Carson heard the bell sound on the harbor buoy, telling him they were less than a minute to the breakwater. “Maybe I am a boy scout. If you knew that, you were a fool to involve me in something this serious. If you were even close to as smart as you think you are, you would’ve left me out of it. But you didn’t. And that’s where you fucked up.”
To his surprise, Chops nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’re right. I was a fool. I thought you knew how to shut up and play ball. But I’m gonna fix that mistake in a few minutes, and the only difference you made is that you’re gonna die tonight, and your girlfriend will be sad because she thinks you’re her hero. Was it worth it?”
Carson turned his head as if to look sidelong at his adversary, but the move was much more practical. He needed to get a better view of the huge breaker rushing towards the ferry. He calculated the timing in his head before speaking. “You know, Chops, it was worth it – for two reasons. One, I have a clear conscious, and will from now on.”
Chops grunted. “Yeah, for about five minutes. Big fucking deal. What else?”
Carson smiled, enjoying Chops’ expression as it dawned on him something was up. “I ain’t quite dead yet, you prick.” Even before the end of the “k” spat from his mouth, he grabbed the suitcase and dove to his right, towards the stern of the ship, as the wave struck the bow and the deck tilted madly.
He rolled upon landing, hearing the discharge of the gun as Chops pulled the trigger either in desperation or by accident. In either event, a quick glance showed the short, fat Slav on his side with a flood of foamy water washing down the deck towards him. Carson jumped to his feet and bolted up the steep stairs as fast as he could on the pitching surface, making a beeline for the indoor lounge and seating deck. It was one of the areas he had blacked out by pulling the breakers, and it was still dark as he bolted the stairway hatch shut behind him and dove into the large compartment.
He raced several rows from the entrance and ducked down behind the half-wall of the snack bar, doing his best to muffle his breathing as he listened for any sign of pursuit. He had no luck, as the howling wind and crashing waves drowned out any other sounds. The ship pitched up again, and this time it rolled to starboard before slowly returning to a stable angle. The water was having a hard time draining off the lower deck in time for the next wave, and that was a losing proposition. If whoever was at the helm let the ferry get broadside to the waves, instead of taking them head on as they were now, they’d capsize in a matter of seconds.
This is a shit sandwich.
He raised his head enough to see out the windows, confirming what the bouncing boat was telling him. The waves were running at least 15 feet, maybe higher, and that was far too much for this ship. If he didn’t get them turned back around, none of them would live very long.
That meant getting to the bridge, two more decks up. The dickhead at the wheel now was either too stupid or too scared to do the right thing, instead pushing the craft into deeper water. Carson wouldn’t be able to control the speed of the ship, since the guy in the engine room could override his throttle settings, but at least he could turn it around – that in itself was a tricky proposition – and run it aground.
He crouched down to formulate his plan of attack when the next wave caused a cardboard box to fall from a shelf and land on his foot. It hurt for a second, not enough to cause any problems, but it was heavier than he expected, and he glanced at it. The top had ripped open and a few paper coupons had scattered about the floor. There were hundreds or maybe thousands more in the box. It brought him up short.
That’s important. Why?
He let the vague thought roll around in his head for a second. When it became fully formed, he smiled and delayed his trip to the bridge for a few moments to complete the unexpected task.
***
Coast Guard Chief Warrant Officer Terry Russell sat at his duty station in the Marine Safety Detachment on Pilottown Road in Lewes, more alert than he would have been on a normal night. The high winds kept all but the biggest ships off of the bay, and to those ships 18-foot seas and 30-knot winds were nothing more than an annoyance. But there was always the chance something could go wrong, so he paid close attention to his radar.
There were only three echoes, all of them in the channel, and his board identified the two to the northwest as tankers and the southeastern-most as a freighter. But it wasn’t just any freighter. It was the MSC Cairo, a 160,000-ton behemoth with hundreds of containers stacked on its decks and more below. She was making about eight knots, pretty much ignoring the heavy waves and just chugging along. Cairo’s maneuvering ability, already hampered by its pure bulk, would be further reduced by the trailing sea. Fortunately, it was dead in the middle of the channel, which was clear to the sea buoy, so that wasn’t a concern.
The windows creaked a bit as a gust of about 50 knots crashed into them.
