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“Let’s hope that’s the only thing being sterilized,” Joe said. “I’d like to have kids someday.”
They’d taken a small boat out to a point one mile offshore of Sharma’s yard. Along the way they’d passed several ships being readied for their final runs in which they’d charge the beach at high tide, heading for open space between the other grounded ships.
The ships in question sat oddly high in the water, emptied of fuel, cargo, ballast, and lifeboats. Their plimsoll lines were high above the lapping waves and their bulbous, torpedolike bows—which were normally completely submerged—sat fully exposed to the point that one would need a rope ladder to climb up onto them.
It occurred to Kurt that a huge ship making a high-speed run up onto the beach, where it would die and be dismantled, was the mechanical equivalent of the last acts of the beached whales. Except that there would be no force of do-gooders and volunteers to pull these ships off the beach once they grounded to a halt. Just thousands of workers waiting for the low tide so they could walk across the mud and rip the ships apart.
Most of the vessels they’d passed were sitting at anchor, but one ship was clearly being readied for action tonight. Smoke was coming from its funnel, while a tug was being moved in position to give it a boost. Down on the beach, in a direct line from the ship’s bow, a lane had been marked with lines of tall bamboo posts.
The posts ran down off the beach and out into the water, like approach lights on a runway designed to guide an aircraft in through the fog. They were in the process of being lit on fire, and the flickering, petroleum-induced flames cast a primitive, tribal glow across the mud.
They outlined a slightly dredged channel that would help the big ship get up onto the beach. They also allowed Kurt and Joe tonavigate with ease, as theSoufrierewas sitting on the mud in the next slot over.
“Surprised they want to bring anything in during the night,” Joe said. “Seems like it would be easier during the day.”
“You’d think,” Kurt said. “But when I checked the local currents, I noticed that tonight is a king tide, higher and faster than a regular tide. There’s supposed to be a decent onshore breeze kicking up after midnight, too. All of which helps them get the ship farther up onto the mud. If I’m right, they’ll head for shore about an hour from now.”
“And in all that commotion we exit unnoticed,” Joe guessed.
“That’s the plan,” Kurt said.
“What’s the backup plan?”
“Don’t have one yet.”
“Considering the vast weight of accrued history,” Joe said, “we should probably start coming up with one now.”
Kurt laughed. Joe wasn’t wrong. But in Kurt’s opinion, backup plans were best made on the spur of the moment.
“The current and tide will be with us,” Kurt said. “Just make for the right side of those torches.”
Joe nodded. “Let’s go.”
Kurt picked up his mask, spit onto the glass, and rubbed the saliva around the lens, which would help keep it from fogging up. After rinsing it with water from a bottle, he pulled the mask on, made sure the fit was snug, and then popped the regulator into his mouth. After two quick breaths to ensure it was working, he gave Joe the thumbs-up, got the same signal in return, and went off the side of the boat, plunging into the dark, murky waters of the bay.
The swim was a leisurely one. Pushed on by the current and the encroaching tide, they made good time. They kept to the right of the line of torches, making for the stern end of theSoufriere, which was sitting with most of its rudder and half of its huge propeller exposed.
While Kurt’s plan had the disadvantage of a swim through a toxic soup, it allowed them to avoid all the gates, razor wire, and security cameras that were focused on keeping people out from the landside.
Reaching the stern of the ship, they were still in twelve feet of water. They edged around the far side, studying the situation and looking for any sign of trouble. The hull was dark and lacking any sign of activity. No flash of torches, no clang of hammers or grinding saws. The yard’s work crews had yet to attack the ship and begin the dismantling process.
Edging their way along the hull, Joe removed his regulator. “Not a worker or goon in sight.”
Kurt grinned. He nodded toward theKhalil. Probing white beams of LED flashlights could be seen moving along its superstructure and inside the open dollhouse-like section where the hull plating had already been removed. “Let’s hope the search keeps them busy while we do our thing.”
They made their way forward, paddling until they were eventually forced to walk. They pulled off the tanks, fins, and weight belts, lashing them together and sinking them in a combined heap. Joe pulled out a piece of white chalk and drew a large symbol on the side of the hull. “X marks the spot.”
They continued ahead, trudging through waist-high waters and finding it more difficult to walk on the unnaturally gray mud than they’d imagined. Each step required a great effort, with their feet sinking into the mud a good six inches and needing to be physically pulled from the cloying grip.
Finally, they came to one of the many open hatches that Kurt had seen from Sharma’s office. This one was near the bow and had been fitted with a ramp to allow workers to get in and out of the ship.
The ramp was raised at the moment to keep it out of the water, butwhen the tide went out, its far end would be dropped down onto the mud.
Kurt had thought they might need a grappling hook, but a long rope had already been affixed to the end. Sadly it was several feet out of their reach.
Kurt looked around the debris-filled yard for something to extend his grasp.
“Let me get that for you,” Joe said.