“Some of them tried to escape,” Juan pointed out.
“Not all of them had such elevated or prolonged exposure.”
“What about the Chinese?”
“I only checked one for toxicity, and she came up clean.”
“But this guy’s riddled with mercury?”
“You could fill a couple of thermometers off him. I checked two of his compatriots quickly and found the same thing. I bet they’re all suffering to one degree or another.”
Juan ran a hand across his jaw. “If we find the source of the mercury, we might find the pirates’ lair.”
“Stands to reason,” Julia agreed, stripping off her gloves with a sharp snap. She removed her surgical cap and redid her ponytail with a well-practiced twist. “You can get mercury poisoning by eating contaminated fish, but the risk’s mostly to children and women who want to conceive. But with the levels I’m seeing here, I’d put my money on these guys basing themselves someplace close to a contaminated industrial site or an old mercury mine.”
“Any idea if there are such mines in this area?”
“Hey, my job’s medical mysteries and patching you cutthroats back together,” Julia teased. “You want geology lessons, call on someone else.”
“How about their ethnic background? That might help narrow the search.”
“Sorry. The fifteen pirates I have on ice are a veritable United Nations. This one looks Thai or Vietnamese. Three others are either Chinese or Korean, two Caucasians, the others are Indonesian, Filipino, and a mix of everything else.”
“Super,” Juan said acidly. “We have the luck to run across a bunch of politically correct pirates who believe in diversity. Anything else?”
“That’s it for now. I need a few more days to finish up everything.”
“How’s your other patient?”
“Sleeping. Or at least pretending to so she doesn’t have to talk to me. I get the feeling she wants off this tub ASAP.”
“Why am I not surprised? Thanks, Hux.”
Juan had only just gotten back to his cabin and ordered a lunch of steak and kidney pie when Mark Murphy knocked at his door. “What do you have, Murph?”
“I think I found her.”
“Have a seat. So is it a bulk carrier of some kind or a container ship?”
“Neither.” Mark handed over a thin file. Inside was a single photograph and a half-page description.
Juan glanced at the picture and gave Murphy a questioning look. “You sure?”
“She’s on her way to Taiwan from Oratu, Japan, where she was used for a refit of a Panamanian tanker that threw a prop during a storm.”
Juan looked at the picture again. The vessel was 800 feet long and 240 feet wide. Just as Tory had described, the ship was completely rectangular, with no rake to her bow or stern and nothing protruding from her deck to alter her flat profile. Juan read what Mark had managed to learn about the odd craft. She was the fourth-largest floating drydock in the world. Built in Russia to service massive Oscar II–class submarines like the ill-fated
Juan’s pulse quickened.
Using a drydock to hijack an entire ship at sea was truly inspired but also frightening in scope and sophistication. His deep fear about a leader uniting pirates across the Pacific into a coherent group might well be the tip of the iceberg. With a drydock this size, they could snatch nearly any ship they wanted.
He pictured how they’d pull it off. First a team of pirates would need to board their intended target in order to subdue the crew. Then they would sail their captured ship to rendezvous with the drydock. Under the cover of night, and only when weather conditions were favorable, because it would be dicey work, the drydock would ballast down so the bottom of its open hold was lower than the keel of their stolen ship. Big winches at the stern of the drydock would then reel in the vessel. The bow doors would swing closed, ballast pumped out, and the tugs towing the drydock would continue on their way. Without a direct overflight, no one would ever know that inside the drydock was the booty of the most audacious pirate ring in history.
“Pretty slick, hey boss?”
“Yeah.”
“They come along and swallow up their victim.” Mark gave an animated pantomime of the action as he spoke. “Haul it to their secret base. They’d have all the time in the world to offload the cargo before dismantling it. Rather than scavenge like hyenas, these guys are taking down their prey like lions.”
“Why dismantle the ship?” Cabrillo mused aloud. “Why not make some changes to it, alter a few characteristics, paint a new name on her stern, and either sell her off or sail her for themselves?”
“I hadn’t thought of that, but that makes even more sense.”
“So what do we know about the company that owns the drydock? Wait, what’s it called?”
“The drydock?” Murphy asked and Cabrillo nodded.
“German for mouse. Cute. So, the company?”
“Occident and Orient Lines. O&O. They’ve been around for like a hundred years. Used to be publicly traded, but in the past decade most of the shares have been bought up by entity or entities unknown.”
