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PUGET SOUND, WASHINGTON, USA:
Alex Cave takes a deep breath of salt-scented air, knowing he won’t smell it again for at least a year. That’s all his current occupation as a geophysics instructor in Montana will allow. For now, he prefers this simpler life from his previous job as a CIA operative in Europe.
The wind dies to a whisper, and he lashes down the white nylon sails of his chartered thirty-five-foot sailboat. It’s the last day of his two-week vacation sailing through the San Juan Islands of Washington State.
A panic filled voice suddenly crackles from the VHF radio speaker. “Mayday! Mayday! Something’s happening to the ship!”
He looks around and sees the outline of a large ship, about four miles away. He steps down onto the main deck and grabs his binoculars, focusing them on the craft. An oil tanker, he surmises from its design. It’s riding low in the water, indicating it’s full.
He is about to grab the microphone to respond when he hears the Coast Guard answer the distress call. He listens to the conversation as he scans the area through the binoculars. The oil tanker is the only ship in the area. He realizes the Coast Guard will probably reach the tanker first, but decides to fire up the internal gas engine in the sailboat and head toward the tanker, thinking maybe he can be of some assistance.
***
U.S. COAST GUARD SHIP, ADLER:
“Mayday! Mayday! Something’s happening to the ship!” A young voice calls from the radio speaker.
The four men on the bridge of the U.S. Coast Guard ship, Adler, stare out through the window, scanning the area for a ship, but don’t see one.
The Adler’s captain, a gray-haired Commander named McBride, looks over at his radio operator. “Turn it up.”
“Mayday! Mayday! Can anyone hear me, damn it?”
The radio operator presses the button on his microphone. “This is the U.S. Coast Guard ship Adler. Who are you and what’s your location?”
“This is the Americrude oil tanker Defiance, forty-nine-degrees, five minutes south, and one-hundred-twenty-three west. Shit! Get us some help out here!”
McBride hears terror in the voice and looks at the Officer of the Deck, who indicates he has the tanker on radar.
“Thirty miles, sir,” he says.
McBride gets up and takes the microphone from the operator. “Defiance, say again your situation?”
“There’s something happening to the oil! I think it’s going to explode!”
“Can you identify the cause?”
“No! I mean, I don’t know. It’s just...of bright light. It’s ...and ...out ...of ...”
“Defiance, you’re breaking up. Say again!” Static erupts from the speaker and McBride hands the microphone to the operator. “Try to get him back.”
McBride walks to the radarscope and stares at the screen, and it’s the only ship in that sector. “Let’s go see what’s going on. Come left to course zero-eight-zero. All ahead flank speed.”
***
Alex is half a mile from the tanker when he sees the entire ship engulfed in brilliant blue light. When the light fades away, he sees the end of a slender rainbow rising above the deck for a few moments.
He continues to the tanker, noticing it’s now riding high in the water, empty. He sees no one on deck, and no one answers when he yells up from below. He hangs the rubber bumpers over the side of the sailboat and ties off to the rusted rungs of a ladder, welded to the side of the ship. With the sailboat secure, he climbs to the main deck.
***
Thirty-five minutes later, the thrumming of the Adler’s engines drops to a low rumble. McBride stares through a set of binoculars at the rust streaked black paint on the side of the behemoth oil tanker, about forty-feet away. Thin streams of black smoke trail from her exhaust stack, but all forward movement has ceased. He scans her entire length through the binoculars, but there is no sign of an explosion and he cannot see anyone on deck or up in the bridge.
McBride grabs the microphone for the public address system. “Ahoy, the Defiance. This is the United States Coast Guard responding to your mayday.” He waits several minutes for someone to appear, but the Defiance looks deserted.
“Get the skiff in the water,” McBride orders the Officer of the Deck. “I don’t know what happened here, but I intend to find out.”
