“Go on, then. When you return, be ready to answer my questions.”
As Bartou brought the Aurasina about and started her limping east toward Susak, Tanner went below. Passengers, their arms full of luggage and personal belongings, clogged the passageways, trying to follow the shouted instructions of crew members standing at intersections and ladder heads. Children cried and called for their parents. Somewhere a dog started yelping. From the vehicle decks Tanner could hear the honking of car horns and the echo of voices calling to one another in Italian.
Cahil had said Trpkova’s stateroom was 3-B-19—third deck, passenger area B, cabin 19. Tanner wasn’t hopeful of finding Trpkova sitting in his cabin as the ferry sunk around him, but it was a starting point he couldn’t afford to ignore. Briggs descended three levels and headed aft, pushing and weaving his way through the crush of bodies.
He paused at a T intersection. Arrows pointed left and right down the adjoining passageways: “La sezione A/B/ C/D.” Tanner turned left. He passed few people, the bulk of the passengers and crew having abandoned the lower decks on their way topside. He started jogging, reading cabin numbers as he went. A crewman coming in the opposite direction tried to grab his arm. “Signore … tornare!” Tanner shrugged him off and kept going.
The cabins flashed past: Eleven … twelve … thirteen. He skidded to a halt outside number nineteen. He stepped forward, put his ear to the door, heard nothing. He stepped back, braced himself against he bulkhead, and charged. The door crashed inward. Tanner rushed through.
The cabin was empty.
He hurried back to the bridge, to find Bartou in conference with another officer, the chief engineer, Tanner guessed, by his lapel pin. “How are we doing?” Tanner asked.
“We’ve moved a quarter of the cars. The bow is up by a meter, but the pumps are falling behind. The gash in the bow is too big, I fear.”
“How far to Susak?”
“Two miles. Three fishing trawlers off Ilovik heard our distress calls; they’re on their way. Others from Rijeka and Pula are going to meet us at Susak, but won’t arrive for another hour.”
“And the passengers?”
“So far we’ve moved roughly three-quarters of them aft.”
“What’s your plan for getting them off?”
“The bow ramp is out of the question. When we get nearer to the shore, I’ll bring her about and back her into the shallows. With some luck and prayer, we’ll try to drop the stern ramp right on the beach.” Bartoli offered a weak grin. “They can march off like Noah’s Ark. Tell me: What is your name?”
“Briggs Tanner.”
Bartoli extended his hand. “Ettore. You’ve been a great help. Now: Tell me what is going on. What happened to my ship? Who are you? You’re American, your accent tells me that. Are you some kind of police officer?”
“Your last two questions are complicated. As for your first, the boat I was on belonged to another man. He’s been shadowing your ferry. He laid a torpedo mine in your path.”
“My god, why?”
How to answer that? Clearly he couldn’t tell Bartoli the whole convoluted story; doing so would only raise more questions he didn’t dare answer. “Captain, we’ve got a bigger problem: I think he may have had accomplices aboard your ferry. The other friend I mentioned was looking for three men.”
“These men — they are still aboard?”
“I believe so.”
“Are they armed?” Tanner nodded and Bartoli said, “Give me their names and descriptions. We’ll search for them.”
“I only have a description of the leader.” Tanner gave him Trpkova’s description. “If any of your people spot him, tell them not to approach him,” Briggs said.
“Why not grab him immediately?” Bartoli asked. “Surely we could overpower—”
“No,” Tanner said. “Let him get ashore.”
Though unlikely to make any difference if Kestrel were released, Tanner wanted to let Trpkova get away from the bulk of the Aurasina’s passengers before taking him. If the worst happened, there was a chance Dutcher and the others could step in and get Susak quarantined. Still, Tanner wasn’t hopeful — not with eight hundred passengers and an army of rescue vessels and personnel descending on the island.
“Let him get ashore?” Bartoli said with a frown. “He is that dangerous?”
Tanner nodded. “He’s that dangerous.”
Ten minutes later Bartou got a call from one of his crew: A man matching Trpkova’s description had been spotted on the main deck, aft. Bartoli arranged a meeting place with the crewman — a purser named Salvatori — and gave Tanner directions. Briggs found Salvatori near the rear stack overlooking the afterdeck. Tanner pulled him away from the rail.
“They’re down there,” Salvatori said. “I spotted him five minutes ago. There are four men in all.”
Four? Cahil, perhaps? “Describe them.” Salvatori did so; the fourth man matched Bear’s description. “You’re sure they’re together?”
“Yes. I saw them all talking.”
Trpkova must have spotted and recognized Cahil. “Here’s what I want you to do: Very casually, go to the railing and find them again. Directly ahead of you will be twelve — like on a clock. Come back and tell me where they’re standing.”
Salvatori did so and then strolled back. “Three o’clock. They are standing together in a group at the railing.”
Tanner stepped forward until he could see the edge of the railing below. Hundreds of passengers milled about the deck, some standing at the railing staring out at the passing sea or craning their necks forward to get a glimpse of the damage at the bow, others seated on deck, their backs pressed against the superstructure. Spotlights mounted every few feet on the superstructure cast the deck in stark light. The air was filled with the din of nearly a thousand overlapping voices.
The storm was abating, Tanner realized. The rain had quit altogether and the wind had lessened, now blowing from south to north. The waves, while still running high, had lost their chop and now rolled smoothly along the hull.
Tanner spotted Cahil. Standing to his left and right at the railing were two men. Directly behind Cahil, left hand in his pocket, right hand gripping a black briefcase, was Risto Trpkova.
Tanner stepped back to Salvatori. “You’ve got a good eye; it’s them. You saw the man with the beard?”
“Yes.”
“He’s with me.”
“What do we do now?”
“Nothing. Stay here and watch them. If they move, call your captain.”
Tanner returned to the bridge. Wind whistled through the shattered windows and the deck was damp with sea spray. Bartoli stood near the helm console, a pair of binoculars raised to his eyes. He noticed Tanner. “Well?”
“It’s him; my friend is there. Captain, do you—”
“Here,” Bartoli said with a smile and handed across the binoculars. “Dead on the bow. You know, I think we may just make it.”
Tanner focused the binoculars on the horizon. A mile distant he could see a dark, jagged hump of land — Susak Island, he assumed. Closer in, he could see the jagged white line of reef and faint wisps of spindrift exploding into the air.
“How are you going to manage the reef?” Tanner asked.
“The water’s only a meter deep there. We’ll blow over it and drop the ramp in the shallows.” Bartoli grinned. “I don’t think anyone will complain about getting their feet a little wet, do you? Ah, here’s some help — our trawlers from Ilovik.”
Tanner followed Bartoli’s extended finger. To starboard Tanner could make out three sets of red and green running lights. He heard the faint wail of a whistle. From the lead trawler a light blinked out a semaphore code. Bartoli studied it through the binoculars, muttering, “Yes, yes, thank you.” He lowered the binoculars. “They’ll arrive shortly after we ground.”