technology, MAX could remain submerged indefinitely—as with any nuclear powered sub, but while its electronics were operated from a nuclear reactor, its propulsion was, in a sense, low tech—a thing of beauty as it mimicked the method of propulsion found naturally in much of undersea life.
“It could sabotage the whole operation.” David’s accusing eyes met Kelly’s, and she slowly shook her head as if to say she had nothing to do with it. Dave asked, “Who would have enough know how to remove a seal from such a mechanism?”
“Alandale and his crew of engineers—Houston Ford in particular, but they know every inch.” Swigart looked around as if to take note of every crewman near the winch and Max, as everyone called the sub. “Gotta be the winch. I’ll see to it Alandale gets his best man on it—if we can find him! Seems he’s gone missing; fear is he and Alandale for whatever mad reason have taken a collapsible lifeboat and have gotten off
“That’s… that seems so unlikely,” she said.“We were just talking about Alandale,” added Kelly, pushing back a strand of hair. “Was wondering where he might’ve gotten off to.”
“Damn peculiar,” added David.
Swigart, weather-worn face pinched,“No one’s seen either man, and there’s that small boat—gone! I’ve been asking around.”
“This other man, Ford?” asked David. “He was on Alandale’s engineering crew, his top man, right?”
Lou nodded. “Tech savvy fellow, yeah. Likeable heavyset, bearded, hair as long as a pirate—you know that Jack Sparrow look that I despise.”
“Oh, yeah… dreadlocks and ponytail,” said Kelly. “I noticed him last night. Thought he was skulking about.”
David shrugged. “Something odd about all this.”
“I’ll put out a call on the PA for Alandale. If he doesn’t answer, we know he’s gotten off the ship and is adrift at our wake someplace in that small boat.”
“He’s got to be here somewhere on board,” Kelly insisted.
Swigart went in the opposite direction he’d been heading toward, now going for the bridge where he could put out an APB of sorts to direct Alandale to the bridge. He wanted to get to the bottom of the ominous oil slick on deck, and to get repairs underway before they lost time.
Just then David noticed what Kelly was staring at, and he shouted, “Hold on, Lou,” David waved him back. Look here.” He pointed to a space behind an overhanging lifeboat on davits. Someone else stepped in the oil other than you, and obviously failed to report it.”
Swigart and Kelly stared at the boot print outlined in oil. “A size smaller than mine,” Lou muttered. “Good catch, Ingles.”
“Not me, the detective here spotted it. “He pointed to Kelly.”
“Oh, well then, good eye, Dr. Irvin.”
“There’s a pattern to every boot and shoe; you find a match to these indents and swirls,” she replied, “and you might have your saboteur.”
“If it proves to be sabotage and not simply a breakdown, and if we have to, we’ll search every man aboard to find the oil-stained matching shoe. But who’d intentionally sabotage the mission? And why?”
Again David shared a quick look between himself and Kelly that Swigart, usually an extremely observant man, missed. But David chalked it up to Lou’s being distracted by the oil leak as well. The leak appeared to be coming from the swivel arm of the davit that was to take the submersible to a position to lower it into the water, but not without hydraulic fluid.
“Who aboard this vessel would do such a thing?” muttered David, frowning, shaking his head.
“Whoever wears a size eight and a half N-sneaker,” she sharply replied. “See the misshapen N in the pattern.”
“He looked closer. Could as well be a Z.”
“Well… whatever you want to call the pattern—it’s not going anywhere.”
“Unless it’s over the side.”
For Swigart, she took out her cell phone and photographed the footprint. “Not a large person,” she said to David. She pointed out a vague design in the oily footprint. It took some straining, but David made out how she had determined his Z to be a wavy N in a circle. “Nike maybe… maybe New Balance?”
“Most likely a boot; does Nike make boots as well as sneakers?”
Swigart was already in the pilot house and on the horn, repeatedly calling out Alandale’s name, following up with Ford, asking both to report to the bridge. David and Kelly looked in every direction, expecting Alandale to pop up from a hatchway somewhere, and Ford to come from one of the holds to make their way to the bridge. But no one showed, and it seemed everyone on board noticed, and they all waited… and they waited but neither Alandale nor Houston Ford made an appearance.
“We’d best check his compartment,” she said, going for the nearest hatch leading below—David on her heels. “He could be in some distress, a man his age!”
On arriving at Alandale’s door, David knocked and when no answer came, he pounded the door, and finally he tore it open, calling out, “Doctor! Dr. Alandale!”
But the room was empty, and eerily so; books, papers on the desk open, a candle-shaped lamp lit, a half eaten sandwich left atop the desk, the old fellow’s pipe resting on its stand, a final curl of smoke rising from it. “He can’t be far,” said David, pointing out the rising smoke. “Come on!” David started away, but she grabbed his arm.
“Hold on. There against the wall on the floor. See it?”
“See what?”
She lifted the candle-shaped lamp close, adding, “See this brown-to-black debris on the floor. What is that?”
David saw what she was alluding to, and he bent nearer to inspect it. “Looks like dust.”
“Soil?”
“Yeah… dirt—like soil only… I dunno, spilled tobacco?”
“Dave—the wall…” she pointed to a vent panel. “W-What’s behind the vents?”
There were parallel vents along the wall above the debris.
“Dunno.”
“I can smell it. Something’s behind that vent.”
David found a grip on the large square panel and yanked. It came down in a crash, sending up the debris that had first attracted them. “Not dirt. Dust flakes, like wood mold—or darkened, hardened skin cells.” He coughed even as he realized they had discovered Dr. Alandale. His body had been stuffed into the vent, legs and arms broken and fitted to his torso with a cord so his body looked more like a laundry package than a body!
In fact, if he’d had no head, it would appear a near perfect square. But the worst of it was that the entire body appeared the color of mahogany and was about as stiff as wood—precisely as described in Declan Irvin’s
“Oh my god, look! It’s your Z and my N on the shoes, David! It was Alandale who sabotaged the ship. It’s begun and far sooner than I’d expected; you heard Swigart. Besides Dr. Alandale, there’s still a missing crewman.”
“Yes, Ford; perhaps he’s the one who killed Alandale.”
“You don’t get it still, Dave; no one knows who or what the killer is until it gets hold of them.”
“All right… OK, so, what do we do now?”
“Put the wall panel back—cover him in his coffin here.”
“What? Swigart’s likely on his way here now.”
“And this thing could be inside Swigart, controlling him. Put the panel back; we have to play dumb. It’s imperative the thing continues to believe no one is onto it.”
David did as told, quickly replacing the panel, Kelly helping out. They heard Swigart and the others coming down the corridor. They completed the task, stood, made for the door and met Swigart face to face, and behind Swigart stood Will Bowen and Lena Gambio, flashing her lashes. Mendenhall and Jens joined them. Kyle Fiske was conspicuously absent.
