The Navigator

rope low in the water. The line might slip off the slippery surface of the berg otherwise. The captain inspected the setup.

“Good job,” Dawe said. “Now comes the fun part.”

He led Austin and Zavala back up to the bridge. About half a mile of open water separated the ship and the berg; Dawe considered this the minimum distance for safe towing.

“I’ll let you take over from here,” Austin said.

He knew that this was no place for an amateur. Towed bergs have been known to turn over, and there was always the danger of the towline being tangled in the propellers.

Under the captain’s direction, the ship increased power. The towline went taut. The water behind the boat boiled in a white, foamy patch. The berg reluctantly overcame the inertia holding it in place. The huge ice mountain became unstuck from the sea, and they began to make slow headway. It might take hours to reach a speed of a single knot.

With the iceberg under tow, Austin excused himself and came back from his cabin a few minutes later. He presented a cardboard box to the captain. Dawe opened the box and his mouth widened in a grin. He lifted a broad-brimmed Stetson from the box and placed the cowboy hat on his head.

“A little large, but I can stuff newspaper inside to make it fit. Thanks, guys.”

“Consider it a small token of appreciation for having us on board,” Austin said.

Zavala was staring at the iceberg, which dwarfed the ship. “What are we going to do with that thing?”

“We’ll tow it to a current that will take it away from the oil rig. It could take a few days.”

“Captain—” The radarman called Dawe over to the radar monitor. “I’ve been tracking a target. Looks like it’s heading toward the Great Northern.”

The radar man had drawn three Xs with a grease pencil on a transparent plastic overlay and connected them to show the object’s course and time. The captain took a straightedge and lined it up with the markings.

“This isn’t good,” he murmured. “We’ve got a ship on a straight-line course for the oil rig. Moving fast, too.”

He radioed the Great Northern platform. The oil rig’s radar operator had spotted the oncoming ship and had tried to contact it. No one answered. He was about to call the Leif Eriksson when Dawe hailed him.

“We’re getting a little worried,” the radarman said. “She’s headed right down our throat.”

“That’s what it looks like,” Dawe said. “I figure she’s about ten miles out.”

“Too damn close.”

“We’ll dump the berg we’re towing and try to make an intercept. How long will it take to move the rig off the wellhead?”

“We’ve already started, but that ship could get here first if it stays at its present speed.”

“Keep trying to make radio contact. We’ll wave her off.” He turned to Austin and Zavala.

“Sorry, guys, but we’ll have to cut your berg loose.”

Austin had been listening to the radio exchange. He pulled on his foul weather top and clamped the cap down on his head. Zavala followed suit.

The release procedure was the reverse of the lassoing. The deck team detached the buoyed end of the rope to let it float free. Dawe maneuvered the ship back around the iceberg, and the crew reeled in the thousands of feet of line. When the last foot of line was on deck and pulled safely away from the propellers, the captain gave the order to move out at full speed.

Zavala stayed on deck wrapping up and Austin returned to the bridge. The microphone was clutched in the captain’s hand. “Still no luck?” Austin said.

Dawe shook his head. He looked worried, and he had clearly lost his patience. “We should be alongside those idiots before long.”

The captain went over to the radar screen. Another X had been drawn and connected to the previous course line. A second, intercepting course line had been drawn for the Eriksson.

“What are the chances the rig could sustain a direct hit?” Austin said.

“Not good. Great Northern is a semisubmersible rig. The legs offer some protection but nothing like the Hibernia platform, which is anchored in the bottom and protected by a thick concrete barrier.”

Austin was familiar with drilling platforms from his North Sea days. He knew that a semisubmersible rig is more of ship than a platform, used mostly for deep water. Four legs rest on pontoons that act as a hull. The platform is designed to be towed through the water, although some rigs can move on their own power. Once the rig is on a drilling site, the pontoons are flooded. Several massive anchors hold the rig in place.

“How many workers are on the platform?” Austin asked.

“It’s got accommodations for two hundred thirty.”

“Will they have time to move out of harm’s way?”

“They’re pulling anchors, and the service boats will start towing soon, but the rig is geared to move out of the path of slow-moving bergs that get past the ice patrol. They’re not built to dodge a runaway ship.”

Austin wasn’t so sure of the captain’s use of the term runaway, which implied that the vessel was out of control. His own impression was that this ship was very much in control and that it was being aimed directly at the Great Northern rig.

A sharp-eyed crewman pointed to the sea off the starboard bow. “I see her.”

Austin borrowed the crewman’s binoculars and adjusted the focus knob until the profile of a containership came into view. He could make out the tall letters painted on the red hull that identified the ship as belonging to a company called Oceanus Lines. Painted in white letters on the ship’s great flaring bow was the name: OCEAN ADVENTURE.

THE SHIPS moved abreast on a parallel course about a quarter of a mile apart. The Eriksson blinked its lights and blasted its horn to attract the ship’s attention. The Adventure plowed through the sea without slowing. The captain ordered the crew to keep trying to make contact visually or over the radio.

The oil rig was coming into view. The platform squatted on the sea like a four-legged water bug. Its most prominent features were a towering oil derrick and a disk-shaped helicopter pad.

“Does the rig have a chopper?” Austin asked the captain.

“On its way back from making a hospital run. Too late to do an air evacuation, anyhow.”

“I wasn’t thinking about evacuation. Maybe the chopper could put someone aboard the ship.”

“There won’t be time. The best it will be able to do is pick up some survivors, if there are any.”

Austin raised the glasses. “Don’t bring out the body bags just yet,” he said. “Maybe there’s still a chance to save the rig.”

“Impossible! The platform will sink like a stone when the ship slams into it.”

“Take a look around midships,” Austin said. “Tell me what you see.”

The captain peered through the lenses. “There’s a gangway hanging down almost to the waterline.”

Austin outlined his plan.

“That’s crazy, Kurt. Too dangerous. You and Joe could be killed.”

Austin gave Dawe a tight smile. “No offense, Captain, but if your Newfie jokes didn’t kill us, nothing will.”

The captain gazed at Austin’s determined face and his expression of utmost confidence. If anyone could pull off the impossible, it would be this American and his friend.

“All right,” Dawe said. “I’ll give you everything you need.”

Austin slipped into his foul weather jacket, yanked up the zipper, and headed down to the deck to fill Zavala in. Zavala knew his friend well enough not to be surprised at the audacity or the risk of Austin’s idea.

“Pretty simple scheme when you think about it,” Zavala said. “The odds aren’t the greatest.”

“Slightly better than a snowball’s chance in hell by my reckoning.”

“Can’t get much better than that. The execution could be a little tricky.”

A pained expression came to Austin’s rugged face. “I’d prefer it if we didn’t use the word execution.”

“An unfortunate slip of the tongue. What does Captain Dawe think of your idea?”

“He thinks we’d be crazy.”