McKenna thanked him. Ended the conversation and hailed Al Parent on the Gale Force, told him to ready the pumps for pickup.
“Roger,” Parent replied. “You planning to spend the night on the wreck?”
“Going to take nine or ten hours to get the hold pumped dry,” McKenna told him. “I might send a couple crew back, but I’ll stick around and keep an eye on things. We’re going to need hoses, too, Al. Miles of them.”
“I’ll send you every hose I can find. Anything else?”
McKenna surveyed the empty deck. Felt her stomach growl, and tried to remember the last time she’d eaten anything. “Send us some food, would you?” she said. “I’m starving over here.”
AL AND JASON PARENT had a care package ready within an hour. Nelson Ridley and Court Harrington helped McKenna wrangle the Dolphin’s steel basket into the stairway through an access hatch through the hull on deck seven. They unloaded a lunch bag filled with thick sandwiches and thermoses of coffee, a couple spare sleeping bags, and a flashlight apiece. They stashed the goodies in the corner of the stairs, unloaded a couple long coils of hose, and then set to work maneuvering the heavy pump out of the basket.
The pump was the size of a suitcase, the kind that just barely fits into the overhead bin. McKenna lashed it to a railing inside the stairs, holding the machinery secure as Harrington radioed the all-clear to the Coast Guard aircrew. The helicopter moved down the ship, a couple hundred feet astern, where Matt and Stacey Jonas had set up shop inside their own access hatch. Meanwhile, McKenna, Ridley, and Harrington began to wrestle their pump down three more decks to the water.
It was a long, arduous process. Ridley and Harrington steadied themselves by the access hatch and belayed the pump down the dark stairwell while McKenna descended beside it, guiding the pump through the angled stairs to keep it from bashing against the walls. The men lowered the pump slowly, took their time, the sea doing everything it could to knock them off balance. Finally, McKenna guided the machine to a resting position at the bulkhead on deck four, and let the rope go slack.
“Touchdown, fellas,” she called up. “Now send me some hose.”
The men lowered the hose down to McKenna. Then they grabbed the sleeping bags and the food and dropped down to deck four themselves, to maneuver the pump into the cargo hold and through the maze of hanging cars, to the water. They tied the pump to four eyebolts in the deck a few feet above the waterline, then rigged up the hoses, one end in the oily green water, the other all the way up at the access hatch on deck seven, pointing out over the hull and down to the ocean.
It was almost full dark when McKenna pushed the hose out of the access hatch. Nearly midnight, the gray clouds above gone black, the wind full of salt spray even this far from the waterline.
McKenna secured the hose. Then she hollered down the stairway to Ridley and Harrington. “Okay, boys. Fire her up!”
A pause. Then a rumble as the pump came to life. For a minute, nothing happened. Then the hose coughed and spasmed, and suddenly a gush of oily water spewed out and down the hull.
Two hundred feet away, Matt and Stacey had their own pump working. McKenna waved at Matt from her access hatch. Then she dropped into the ship again, and climbed down toward deck four to find Ridley and Harrington and settle in for the night.
46
He couldn’t stay here.
Okura lay across the rear windshield of the Nissan on cargo deck twelve, the Coast Guard long gone, the darkness absolute. He was hungry. His whole body hurt. The storm threw the ship violently, hurled it high atop monster waves and slammed it down into the troughs, bashing the tethered cars into the steel deck, again and again. Okura gripped the briefcase, knew he had to go, escape the cargo hold, find food and water. Wait for the gale to blow over and then attempt his escape.
Fifty million dollars. Yes, but he would die like Ishimaru if he didn’t get out of here.
First problem: light. Okura inched to the edge of the Nissan. Leaned down the side of the car, reached as far as he could, fumbled in the dark for the door handle. Found it with his fingertips, stretched as far as he could, and pulled. The door swung open, swung down. Inside the car, the dome light illuminated.
The sudden bright nearly blinded him. He shielded his eyes, waited until they’d adjusted. The cargo hold looked chaotic. The dome light played spooky shadows on the cars nearby. All the same, the light was a comfort. The whole situation seemed surmountable at once.
Okura looked up the slanted deck toward the bulkhead where he’d found Ishimaru. Thirty or forty feet above him. He would have to climb, and climb carefully.
The Nissan was chained in four points to the deck; it was tethered to the cars ahead and behind, on both the driver’s and passenger’s side. The cars rose and slammed down with every fresh wave, sending spasms of shock through the tethers. Okura knew the storm would try its damndest to shake him loose as he climbed. Knew it was his only chance at escape.
If only I had something to eat.
There was canned food in the galley, lots of it, though the rest had gone bad. Medical supplies in the infirmary, fresh clothes in the staterooms. Even bedding to make a nest for sleeping. Everything he needed was waiting above him. All that remained was to get there.
Okura maneuvered to the rear of the Nissan. Swung his feet over the side and stepped gingerly onto the oil-slick deck. Waited, timing the waves, felt the Lion drop into a trough and braced himself for the impact. The swell slammed the hull and moved on, and then Okura made his move.
He dropped down to the deck, grabbing hold of the tethers with one hand, the briefcase with the other. Used his legs to push off from his Nissan’s rear bumper, reached high above his head for the next car in the line. Hurled the briefcase ahead and pulled himself higher, his feet struggling for traction against the slippery deck. He felt the Lion drop into another trough. Knew if he didn’t hold tight he’d be cut loose and falling. Grabbed the briefcase with one hand and a tether in the other, pulled himself to a tire and wrapped it in a bear hug. Felt the momentary weightlessness as the wave hit, and then the crash as the car hit the deck again.
Okura held on. Climbed up onto the hood of the Nissan, scrambled across the roof to its trunk before the next wave rocked the Lion. One car. He’d made it one car, and he felt exhausted to his core. Felt like he’d just climbed a mountain. He looked up the long row of cars, the bulkhead just barely visible, and wondered how he would ever make it to the top.
He’d made it one car, though. He could make it one more.
47
McKenna and Harrington bunked at the base of the stairs, by the bulkhead door leading to cargo deck four, while Nelson Ridley climbed back to the weather deck to maintain radio contact with the Gale Force. McKenna and Harrington unraveled their sleeping bags and dug into their provisions, and listened to the pump rumble away in the hold.
“We’ll go two hours on, two off,” McKenna told the architect. “Check the pump every hour or so, make sure the hose is still sucking water. Adjust as you see fit. Sound good?”
Harrington chewed his sandwich, swallowed. “Makes sense to me.”
“Remember to clip in. Every time you go up or down that line. Safety first.”