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She looked at him coolly. “I’m still waiting to hear your theory about what’s going on.”
Pendergast took a slow, appraising sip of tea. “Did you know that the Carrion Rocks are one of the greatest hazards to shipping in the North Atlantic? So much so that right after theTitanic sank, they first thought it might have fetched up on them.”
“How interesting.” She looked at him, sitting in the armchair, calmly sipping his tea as if there were no crisis at all. And then she realized: perhaps there was no crisis.
“You have a plan,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.
“Indeed I do. And come to think of it, perhaps now is the time to familiarize you with the details. It will save some effort later on, when we might have to react to changing situations rather quickly.”
He took another languid sip. Then, putting the teacup aside, he stood and walked toward the kitchen. Tugging the laundry duffle open, he pulled something large out of it and stepped back into the living room, placing it on the floor between them.
Constance stared at it curiously. It was an oblong, hard-shelled container of white rubber and plastic, about four feet by three, lashed shut with nylon straps. Various warning labels were stamped on its face. As she watched, Pendergast removed the nylon straps and detached the faceplate. Nestled inside was a tightly folded device of Day-Glo yellow polyurethane.
“A self-inflating buoyant apparatus,” said Pendergast. “Known familiarly as a ‘survival bubble.’ Equipped with SOLAS B packs, an EPI radio beacon, blankets, and provisions. Each of theBrita
Constance stared from the container to Pendergast and back again. “If the officers prove unable to stop the captain, they may try to launch the ship’s lifeboats,” he explained. “Doing so at this rate of speed would be dangerous, perhaps foolhardy. On the other hand, we will encounter minimal risk if we launch ourselves into the water inthis from the stern of the ship. Of course, we will have to be careful where we effect our evacuation.”
“Evacuation,” Constance repeated.
“It will have to be from a deck low over the waterline, obviously.” He reached over to the side table, picked up a ship’s brochure, and pulled out a glossy photograph of theBrita
“You say ‘we,’ ” Constance said, speaking slowly. “That is, just the two of us.”
Pendergast glanced at her in mild surprise. “Yes, of course. But don’t be concerned: I know it may look small inside this case, but it will be certainly large enough for both of us when fully inflated. The bubble is designed to hold four, so we should find ourselves easily accommodated.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re proposing to save yourself and just leave the rest to die?”
Pendergast frowned. “Constance, I will not be spoken to in that tone of voice.”
She rose in a cold fury. “ You. . .” She choked off the word. “Stealing that flotation device from one of the lifeboats . . . You weren’t out there looking for a way to defuse the crisis or rescue theBrita
“As it happens, I’m rather attached to my skin. And I shouldn’t have to remind you, Constance, that I’m offering to save
yours
, as well.”
“This isn’t like you,” she said, disbelief, shock, and anger mingling. “This gross selfishness. What’s happened to you, Aloysius? Ever since you returned from Blackburn’s cabin, you’ve been . . . bizarre. Not yourself.”
He looked back at her for a long moment. Silently, he reattached the faceplate to the plastic enclosure. Then he rose and stepped forward.
“Sit down, Constance,” he said quietly. And there was something in the tone of his voice—something strange, something utterly foreign—that, despite her rage and shock and disbelief, made her instantly obey.
56
LESEUR TOOK A SEAT IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM ADJACENT TO THE aux bridge. He was still soaked to the skin, but now, instead of being cold, he felt like he was suffocating in the heat and the smell of sweaty bodies. The room, meant to hold half a dozen people, was packed with deck officers and senior crew, and more were still arriving.
LeSeur didn’t even wait for them to sort out their places before he stood up, rapped his knuckles on the table, and began.
“I just talked to Mason,” he said. “She confirmed that her plan is to run the Brita
He looked around.
“I’ve had several conversations with the captain of the Grenfell , the only ship close enough to attempt a rescue. Other ships—civilian and Coast Guard—have been diverted. They won’t get to us before the estimated collision. The Canadian CG has also dispatched two fixed-wing aircraft for surveillance and communication purposes. They have a fleet of helicopters on standby, but as of now we’re still out of range of coastal rotary aircraft. We can’t expect any help from that quarter. And theGrenfell is in no way equipped to handle four thousand three hundred evacuees.”
He paused, took a deep breath. “We’re in the middle of a storm, with forty-foot seas and forty- to sixty-knot winds. But our most intractable problem is the ship’s speed relative to the water: twenty-nine knots.” He licked his lips. “We would have many options if we weren’t moving—transfer of people to theGrenfell, boarding by a SWAT team. But none of that’s feasible at twenty-nine knots.” He looked around. “So, people, I need ideas, and I need them now.”
“What about disabling the engines?” someone asked. “You know, sabotaging them.”
LeSeur glanced at the chief engineer. “Mr. Halsey?”
The engineer scowled. “We’ve got four diesel engines boosted by two General Electric LM2500 gas turbines. Shut down one diesel and nothing happens. Shut down two, and you better shut down those turbines or you’ll get a gas compression explosion.”
“Disable the gas turbines first, then?” LeSeur asked.
“They’re high-pressure jet engines, sir, rotating at thirty-six hundred rpm. Any attempt to intervene while that bastard is ru
“Cut the shafts, then?” a second officer asked.
“There are no shafts,” said the engineer. “Each pod is a self- contained propulsion system. The diesel and turbines generate electricity that powers the pods.”