Plague Ship - Cussler Clive - Страница 17
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“Hali, anything on sonar?”
“Except for the noise from eight ships within range that the computer’s already scrubbed, there’s nothing out here but us innocent merchantmen.” He paused, as if to add something.
Juan saw his frown and said, “Tell me. No matter how small.”
“About a minute after communications from Bandar Abbas went dead, there was a burst of transmission from the naval base at Chah Bahar.”
“Have you heard it since?”
Hali shook his head. “Just that one time.”
Juan wasn’t sure what to do with that piece of information, so he let it go for the moment. “What about aircraft or helos?”
“An ASW plane off the carrier to our south did a pass an hour ago, but nothing from our friends to the north.”
Cabrillo relaxed slightly, and was beginning to think they might get away with it after all.
It was just as that thought entered his mind that Hali shouted, “Sonar contact! Bearing ninety-five degrees, seven thousand yards. Torpedo in the water. Damnit, he was waiting to ambush us, with his bow doors open and his tubes flooded.”
There was more than five miles separating the ship from the incoming torpedo, so Juan knew he had more than enough time to get the Oregon out of danger. His voice remained calm. “Track it, Hali. Let’s make sure we know where it’s going before we react.”
“Sonar contact!” Kasim cried again. “Second torpedo in the water, same bearing and range. I’m getting target extrapolation off the computer. The first fish is heading for the containership. I have her identified as the Saga, and she left Bandar Abbas twenty minutes before we did.” The tactical picture went from bad to worse.
“We’re getting a warning from the carrier battle group,” Hali called out. “They heard the shots and are launching aircraft.”
“This is turning into a hell of a fur ball,” Max said sardonically.
“Tell me about it,” Juan muttered.
“Come on!” Hali shouted. “New contact. They launched a third torpedo. It’s looking like a spread pattern targeting us, the Saga , and the tanker behind us, a Petromax Oil ULCC named the Aggie Johnston.”
Had there been just the one torpedo tracking the Oregon, Cabrillo could have handled it. Maybe even two, if he could put his vessel between the second one and the ship it had targeted, but with three fish in the water his options had quickly run out. Either the Saga or the Aggie Johnston was going to take a direct hit. And with a full load of two hundred thousand tons of Gulf crude, there was no way he would let it be the supertanker.
“They just launched another,” Hali said with disbelief in his voice. “That’s four fish in the water. Range between the Saga and the first is down to six thousand yards. This last fish is going much slower than the others.”
“It’s lurking to see what the others miss,” Max said. “And will go in to finish it off.” If one of the first three torpedoes missed or failed to detonate, this reserve salvo would be in position to destroy its intended target. Cabrillo was familiar with the tactic. He also had no defense against it. He was now thinking they would be lucky to get out of the Sea of Oman alive.
CHAPTER 4
MV GOLDEN DAWN
INDIAN OCEAN
THE MUGGER’S HAND WAS LIKE A VISE AROUND Jannike Dahl’s mouth and nose. She couldn’t breathe, and any effort to fight him off only made it seem worse. Wriggling against the restraint, she managed to draw a sip of air, barely enough to stave off the blackness threatening to engulf her. She twisted one way and then the other, only to have the hand inexorably stay with her.
She had seconds before unconsciousness overcame her, but there was nothing she could do. It was like drowning, the most terror-filled death she could ever imagine, only it wasn’t a cold water’s embrace that would take her life but the hands of a stranger.
Jannike fought one last time, a desperate lunge to break free.
She came awake with a wet gasp, her head and shoulders lifting from the bed only to be dragged back by the sheets and blankets covering her. The clear plastic cannula feeding pure oxygen into her nose had wrapped itself around her throat, choking her as much as the asthma attack she was suffering.
Filled with the chilling aftereffects of the nightmare that always accompanied an attack when she was asleep, Janni groped for the inhaler on the bedside table, dimly aware that she was still in the ship’s hospital. She placed the mouthpiece between her lips and fired off several blasts of medicine, drawing in the Ventolin as deeply as her fluid-filled lungs would allow.
As the medicine relaxed her restricted airways, Janni was able to inhale more of the drug and eventually calm the most acute symptoms of the attack. It didn’t help that her heart was still racing from the nightmare or that she had dislodged part of her cannula so only one nostril was getting oxygen. She readjusted the plastic tube and felt the immediate effects. She glanced at the monitor over her bed and saw her oxygen stats start to rise immediately. She smoothed her sheets and settled deeper into the inclined bed.
This was her third day in the dispensary, the third day of being alone for hours on end, bored out of her mind and cursing her lungs’ weakness. Her friends had stopped by regularly, but she knew none of them wanted to stay. Not that she blamed them. Watching her gasp like a fish and suck on her inhaler wasn’t a pretty sight. She hadn’t even had the strength to let the lone nurse change her sheets and could imagine what her body smelled like.
The curtain around her bed was suddenly drawn back. Dr. Passman moved so softly that Janni never knew he had entered the recovery room. He was in his sixties, a retired heart surgeon from England who had given up his practice following his divorce and had signed on to be a shipboard doctor with the Golden Cruise Lines to enjoy a more peaceful life and to deny his ex-wife half of the salary he had once made.
“I heard you cry out,” he said, looking at the monitors rather than his patient. “Are you okay?”
“Just another attack.” Janni managed a smile. “Same as I’ve been having for three days now.” She then added in her lilting Scandinavian accent, “It wasn’t as bad as before. I think they’re passing.”
“I will be the one making that determination,” he said, finally looking at her. There was concern in his eyes. “You’re as blue as a berry. My daughter has chronic asthma, but not like you.”
“I’m used to it,” Jannike shrugged. “I had my first attack when I was five, so I’ve been dealing with it for three-quarters of my life.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask, are there other members of your family who have it?”
“I don’t have any brothers or sisters, and neither of my parents had it, though my mother told me her mother had it when she was a little girl.”
Passman nodded. “It tends to run in families. I would have thought being at sea and away from pollution would have reduced your symptoms.”
“I had hoped so, too,” Janni said. “That’s one of the reasons I took a job waitressing on a cruise ship.
Well, that and to get out of a small town with nothing to do but watch fishing boats come in and out of the harbor.”
“You must miss your parents.”
“I lost them two years ago.” A shadow passed behind her dark eyes. “Car accident.”
“I am sorry. Your color’s coming back,” Passman said to change the subject. “And your breathing seems to be getting easier.”
“Does that mean I can leave?” Janni asked.
" ’Fraid not, my dear. Your oxygen saturation level is still below what I would like to see.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter to you that today is the crew’s social,” she said with a trace of disappointment. According to the clock on the far wall, the party was only a few hours away.
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