The only thing we couldn't explain was 78-inch long stainless steel container on the foredeck. It was open, and the chamber was lined with a thick, yellowish crust.
At Hannah's insistence, we didn't touch any of the victims. Her initial fear was that we could be dealing with something that was highly contagious. She donned latex gloves, took out a small scalpel and took tissue samples from three of the victims.
We had one stroke of good fortune. I managed to locate the ship's log. Once again, Hannah was overly cautious. She had me take off my shirt, wrap it around the water-stained gray canvas ledger and carry it back to the Sloe Gin.
After a total of almost three hours on the floating coffin called the Bay Foreman, we called it quits. Queet motored Hannah back to the Sloe Gin and left me waiting on the fantail, staring into the mocking, starstudded Caribbean skies.
It was a long night. Getting Maggie calmed down after she heard the details about what we had discovered took some doing, and I doubt if we would have gotten the task accomplished at all if Hannah hadn't pumped ten milligrams of Mellaril into the distraught lady. Then, to add insult to injury, Hannah blissfully declined my offer to help her tuck the lady into bed.
With Maggie down for the count and Sargent instructed to get some sleep, Queet was assigned the first watch. While Hannah rounded up some coffee, Byron and I pondered the significance of our discovery. Carrying a small metal tray with three heavy mugs, she set them down in front of us and slipped into the cramped little booth beside me. The sudden warmth of Hannah's leg pressing against mine did a lot to get my mind off the carnage we had witnessed earlier. The distraction was all too brief. Huntington insisted on talking business.
"You've given a rather detailed description of what you found, Wages, but what about causes?"
Hannah leaned forward with her elbow on the table and her chin cupped in her hand. "It's strange," she said slowly, "but there is something very unusual about those bodies. I just can't put my finger on it yet. I'll know more after I work up a culture on the tissue samples."
While Hannah mused, I found myself thinking about the position and location of the bodies. Some of them appeared to have been stopped in their tracks, as though there was no time for them to react to whatever disaster had befallen them. A second group, whether more or less fortunate than the former there was no way of knowing, seemed to have reacted in some fashion. For the most part, the first group seemed to be the one with the trauma to the chest cavity, as though their lungs had exploded. They were the ones on the foredeck near the metal object. The second group displayed the major injury in the throat area. In some cases, the victims had both, but they were the exceptions. I told Hannah about my half-developed theory, but she didn't comment one way or the other.
"Well, we really don't have much to go on," Huntington snapped. He slurped down the rest of his coffee and slumped back in his seat, looking agitated. His petulant glower shifted from me to Hannah and back again.
The little man was starting to get on my nerves again. He had spent the major portion of the trip out from Negril propped in front of an oscillating fan and sucking up my supply of Black and White. His sole contribution thus far had been an occasional acid comment and a drain on the Scotch supply, neither of which was doing much to endear him to me.
"I'll run the cultures first thing in the morning," Hannah promised.
"I insist that you have that black man take me over to that ship in the morning so I can conduct my own investigation," Byron fumed. "It's quite obvious that both of you were overwhelmed with the human aspect, and it's equally obvious a great deal more can be learned."
Hannah gave me a sideways glance that could have been interpreted in any number of ways. Instead, she calmly assured Huntington he would get every opportunity to poke around the Foreman for as long as he felt necessary.
For the moment the little man was assuaged. "That's more like it," he bristled. Satisfied with his small victory, he scooted out of the booth and retired.
Only then did Hannah decide to deal with my hastily conveyed observation about the distinction in injuries. "Let me tell you what I really saw, Elliott. I saw an unusually high degree of discoloration in the cadavers. The thing that surprised me the most was the elevation of bloat which is associated primarily with retained excess body gases. It was almost as if their skin didn't serve its normal function, that the waste materials couldn't escape."
"What would cause that?"
"That's what has me stumped. Here we are, smack dab in the middle of a tropical paradise, and those bodies gave all the appearances of frozen meat that was left out in the sun to boil."
I wrinkled my nose. "You know that's impossible… so what else could it be?"
Hannah shrugged her pretty shoulders. "You got me," she admitted. "Like I said, we'll know more in the morning."
Hannah retired, and I hauled my tortured torso out of the galley into what was laughingly called my quarters. There wasn't even enough room to stretch out, so I peeled down to my shorts, meandered back into the galley and picked up the log from the Bay Foreman. The first entry I turned to was dated October 13, 0800Z.
"Based on the diver's description of the wreckage, I am now quite certain that we have located the Garl . He reports that the hull is in two sections. The bow structure to a point just beyond the second cargo hold is estimated to be approximately 200 feet long. The second section, including the damaged fantail is situated east of the bow and is only about half the size of the bow section. The diver also informs us that access to the number three cargo hold can be gained only through the damaged area located above the screws. Although it is of no immediate concern to us, the bow section is reported to be precariously close to slipping into the trench proper. Our charts would indicate that the depth of the trench at that location is approximately 30 fathoms. The stern is on the shelf adjacent to the trench, and the diver indicates it also is in a somewhat precarious position. With only the slightest disturbance, it too could slip into the trench. If the weather improves, we will make our first attempt at retrieval tomorrow morning."
John Lamillian, Captain Bay Foreman
I skimmed through the next several entries without confirming anything more than the fact that the weather continued to delay the retrieval effort for several days. It was the entry dated October 17th that next caught my eye.
"We were boarded today by the chief officer of a Westmore patrol boat who informed us that we are not allowed to conduct salvage operations in any waters adjacent to and considered to be part of the Cluster territorial waters. To our good fortune, Crompton knew the man and negotiated with him. His name is Lieutenant Poqulay. As it is now arranged, he has assured us he will not inform the man called Zercher that we are here. I do not trust the man, but for the small sum that he demands for his silence, I cannot afford to jeopardize the mission."
Crompton's name leaped out at me. I didn't know where Crompton was now, but I knew where he was on October 17th.