“Shoot.”
“What’s this really all about?”
Gene frowned. “All I can say is that if that container gets damaged, it won’t just be money that we’ve lost.”
Chapter Eight
Sam met Tom at the hyperbaric chamber.
There was a gentle hiss as the internal gas equalized with the pressure outside. The hatch at the end of the tube-shaped device opened, and Genevieve climbed out first, followed by Tom.
Sam said, “How are you both feeling?”
“Never better,” they replied in unison.
Tom then looked up at him. “I hear we’re going somewhere?”
“Yeah,” Sam replied. “Both of you, but not the same places.” To Genevieve, he said, “The Sea King is fueled and loaded with the Dreamlifter’s data recorders, which I need you to deliver to an airfield in Norway, where they will be picked up by a private jet and flown to the Air Accidents Investigations Branch’s headquarters in London.”
Tom smiled. “And where am I off to?”
“Neuwerk Island, at the mouth of the Elbe River, Germany.”
Tom nodded. “Obviously. Sounds lovely. What’s there?”
“A whole heap of mud and a container ship that’s run aground.”
“You’re heading up the salvage operation?”
Sam shook his head. “They already have another company coming out to help pull the ship into deeper waters after repairs are made below her waterline.”
“So, what are we doing there?”
“I’ve been asked to locate and retrieve a specific container in the hold in the off chance we’re not able to get the ship afloat easily.”
“They just want you to retrieve a shipping container?”
“Yes.”
“What’s in the container?”
“No idea. He won’t say.”
Tom grinned. “Why did you accept the case?”
Sam shrugged. “Why not?”
“Because we’ve got plenty of work, and you’re not interested in a simple recovery case. So what’s this about?”
Sam smiled. “I want to know how the ship ran aground.”
“Why? Accidents happen. It’s a busy shipping lane.”
“Yeah, but this captain turned his ship ninety degrees and ran straight into the clearly visible island.”
Tom cocked an eyebrow. “You think he did it intentionally?”
“No. I’ve seen the video from the bridge. It looks like he was following the navigation markers.”
“Then what happened?”
“I have no idea.” Sam grinned. “But that’s what I intend to find out.”
Chapter Nine
Sam and Tom grabbed two small crates, pre-packed with all the equipment they would need to make the dive and assess the wreckage of the Buckholtz. The equipment was loaded onto Gene Cutting’s Eurocopter EC 155m, where the man’s pilot was waiting to take the three of them directly to the site of the accident. The Maria Helena made its way behind, working its way down the Norwegian coast, to meet them the following day.
It was a long flight.
The Eurocopter made a slow circuit of the wrecked Buckholtz in a counter-clockwise direction. From the air, his eyes swept the landscape. Neuwerk Island was a little oasis, surrounded by more than ten miles of mudflats. To its north, were the two smaller orbital islands, Nigehorn and Scharhorn. The helicopter banked farther to the south, where the mudflats reached Cuxhaven at the mouth of the Elbe.
A row of poles, supporting steel cages thirty feet above the mud flats, marked the way across, where tourists from the mainland can navigate on foot for six hours of the day during low tide. The path’s elevated cages were rescue pods. Should high tide catch a walker far from shore, the walker can climb into the pod and wait for the tide to recede.
The Eurocopter circled the island again to the wreck site.
The Buckholtz had a length of 1,312 feet, a beam of 193 feet, and a gross tonnage of 210,890. Her bow was high up along the beach at the northern tip of Neuwerk Island, leaving her lower third submerged beneath the deep water of the North Sea, with the exception of the aft bridge and pilothouse forming an artificial island, nearly five stories above the sea.
Sam stared at the sight, struggling to imagine how an experienced captain, with a veteran channel pilot on board, could possibly make such an enormous mistake. It was almost impossible to believe the mistake was accidental.
The Eurocopter made its final circuit of the stricken vessel. Gene, who was sitting up front next to the pilot, looked over his shoulder, and asked, “Have you seen enough?”
Sam nodded and pointed his thumb downward. “Yeah. Take us down and let’s get a better look at the ship.”
“All right,” Gene replied, turning to the pilot. “Take us down.”
The pilot nodded, banking sharply toward the Buckholtz. The Eurocopter settled into a hover directly above the cargo ship’s five stories high pilothouse. Its skids touched the steel roof, which now sloped gently back toward the sea. The helicopter’s rotors continued to whine, as the pilot took up most of the pressure, in case the pilothouse became unstable.
“End of the road gentlemen,” came the pilot’s voice.
Sam thanked the pilot, slid the side door open and climbed out.
The steel platform where the Eurocopter had put down toward the aft of the Buckholtz provided firm ground beneath his feet, despite its not-so-gentle 10-degree downward gradient. His eyes swept the platform. The place had been designed to be used as a helipad under normal circumstances. Right now, he guessed the Eurocopter could have shut down the engines on top, but it would have left the helicopter perched on an uncomfortably steep angle.
Inside the Eurocopter, Tom pulled the two large crates to the edge of the door followed by their two duffel bags which contained overnight clothes, laptops, and toiletries. Sam lifted them to the ground. Gene Cutting stepped out of the front passenger’s seat, and Tom slid the side door shut. Overhead, the rotor blades whined, their pitch changing as the pilot took off again, sending several tons of downdraft on top of them, before banking quickly and heading south to an airport in Hamburg to refuel.
Gene Cutting glanced at Sam and Tom. His deep-set and sullen eyes still in despondent awe of the scene. An unbelievable accident that would cost his company many millions to repair. The man’s eyes took in the entire area, before settling on Sam. “What do you think the project will take?”
Sam made a thin-lipped smile. “I’m not sure. It depends.”
“On what?” Gene asked. “I’m told you’re the best. Time is money — a lot of money — so the sooner we can get the Buckholtz afloat, the happier I’ll be. So, what does it depend on?”
“It depends on what sort of damage we have below decks. If we’re lucky, we can make simple repairs by welding a sheet of steel over whatever gash lies below the waterline, pump the water out of her, and float her again on the next high tide. If we’re lucky, all of that can be achieved in the next week. She’s already resting firm on her keel, so after that, it’s just a simple matter of setting up a rigging system of oversized pulleys to drag her off the muddy beach.”
Gene frowned. “And if we’re unlucky?”
“Then the gash has ripped a hole spanning multiple bulkheads. It might require extensive welding and engineering work beneath the water level. That can be difficult and time-consuming. Every day the hull remains beneath the water, the longer the Buckholtz will remain out of action, being repaired at the shipyards.”
“Do you have a timeframe in mind?”
Sam shrugged. “It could be months. But I doubt it.” Sam ran his eyes across the muddy beach. “You said this entire area is full of mudflats?”