Sea of Fire

euphoric. He had returned from the dead to confront Hawke. A life of wandering had ended in a flourish of purpose. It felt good.

Suddenly, through the spray of water, Kannaday saw a light. He wondered if this was the light of the afterlife people spoke of. He watched as the white beacon, sharply haloed with a rainbow, appeared to be growing larger. A moment later, Kannaday heard a drone. The sound rose above the rush of water that was coming from below. As the white light approached, Kannaday realized it was above him. This was not the glow of passing from one world to the next.

It was a helicopter. Perhaps its pilot had seen the flares and had come to investigate. Not that it mattered. There were too many people to rescue, and they were far from shore. He did not think many of these men could stay afloat for the two or more hours it would take for ships to reach this remote point.

Kannaday's fingers were cramped and trembling. He was holding tightly, but the rope was slippery and the angle of the yacht increasingly severe. The captain began to lose his hold. He moved his feet around. The steeper the angle, the more dead weight his own body became. He was looking for a place to brace himself. He found nothing.

The light floated behind the yacht. Kannaday slipped a little more. He let go with one hand and tried to wrap the rope around his wrist. There was not enough slack to do that. He was losing blood and felt his head swim. His fingers weakened, and he slipped farther down the line. But Kannaday forced himself to hold tight. He wanted to finish what he had started belowdecks. The long overdue reformation of Peter Kannaday. A captain was supposed to resist any effort to mutiny. In the end, he had done that. The unwritten law of the sea also dictated that a captain remain with his ship until passengers and crew had been safely evacuated. Kannaday intended to honor that, too, even though he hoped that John Hawke drowned with him. He knew that Hawke was still somewhere on the deck of the sinking ship. Kannaday had seen the security officer hanging to the bottom edge of the forward hatch. He refused to surrender the Hosannah to him. Even in the end.

Strong winds howled along the sides of the yacht as the vessel slid deeper into the sea. It was rotor wash from the helicopter. The light behind it rose slowly behind the ship. Kannaday saw the Hosannah silhouetted on the restless sea. It was a foreshortened, oblong shape.

Almost like a coffin.

That was the last thing Kannaday saw as the ship went under. It dragged him feetfirst into the cold water. His fingers remained wrapped on the rope as he submerged. He did not hold his breath, and he did not struggle. It did not matter to him what the maritime authorities made of the sinking. What mattered was that Peter Kannaday knew the truth.

He had died a captain.

Chapter Sixty-Three

The Coral Sea Sunday, 3:08 A.M.

'I think it's safe to go around,' Herbert said.

The American's voice was thick with sarcasm as the ship vanished. Jelbart turned his binoculars on the water where the boat had been.

'Did the name of the yacht sound familiar to anyone?' Herbert asked. 'The Hosannah?'

'No,' Jelbart said. 'But it looked like a typical charter. You see them a lot in this region.'

'There is someone down there,' FNO Loh said suddenly.

'Where?' Jelbart asked.

'On my side,' Loh said. 'Floating facedown.'

The pilot turned the helicopter around so Jelbart could see. 'You're right,' Jelbart said. 'And there's someone swimming toward him. Officer Loh, can you get the ladder?'

The Singaporean reached behind her. She unhooked the rolled aluminum ladder from the small storage area.

'There are hooks on the floor,' the pilot said.

'I see them,' Loh replied. She unbuckled her seat belt and dropped to one knee. She fastened the top of the ladder to the steel hooks, gave a hard tug, then undid the nylon bands around the ladder. 'Ready,' she said.

'He's waving to us,' Jelbart said. 'It must be someone who did not want the ship to go down.'

'That would be someone we definitely want to talk to,' Herbert remarked.

'If we do get him, we'll have to leave immediately,' the pilot said. 'The extra weight is going to put a strain on our fuel consumption.'

'I understand,' Jelbart said. 'Let's get him.'

The pilot acknowledged. There may be other survivors out there. He did not like the idea of leaving them. Not at night in a cold, tortured sea. But he liked even less the prospect of having to ditch the Bell at sea if they could not reach shore.

'Officer Loh, would you deploy the ladder?' the pilot asked. He turned the chopper around.

Loh held on to the canvas strap beside the door, then opened it. She leaned out. The downdraft was stronger than she expected. She had to brace herself against the other side of the doorway.

The man was treading water beside the other sailor. He had turned the body onto its back. It did not appear to be moving. She used her left foot to kick the ladder out. The man was far enough away so that it would not hit him when deployed. The ladder clattered gently as it unrolled. Loh leaned out again.

'Can he make it without assistance?' Jelbart asked.

'He's trying,' Loh replied. 'He's swimming toward it but only using one arm. The other seems to be injured.'

'I can't go any lower or we'll blow him under,' the pilot said.

Loh watched as the man threw his right arm up. He grabbed the lowest rung and brought his left arm over. He was having trouble raising it. His left arm looked like it might be broken.

'He's struggling,' Loh said. She turned around. 'I'm going down.'

'Officer, take these!' the pilot said. He handed her his gloves. 'They'll help your grip.'

'Thank you,' she said as she pulled them on. Loh backed out the open door and started down.

The ladder vibrated as the naval officer made her way down. There were twenty rungs to the surface of the sea. She took them slowly. The rungs, FNO Loh's cheeks, and her clothing quickly became damp with seawater. The gloves proved to be a lifesaver.

Every few steps the officer looked down. She wanted to make sure the sailor was still hanging on. He was there, his right arm hooked over the rung. If he went under, Loh knew that she would have to drop in to retrieve him.

The descent went quickly. When Loh was one rung above him, she carefully stepped to the rung he was holding. His expression was tight. He appeared to be in extreme pain.

'Can you put your bad arm around my shoulder?' she yelled down.

'I think so,' he said. He cocked his head to the side. 'That man betrayed me! I want his body brought aboard.'

'We can talk about this inside!' she said.

'You don't understand,' the man said. 'He's a traitor! You need to fingerprint him, find out what else he may be involved in.'

'We're low on fuel,' Loh told him. 'There is a patrol ship on the way. They will collect his remains.'

The officer ducked lower. The man seemed to hesitate. Then, reluctantly, he tried to raise his left arm. Loh reached back with her right hand to pull it around her neck. He clutched her collar with weak, bleeding fingers. She shifted slightly and hefted him a little higher. Then they started climbing. The man was not exactly dead weight, but neither was he as helpful as she had hoped. About halfway up she really began to feel the strain. Each rung was twice as difficult as the one before. The man was trying to climb with her. But each time he reached with his good arm, he rested his full weight on her back. She was surprised at how difficult this was. At the naval academy's annual fitness review, FNO Loh was still able to climb a rope thirty feet without using her legs. Of course, she did