McBride sees a man wearing blue jeans and a white sweatshirt suddenly appear on Defiance’s deck and stand at the railing. He grabs a bullhorn and steps through the hatch. He’s buffeted by a cool breeze as he points it up at the man. “You, on the tanker. This is the Commander of the USS Adler. What’s going on?”
Alex hollers back, but the rumbling engines of both ships drown out his voice.
“Damn it!” McBride mutters and points the horn at the man again. “I’m coming aboard.”
With the Coast Guard cruiser on the opposite side from his sailboat, Alex realizes the Commander will assume he’s part of the crew. He drops the boarding ladder over the side and leans his forearms across the railing as he watches the procedure.
McBride goes across in a small launch and ascends the ladder with two of his sailors. He continues across the deck to the stranger and stops. When the stranger straightens from the railing and turns to face him, McBride realizes he is taller in person, about six-foot, with a rugged face marked by a few small scars. What stands out are his blue eyes below his thick black brows and wavy hair.
“Where the hell do you get off calling in you had an explosion?” McBride snarls.
Alex folds his arms across his chest and leans back against the railing. “I didn’t. My name’s Alex Cave, and I’m not a member of the crew. I heard the distress call and came to help. As you can see, there was no explosion, but there’s no one onboard, either.”
“How did you get onboard?”
Alex waves a hand across the deck. “My sailboat is tied off on the other side. I suggest you look around, Commander. I think you’ll find it interesting.”
“All right, lead the way.”
Alex leads McBride and the sailors across the deck, through a hatch, and into the superstructure. They follow him along a passageway into the crew’s quarters. The bunks are unmade, and personal items are scattered around the room and on the floor, as if the crew left in a hurry.
“Did you see anything from your sailboat?” asks McBride.
“Just a bright light. There’s more.”
Alex leads them into the dining room, waving a hand to indicate the dishes, silverware, and food left on the table. “Whatever happened, they left in a hurry.”
The sailor with a portable radio interrupts. “We have the information about the ship, Commander.”
“Turn that thing up and let’s hear it.”
The sailor speaks into the radio, turns up the volume, and sets it on the table. A moment later, the voice of Adler’s radio operator comes through the speaker. “The Defiance. United States registry, home port, Valdez, Alaska. A three-hundred and twenty-six-thousand-ton universal class oil tanker. It departed Valdez on March ninth, carrying eighty-thousand-tons of heavy crude oil. Destination, March Point, Washington State. Seven crew members. That’s it, sir.”
McBride looks at Alex. “She looks empty to me.”
Alex stares evenly at McBride. “She’s not only empty, Commander. The holds are as clean as the day she left the shipyard, with only a few small puddles of salt water in the bottom.”
McBride stares at him. “That’s impossible.”
“I’ve been down inside the holds.”
McBride thinks Alex is mad and studies his expression for some sign he is, but Alex stares back evenly, without blinking. McBride shakes his head in bewilderment. “It doesn’t make any sense. What made them abandon ship?”
“I don’t think they did. All the life rafts are still in the containers along the railing.”
“You don’t miss much, do you?”
Alex grins in reply.
“Just who the hell are you?”
“Like I said. I’m Alex Cave. I’m a geophysics instructor at a college in Montana.”
McBride stares after Alex as he leaves the room, then follows him down to the railing above his sailboat. “So what do you intend to do? I might need you as a witness in the investigation of what happened here.”
Alex smiles. “I intend to get back on my sailboat and finish my vacation. This ship is in your hands now. You can contact me at my college in Bozeman.”
Alex climbs over the rail and down the ladder to his boat. He starts the engine and unties the line, then waves up at McBride as he leaves.
McBride stares after Alex for a moment, then turns and walks back across the deck with the sailors. “We’d better send a message to headquarters in Port Angeles. Tell them to start searching for an oil spill somewhere off the coast between here and Alaska.”
***
Alex’s mind keeps turning over every detail of the incident, searching for a logical answer. However, by sunset, when his boat is tied in her mooring slip, he has none. He decides it’s now the Coast Guard’s problem, and after fixing a sandwich in the galley, he retires to the salon with a good book.
