it probably made things worse than they might have been. The only way the two boats kept in contact was with the bullhorn and searchlights. “We kept hearing sounds out there, Skipper. I don’t know… splashing sounds, things moving in the water. Big things. Maybe a pod of whales moving by, I don’t know exactly. In that fog, well it got under the mens’ skins and I didn’t blame ‘em either. I didn’t care much for it myself.”
He was leaving out things and Morse knew it, but he didn’t press. Gosling wasn’t about to tell the ship’s master that a deckhand named Crycek in the other boat started screaming, saying he saw something with a long neck and eyes watching him from the fog. That one of his men claimed he heard Stokes calling out there… except that it sounded like maybe his mouth was full of mud and kelp. Gosling had heard it, too, but he couldn’t say how it was a human voice. It was something, something bad, he just wasn’t sure what.
“Anything else?”
Gosling shrugged. “Like I said, sea is flat as glass. Not so much as a ripple. Patches of seaweed floating around, rotten-smelling stuff. Given the calm and the weed, could be we’re farther into the Sargasso than we should be.”
Morse just nodded. “Could be a lot of things, I guess. What have you got for me, Mister?” he asked. “What happened to Stokes?”
Gosling didn’t have any real answers there, either. Marx, the chief engineer, had a couple deckhands go into the aft starboard ballast tank with the first assistant engineer, Hupp. There was only four feet of water in there, but the intake was clogged. It turned out it was clogged with weeds. Hupp cleaned it out and about that time, Stokes started screaming, fighting his way to the hatch.
“I don’t know, Skipper, there was blood all over the damn place. Around the hatch, on the deck, bulkheads, going up the companionway. Christ if I know what happened. Maybe he got claustrophobic and… well, nothing really explains it, but…”
“But what?”
Gosling just shook his head. “Lot of people heard what he was screaming about. That there was something in him or biting him, something like that. I suppose we could have sucked just about anything into the tank.”
Morse didn’t doubt that. The size of those ballast tanks, a shark could’ve been at home in there. Or a whale. Not that those things could get in through the intake. But smaller fish did quite frequently. Mollusks, shrimp, mussels, you name it.
“Something that bit him,” Morse said. “Chewed into him. Hmm. Is that tank sealed?”
“Yes, sir, it’s secured, all right.”
They talked about the fog, their predicament. The chances things might clear out there.
“I wish there was something I could tell you, but this is all beyond me.” Gosling sighed. “I’ve been sailing a long time, Captain. We both have. I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s not in the books or out of it.”
Morse’s face did not change. “Tell me something, Paul. Anything.”
“Okay. Radio’s working, but all we’re picking up is static. RDF is also working but, again, it’s not picking up a goddamn thing. SatNav seems operational, but it, too, is locking in on zilch” He shook his head. “It’s all pretty crazy. Satellite could be messed-up. I’ve seen it happen before, but we should get something. It’s almost like it’s not even up there anymore.”
Which was crazy. He didn’t need to tell Morse how GPS worked. That the GPS was a satellite-based navigation system provided by a network of no less than twenty-four satellites in separate orbital paths. Sure, one might go out and maybe even two or three… but all twenty-four?
Morse considered it. “All right. How about radar?”
“Working. Everything checks. We’re not reading a damn thing. No land masses, no ships. Nothing. Now and then we’ll get a few blips, then they disappear. Could be reflections or nothing at all. I really don’t know. Depthfinder’s okay. We’re reading bottom at twelve-hundred feet. Seems pretty consistent. Compass is moving counterclockwise still.”
“Mechanical?”
“No way. Back-up’s doing the same. Even the one I keep in my kit is doing it. Gyro can’t grab a fix, either. LORAN’s belly-up. There’s nothing wrong with our instruments, Captain. It’s gotta be this fog or this sea or something.” He shook his head. “I pulled her off autopilot
… I got Iverson on the wheel now. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I just don’t trust technology today.”
Morse stared at his hands. There were callused and rough from a lifetime spent battling the wind and weather. They shook slightly. “We better keep running quarter-speed until…”
Gosling licked his lips. “Until what?”
“Until we get out of this”
Gosling just nodded. There was really nothing else they could do. He knew Morse was thinking the same crazy things he was. Crazy, comic book shit about the Devil’s Triangle and the Sargasso Sea and all the silly stories they had inspired. But neither would speak of it.
“What about that smell before?” Morse asked.
“All I can tell you is that it’s gone. It didn’t come from us, I know that much. It came with the fog. Whatever sense that makes.” He chewed his lower lip, thinking. “It was more than a stink, Captain. We both know that. It was almost like there suddenly was no air.”
“Keep that to yourself” Morse said.
They sat there in silence for a moment. Then Gosling cleared his throat. “You ever seen anything like this?”
Morse pursed his lips. “What do you think?”
“Yeah, I guess. Nobody’s seen this before. Have you checked your watch?”
“My watch?”
Morse had a digital. It seemed to be operating.
Gosling had a diving watch. The hands were running backward. “And it’s not just mine.”
Morse exhaled. “I think,” he said slowly, “we’re in deep shit.”
17
About ten minutes later, Morse met with Saks and his crew. It was not something he was particularly looking forward to. He met with them in the observation lounge and answered their questions. The observation lounge was a space generally reserved for the brass of the shipping company and assorted VIPs: politicians, privileged guests etc. It contained a wet-bar, marble fireplace, imported leather furniture, and gleaming walnut paneling. Morse hoped, maybe in some small way, that the lavish accoutrements would give Saks the impression that he was thought highly of by the crew and officers of the Mara Corday… and particularly, the captain himself.
Of course, it was all a ruse. Morse was no more impressed by the man than his First was, but he knew all about men like Saks. If you could control him, you could control his people.
“The sea can get a little freakish this time of year,” Morse told them. “I’ve seen fogs wrap up a ship for two, three days. It’s nothing to worry about.”
Saks nodded. “That’s what I figured. You idiots hear what the captain said?”
Fabrini just shook his head. “Yeah, we heard, we heard.”
“Good. Now you can quit with the ghost stories all ready.”
“There really is no reason for alarm,” Morse told them, maintaining his demeanor, just damn glad they couldn’t see him on the inside – the quivering, white-knuckled thing he had become.
“Shit,” Fabrini said. “Do you guys even know where we are?”
“We’re on course. But we’re moving slow. We don’t have a choice in this soup.”
Saks scowled at that. “How much of a delay are we talking here? I got a contract to fill, you know.”
“A day, maybe two. No more than that.”
Soltz shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His glasses reflected the fluorescents above. “What about the man who threw himself overboard?”
“A terrible business,” the captain said. “We’ll never know for sure what happened there. When we reach port there’ll be a formal investigation. But even then… who can say?”
