Arctic Drift

On the opposite corner, they spied a small river of water streaming down the bulkhead, splashing into a growing pool below. The explosion had left no gaping hole in the side of the hull but rather created a series of buckled steel plates that let the water seep in like a broad sieve. Murdock studied the damage and shook his head.

“Nothing we can do to slow that down,” he said. “Even if we had the proper materials, it’s too widely dispersed.”

“The water inflow doesn’t look too extreme,” Roman said, searching for something positive.

“It will only get worse. The damage appears to be just above the waterline, but the rough seas are spilling in. As the hold fills, the barge will begin to settle by the stern, allowing more water to rush in. The flooding will only accelerate.”

“But there’s a hatch on the passageway that we can lock. If the water is confined to this hold, shouldn’t we be all right?” Roman asked.

Murdock pointed overhead. Ten feet above their heads, the bulkhead ended, replaced by a series of support beams that rose several more feet to the overhead deck.

“The holds are not watertight compartments,” he said. “When this hold floods, it will spill over into the number 3 hold and keep moving forward.”

“How much flooding can she withstand?”

“Since she’s empty, she should stay afloat with two holds flooded. If the seas are calm, she might hang on with a third flooded. But once the water starts hitting that number 1 hold, it will be all over.”

Dreading the answer, Roman asked how much time they had left.

“I can only guess,” Murdock said, his voice turning low. “I’d say two hours, tops.”

Roman aimed the dimming bulb of his penlight toward the trickle of water and slowly traced it down toward the bottom of the hold. A growing pool of black water was reflected in the distance, its shimmering surface a calling card of death.

68

At the first visible signs of a listing stern, Zak ordered the Otok to pull away from the barge. The sinking black hulk was quickly swallowed up by a bank of fog, its death throes proceeding without an audience. Zak himself quickly turned his back on the barge and its condemned occupants.

“Make for the NUMA ship,” he ordered. “And kill the ru

The captain nodded, bringing the helm in line with the research ship’s fixed position, then gradually building speed until the icebreaker was ru

“Captain, when we approach to within three kilometers, I want to accelerate under full power. We’ll cross her bow about a kilometer off, to make her think we are ru

“You want me to ram her?” the captain said incredulously. “You’ll kill us all.”

Zak gave him a bemused look. “Not hardly. As you well know, this vessel has a five-foot-thick steel prow fronting a highly reinforced double hull. She could bull through the Hoover Dam without a scratch. Providing you avoid the Narwhal ’s own heavy bow, we’ll slice through her like butter.”

The captain peered at Zak with grudging respect. “You’ve studied my vessel well,” he said brusquely. “I just hope that Mr. Goyette takes the dry-dock repairs out of your salary and not mine.”

Zak let out a deep chortle. “My good Captain, we play our cards right and I’ll personally buy you your own fleet of icebreakers.”

Though the dark night and fog masked the sea, Bill Stenseth attentively tracked every movement of the icebreaker. With his radar operator absent, one of the many crewmen sent ashore in Tuktoyaktuk, Stenseth sat down and monitored the radar set himself. He had become alerted when he noted the distant radar image slowly split in two. Correctly guessing that the barge had been separated from the tow ship, he carefully began to track both images.

He anxiously watched the icebreaker close within three miles on an intercept course when he reached for the marine VHF radio.

“Unidentified vessel approaching south at 69.2955 North, 100.1403 West, this is the research vessel Narwhal. We are presently conducting an underwater marine survey. Please give clearance of two kilometers, over.”

Stenseth repeated the call but received no reply.

“When’s the Bloodhound due up?” he asked the helmsman.

“Dahlgren’s last report was that they were still on the wreck site. So they are at least twenty minutes off.”

Stenseth watched the radar screen closely, noticing a gradual increase in speed by the icebreaker as it approached within two miles. There looked to be a slight change in the ship’s course, drifting off the Narwhal ’s bow as if to pass on her starboard beam. Whatever their intent, Stenseth was not in a trusting mood.

“Ahead a third,” he ordered the helmsman. “Bearing three hundred degrees.”

Stenseth well knew that the prospect of a collision in thick fog was one of a mariner’s worst nightmares. With visions of the Stockholm striking the Andrea Doria in his mind, he powered his ship to the northwest, in order to avoid a similar head-on collision. With a minute degree of relief, he saw that the other vessel was holding to its southeast course, widening the angle between their paths. But the appearance of a safe passing was short-lived.

When the two vessels approached within a mile, the icebreaker suddenly accelerated, nearly doubling its speed in short order. Driven by a massive pair of gas turbine engines capable of towing a string of heavy barges, the icebreaker was a behemoth of torque. Freed to run unencumbered, the tow ship turned into a greyhound, capable of slicing through the water at over thirty knots. Under Zak’s order, the ship found its full legs and blasted through the waves under maximum throttle.

It took only a few moments for Stenseth to detect the change in the icebreaker’s speed. He held his course steady until the radar told him that the other vessel was sharply veering to the west.

“Ahead flank speed!” he ordered, his eyes glued to the radar screen

He was aghast at the track of the icebreaker as it swept in a short arc toward his own vessel. He shook off any doubts about the intent of the other vessel. It clearly intended to ram the Narwhal.

Stenseth’s order to accelerate thwarted Zak’s attempt to catch the ship and crew off guard. But the icebreaker still had a decided advantage in speed, if no longer surprise. The Otok had closed to within a quarter mile before the research ship could break twenty knots. Stenseth peered out the aft bridge window but could see nothing through the black fog.

“She’s coming up quick,” the helmsman said, watching the icebreaker’s radar smudge approach the center of the radar screen. Stenseth sat down and readjusted the range to read in hundred-yard increments.

“We’ll let her come in tight. But when she touches the hundred-yard mark, I want you to bring us hard to starboard, on a due east heading. There’s still plenty of sea ice along the shore of King William Island. If we can get close enough, they might lose our radar signature against it.”

He gazed at an open chart, noting their distance to King William Island was over fifteen miles. Much too far away, he knew, but his options were few. If they could parry a bit longer, maybe the pursuers would give up the hunt. He stood and watched the radar screen until the tailing target drew near, then he nodded at the helmsman.

The heavy research ship shook and groaned as the rudder was jammed full over, the vessel heeling onto its new course. It was a lethal game of blindman’s bluff. On the radar screen, the icebreaker seemed to merge with their own position, but Stenseth still caught no sight of the icebreaker. The Otok continued on its westerly course for nearly a full minute before detecting the Narwhal ’s maneuver and turning sharply to the east in pursuit.