He bolts upright in bed, his sheets soaked in sweat. It’s been a year since the recurring nightmare. Even now, he vividly sees the stretcher being wheeled out the door of his demolished apartment in Holland, raising the sheet, and seeing the face of his beloved wife, Sevi.
He rolls off the bed and grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator and thinks about that day three years ago. He can’t quite remember what happened during the following month. Apparently, he’d gone on a killing rampage to get even with the people who tried to kill him. His friend, Okana, managed to extract him from the Russia, and one week after returning to the United States, he resigned from the CIA. He crawls back into bed, but it’s over an hour before he finally falls asleep.
Just after sunrise, he steps off his sailboat and walks between the yachts and sailboats tied in the mooring slips of the marina. He can’t stop pondering the fate of the Defiance’s crew as he walks up the ramp, past the marina office, and enters the restaurant.
Someone left a Seattle Times newspaper on a vacant table, and he notices the article about the tanker on the front page. He sits down to read it, and orders breakfast from the server. The Coast Guard reports there was no oil spill, but the reporter continues about past oil spills and the danger of having tankers enter Puget Sound.
He sets the newspaper aside when his breakfast arrives and halfheartedly reads the other articles on the front page as he eats. An article on the lower corner catches his attention. SKIERS FIND SIX MEN FROZEN TO DEATH ON MT. BAKER. The article names the two members of the ski patrol who found the bodies, and talks about the kind of training they went through. The ski patrol states that the six dead men might have been drunk or part of a prank, because they were not dressed for the conditions. Five of them were wearing only tee shirts, jeans, and tennis shoes. The sixth man was wearing oil-stained coveralls and smelled like diesel fuel. The Whatcom County Sheriff stated one of the dead men was carrying an Alaska driver’s license.
Alex sets the paper aside while he finishes his breakfast, but can’t stop thinking about the article. The Defiance is out of Alaska, but she had seven men onboard, and they discovered only six men on the mountain. Then again, the crew would be dressed like those men. The man in coveralls could be the ship’s mechanic. That’s ridiculous. How could they end up on a mountain so far away?
He decides it’s worth a little more investigation, just for his own peace of mind, and calls directory assistance to get the number for the Coast Guard.
“United States Coast Guard Station, Port Angeles,” a young male voice answers.
“The station commander, please.”
“Who should I say is calling, sir?”
“Alex Cave,” he informs him and waits. A moment later, a female voice comes on the line.
“This is Captain Taylor, Mr. Cave. Commander McBride has explained what happened.”
“Have you found any of the crew?”
“Not yet, we haven’t found an oil spill, either.”
“Would you have the names of the crew members?”
“Just a second,” the Captain tells him. Alex hears the rustling of papers. “She had a seven-man crew. The skipper’s name was Joseph Bower.” Captain Taylor gives Alex the rest of the names. “Do you need a copy of the report?”
“Not right now. Thanks for the help.”
Alex looks up a number and dials the Seattle Times newspaper and is transferred to the reporter who wrote the article. He asks the woman if she learned the names of the six men and is informed the Whatcom County Sheriff’s Department in Bellingham wouldn’t release the information. Alex thanks her and thinks about calling the Sheriff’s department himself, but assumes they won’t give him the information over the phone. It’s just a coincidence, he thinks again, but something tugs at the back of his mind. He calls the local airport and makes a reservation on a flight leaving for Bellingham in an hour.
***
The flight takes forty-five minutes, and from there, Alex takes a taxi to the Whatcom County Sheriff’s Department. At the front desk, he speaks to a deputy. “I might have some information which could be helpful in your investigation of those men found on Mt. Baker.”
The deputy studies Alex for a moment. “Oh? And who are you?”
Alex realizes he’s only playing a hunch and plays it cool for the moment. “First, I’d like to know the name of the man with the Alaska driver’s license.”
