fortitude was designed for. We can transfer a battalion of men across the Atlantic in two days.” Jarrett eyed a nearby chronograph. “If you gentlemen have no objection, we’ll get under way.”

The Fortitude’s diesels started with a rumble. The lines were cast, and the three-hundred-and-thirty-eight-foot ship maneuvered out the narrow entrance of Pearl Harbor and turned southeast. It cruised past Waikiki and the towering face of Diamond Head before cranking up speed. The brick-shaped ship accelerated quickly, rising up on its sharp catamaran hulls. The seas were calm, allowing Jarrett to run at nearly full out. Pitt watched the navigation monitor in awe as the vessel easily eclipsed the forty-knot mark.

In a few hours, the last of the Hawaiian Islands disappeared off the stern horizon as they raced into an empty expanse of the Pacific. Pitt and Giordino joined Plugrad and his team on deck, sharing insights on what they might encounter, as they reviewed defensive boarding measures. After dining in the ship’s cavernous mess hall, they turned in for the night.

Pitt detected the Fortitude’s engines slowing later the next morning while he was exploring the hold with Giordino. The two men climbed to the bridge, where they spotted the Adelaide a mile off the bow.

She was a dry bulk carrier, six hundred feet long, sporting a forest green hull and a gold superstructure. A black-stained fu

“Her captain has acknowledged our arrival and is prepared to take you on board,” Jarrett reported.

“Thanks for the quick run, Captain,” Pitt said. “You have a gem of a vessel.”

“Sure you boys can’t stick around?” Giordino asked Jarrett. “If the Adelaide’s a dry boat, I may need you to make a beer run.”

“Sorry, but we’re due stateside in thirty-six hours.” Jarrett shook hands with both men. “I’ve ordered our launch deployed for you. Good luck and safe travels.”

Plugrad had his Coast Guard contingent assembled when Pitt and Giordino reached the deck. They climbed into a covered launch and were piloted to the freighter, where an accommodation ladder had been lowered along the Adelaide’s flank. Plugrad’s men leaped onto the platform and bounded up the ladder, seemingly oblivious to the weapons and sixty-pound packs they carried. Pitt waved to the launch’s pilot as he stepped off it and followed Giordino up the ladder.

A dour pair of crewmen in ill-fitting jumpsuits and black boots met them on the deck. “Your quarters are this way,” one of them said, motioning toward the stern superstructure. “The captain will meet with you in twenty minutes in the ship’s mess.”

The two crewmen led the party aft as the Adelaide’s engines rumbled to higher revolutions and the big ship resumed speed. As they were led to their berths on the second level of the superstructure, Giordino glanced back at the Fortitude speeding off to the northeast and he suddenly felt thirsty for a beer.

38

THE MASTER OF THE ADELAIDE WAS NOTHING LIKE Pitt had expected. Rather than the staid, experienced captains that typically commanded large commercial ships, the Adelaide’s master was a young, scrawny man with jittery eyes. He stepped into the mess and regarded Pitt, Giordino, and Plugrad coolly before shaking hands and sitting down with them.

“My name is Gomez. I’m told you are expecting a hijacking attempt.” If he was concerned by the news, it didn’t show on his face.

“We’ve found a pattern of attacks in the Pacific,” Pitt said. “The ships were all carrying rare earth elements, the same as your cargo.”

“You must be misinformed,” Gomez said. “This ship is loaded with manganese ore.”

“Manganese?” Giordino asked. “Didn’t you take on a full shipment of monazite in Perth?”

“We shipped from Perth, but our cargo is manganese.”

“Your corporate headquarters,” Pitt said, “confirmed otherwise.”

Gomez shook his head. “An honest mistake. The electronic manifest record must have been confused with another of the company’s vessels. These things happen. I’ll call your supply ship and have them retrieve you.”

“That won’t be possible,” Pitt said. “The Fortitude has its own schedule to keep.”

“Plus,” Giordino said, “we might not be the only ones who are misinformed.”

“That’s correct,” Plugrad said. “I wouldn’t want to pull my men off, then find out later that you ran into trouble. We’re supposed to remain aboard until you dock in Long Beach, so we’ll stick to the plan.”

“Very well,” Gomez said, his words laced with irritation. “Please confine yourselves to the main deck and the second-level staterooms.”

“Al and I will take shifts on the bridge and act as liaison to the lieutenant should we encounter another vessel.”

Gomez noted Pitt’s determined tone and nodded. “As you wish. But no armed men will be permitted on the bridge.” Gomez stood up from the table. “I must return to my duties. Welcome to the ship. I’m confident you will enjoy a quiet and routine voyage.”

After Gomez left, Giordino looked at Pitt and Plugrad and shook his head. “Well, how do you like them apples? No rare earth, and a cranky punk for a captain to entertain us the rest of the way.”

“Not much we can do about it now,” Pitt said. “And if we’re wrong, quiet and routine isn’t exactly the worst of outcomes.”

The truth was, Pitt’s radar had been on full alert since he stepped aboard the Adelaide. Something about the crew and captain wasn’t right. He’d been aboard enough merchant ships to know that crews came in a variety of flavors and attitudes, and a salty welcome in itself wasn’t anything unusual. But the circumstances made it peculiar. Facing a potentially deadly hazard, the ship’s crew should have been happy for the added insurance—or, at the very least, curious. As they settled onto the ship, Pitt and his men were instead treated as a nuisance. Crew members seemed to watch their every move, yet refused to engage in even casual conversation.

On the bridge, Pitt and Giordino were shunted aside and ignored, their requests for information falling on deaf ears. Gomez barely acknowledged their existence and refused even to dine with Pitt, holing up in his cabin when not on duty.

During their second night aboard, Pitt paced the bridge, his presence ignored as usual. Shortly before the shift ended at midnight, a crewman appeared and approached Gomez, glancing at Pitt as he spoke in hushed tones.

Surveying the radar screen, Pitt noticed the image of a vessel appear ahead of them, traveling on a similar heading. He stepped closer to the screen to see the ship’s AIS registry. The Automatic Identification System, a satellite-driven program required of all commercial ships over three hundred tons, provided speed and heading data, as well as an identity, for all such ships at sea. But for the ship on the radar now, there was no AIS display.

“She doesn’t have her AIS turned on,” Pitt said to Gomez. “That seems a bit suspicious out here.”

“Sometimes the signal is lost,” Gomez said. “Or she could be a military vessel. It means nothing.”

The captain stepped close to the helmsman, whispered something in his ear, and then moved to the opposite end of the bridge. Pitt ignored the captain and kept tracking the Adelaide’s speed and heading. He wasn’t surprised when the mystery vessel slowed a knot or two until it vanished from the radar screen.