When she stepped off the tranquil elevator at the main engineering level three floors above the bottom deck, JoAnn Riggs was pushed back by the noise as if physically struck. Patroni stood on a catwalk suspended over the molded block head of the engine in a huddled meeting with his assistants. He was built like a fireplug. Wolf had somehow beat Riggs here and watched the engineers from a few paces away, one of his men at his side. Because of the noise, no one was aware of her presence until she tapped Patroni on his hard sloping shoulder.
“Well?” She had to scream into his ear to be heard over the machinery.
Patroni held up a scarred finger, then bade Riggs to follow him.
The walk to the engineering control room was hot and uncomfortable; the smell made her nauseous. Patroni slid open the glass door to the control room and waited until they had all entered before sealing the room again. Through the thick glass enclosure, they had a commanding view of the engine room, but the noise was reduced to a dull rumble by the sound insulation, and the air was fresh thanks to air conditioning.
“Well?” repeated Riggs.
Patroni ignored her for a moment as he studied the countless banks of control consoles that hugged three walls of the room. With each display he checked, he grunted a bit louder and the scowl on his pug face deepened.
“I told you we needed to keep engineering manned at all times. This accident is your fault entirely,” he accused, ignoring the two machine pistols trained on him.
“Just tell me what happened,” Riggs ordered angrily.
“According to the computer logs, there was a buildup of scale on the fuel filter for number-five cylinder. Had someone been in here, it would have been easy to switch over to the backup injector, clean the filter, and reactivate the primary, but me and my staff weren’t here. The filter failed, and the fuel pumped into number five was contaminated. It started running lean. The computer picked it up, but again” — he glared at Riggs — “no one was here. Had the seas been calm we would have felt the engine vibrating as cylinder five started to pre-detonate. As near as I can tell, she was running so lean, she blew the head right off the piston. The computers sensed the presence of that much metal grinding through the machinery and initiated an emergency shutdown.”
“You said you could get her running again.”
“Sure. I just release the compression on number five and let her cycle without power, but we’ve got a couple hundred pounds of scrap metal in the crankcase right now and it’s going to tear the rest of the engine apart when we restart.”
“Drain the oil and refill it with lubricant from ship’s stores,” Riggs replied.
“That’ll get out most of it, but not all,” Patroni pointed out. “She’ll foul up again. At reduced power we just might make Seattle before the whole engine seizes solid.”
“I don’t care what you do, Chief, but this ship will make it to San Francisco or, so help me God, you’ll watch as every member of the crew is castrated before I kill you myself. Am I clear?” Riggs turned to Wolf, whose eyes showed respect at Riggs’ handling of the situation. “Any chance this could be caused by sabotage?”
“No one has been down here since we took the vessel except for the inspection, which my men watch. This is a natural accident.”
“Accidents are never natural,” Riggs snapped before leaving the control room, heading back to her sanctuary on the bridge.
“All right, boys.” Patroni turned to his three assistants. “Ken, Paul, I want you to go to the stores and grab three barrels of oil. Pete, start pulling the drains on all the cylinders. I want you to set some filters under the drains so I have an idea how much shit is in the crankcase. I want to flush the whole system once, turn her over a couple of times with the primary starter, and wash her out again. Then we’ll fill her up. Oh, and check the fuel preheater, will ya? Make sure it’s ready. The fuel’s going to be cold again by the time we’re ready for a restart. I need to go put on my working rig.” Patroni’s men were already wearing their heavy overalls, but he was still in his uniform and had to change before tackling the messy job of changing eighty gallons of engine oil. He glanced at Wolf and asked ironically, “Is that all right with you?”
Wolf waved him away with a flick of his wrist. He was more concerned about Patroni’s men somehow sabotaging the engine repairs. He felt certain that the Chief Engineer knew what was at risk and would soon return to the engine room.
George Patroni angrily stabbed at the elevator call button and quietly cursed everyone involved with fouling his beloved engine. First, of course, was the bitch Riggs, followed closely by Wolf and the rest of his band of cutthroats; then came the idiots who had installed the faulty fuel injector and the morons who’d built it in the first place. He was still adding people to his list when the elevator arrived and he stepped into the empty car.
He wasn’t even aware that the emergency hatch on the top of the elevator was open until a voice called down to him, “Did I stop the ship?”
Patroni nearly jumped out of his skin, slamming himself against the back of the car and staring up at the dark opening over his head. He watched, slack-jawed, as Captain Lyle Hauser peered through the hatchway.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Patroni muttered.
Hauser snapped him out of his near panic. “Disengage the alarm and stop the car.”
Patroni peeled himself off the wall and opened the small panel cover beneath the elevator’s controls. It took him a second to cross-wire the elevator alarm so when he hit the stop button, the bell remained silent. Hauser almost fell from his perch at the sudden deceleration.
“I thought you were dead,” Patroni said after finally finding his voice.
Hauser eased through the hatch and dropped to the floor next to Patroni, the car shuddering with the impact. “So did I.”
Hauser’s life had been spared by a fraction of an inch. When he leaped from the bridge wing the night before, he had lost his footing at the critical instant and had slammed into the stout railing that surrounded the lower promenade. Through the agony of the crushing blow, he had enough presence of mind to clutch at the railing before falling another forty feet to the main deck. He clung precariously for many long moments as his breath returned in aching gasps.
He knew that Riggs would send someone to make certain he was dead. He had to find refuge. Cold, numb, and racked with pain, Hauser had broken into one of the ship’s three enclosed lifeboats, the one that hung directly at her stern. The other two boats, both port and starboard, were visible from the bridge and therefore not options. Hauser had thought about launching the craft and escaping, but he was the captain of the Petromax Arctica and there was no way he would abandon his ship and crew.
Despite his fear, Hauser had managed to eat a little of the emergency stores cached in the craft. He had donned one of the yellow survival suits to retain his body heat and had even managed to sleep for a few hours. By the time dawn finally arrived, he was rested enough to implement the plan that had come to him during the night.
Hauser had spent only a few hours aboard the Petromax Arctica before she was seized, but he’d been around ships, especially tankers, his entire life. It was easy to work his way into the multiple layers of crawl spaces and access tunnels that were sandwiched between the decks. This gave him full run of the supertanker while avoiding any chance of detection. He’d been able to watch guards and crewmen alike as he lay in the cramped confines of the heating ducts.
When he reached the engine room this morning, he’d found Patroni and an assistant oiler doing a scheduled inspection under the malevolent glare of one of the terrorists. His hopes of sabotaging the tanker were dashed. There was nothing he could do as long as the engine room was occupied. But even as he prepared to make his way back to the sanctuary of the lifeboat, the guard herded Patroni and his aide back to the elevator.