“I won’t give out that kind of information without the Sheriff’s approval.”
“Fine, then let me talk to the Sheriff.”
“The Sheriff’s a busy man. If you have anything to report, it’s your duty to tell me.”
Alex shrugs. “Fine. Solve it yourself.” He turns and walks toward the door.
“Shit! Wait a minute!”
Alex stops and turns to look at the deputy, but doesn’t approach the desk.
“Just hang on a minute. I’ll see if the Sheriff can spare a few minutes.”
The deputy picks up the phone and speaks, and a few moments later, a tall man appears behind the counter. “I’m Sheriff Ralston. What can you tell me about the men on Mt. Baker?”
Alex takes a chance on his gut instinct. “I know where they came from.”
The Sheriff studies Alex for a moment. “Come on back to my office.”
Once in the office, Sheriff Ralston indicates a stiff wooden chair near the desk and sits on his own padded chair on the other side. “What do you know about all this, Mr.?”
“Alex Cave. Have you heard about the oil tanker the Coast Guard brought into Port Angeles?”
“Yes, read about it in the paper. Why?”
“What the paper didn’t say is that the crew was missing. If my suspicions are correct, the skiers found them on Mt. Baker.”
The Sheriff stares at Alex for a moment, a skeptical grin forming on his lips. “Mr. Cave, most of those men were young, and this is a college town. It was probably some fraternity prank turned sour.”
“The paper said you found identification on one of the bodies.”
Ralston reaches into the file basket on his desk, and grabs a folder.
As the Sheriff scans through the first few pages. Alex sits up in tense anticipation.
“Only one had a wallet. An older man had a driver’s license.”
“Was his name Joseph Bower?” The look in the Sheriff’s eyes says he’s right. Alex sighs with relief and leans back in the chair. “Bower was the skipper of that tanker.”
The Sheriff’s jaw goes slack. “You’re shittin’ me.”
“I’m positive the fingerprints will match the ones taken from the ship. There should have been seven bodies. Did you search the area?”
“The ski patrol did. It was odd, though. They said they found the bodies in soft powder snow, but there weren’t any tracks leading in or out of the area. We can’t figure out how they got there.”
“Have you performed an autopsy yet?”
“Yes, and the coroner is baffled. It seems the blood in all the bodies was dehydrated and he can’t figure out how it was done without heat.”
Alex stands up, then brings out his wallet and hands the Sheriff one of his business cards. “I’d appreciate a call once you learn how the blood was dehydrated.”
The Sheriff looks at the card, then at Alex. “Why is a geophysics instructor interested in this case?”
“I love a mystery.” He extends his hand. “Thanks for your help, Sheriff
Rolston accepts Alex hand and stares after him as he leaves the office, wondering how a college professor knows the dead men are from the tanker. He tosses the report back into the basket.
***
Alex’s mind keeps turning over the facts, but nothing makes sense. And what happened to the seventh crew member? He brings out his smart phone, and in contacts, selects his friend, Martin Donner, who’s the Director of National Security.
“Hello, Margaret, Alex here. Let me speak to director Donner, please.” He’s put on hold for a moment, then Martin’s image appears on the screen.
Martin smiles at Alex’s image on his monitor. “Hello, Alex. What can I do for you?”
Alex gives Martin a brief account of everything that has happened and everything he knows. “The whole situation is crazy and I don’t have a clue how the bodies turned up a hundred and fifty miles away. The coroner doesn’t know what killed them, either.”
“Listen, Alex, I’ve just learned that another tanker ran aground in Brownsville, Texas. It was also empty and abandoned.”
“Do me a favor, Martin, make this official so I’ll get some cooperation, and tell the authorities in Houston I’ll be down to investigate.”
“I’ll take care of it right away. Call me from Brownsville and let me know what you find out.”
“I will.”
Alex books the next flight to Brownsville, which won’t leave Seattle until 8:00 AM the tomorrow morning.