Gene nodded. “Yes.”
Sam smiled. “I think you’ll be fine. Tom and I will make a dive today and get a preliminary idea of the damage. It won’t take long. I’d say by this afternoon, we should have a rough idea what’s involved.”
“That’s great.” Gene took a deep breath in, held it, and swallowed. “Look. There’s a container on E deck of particular value. If this is going to be longer than a week, I want to ask you something that might just sound crazy, but hear me out.”
A wry smile formed on Sam’s lips. “All right. Shoot.”
Gene handed him the engineering schematics for the Buckholtz, rendered in 3D with shipping containers set throughout the ship. On E deck, the lowest level, toward the aft of the ship and now the deepest section, a single container had been circled with a red pen. “See this here?”
Sam studied the map and nodded. “Container E85. Right in the middle there. What about it?”
“It needs to be in Quonset Point, Rhode Island before the end of two weeks.” Gene met Sam’s eye. “Can it be done?”
“If we get lucky and we refloat the Buckholtz by the end of the week, I don’t see why it can’t be removed in Hamburg and flown to Quonset Point within the fortnight. It will be expensive, but by the looks of things, the money’s not an issue at this point.”
“That’s right. It just has to be done. But what if you can’t refloat the Buckholtz within the week?”
Sam squinted his eyes, as though he was failing to see the point of the question. “Then, container E85 doesn’t make it to its destination on time.”
Gene set his jaw firm. His eyes fixed on Sam’s like steel. “That’s not an option.”
“Really? I’m afraid it’s out of our control.”
“What if you cut a larger hole in the hull?”
Sam let that sit for a moment. He studied Gene’s face. The man was serious — there was no doubt about it.
“You want me to cut a giant hole — significantly larger dimensions than the shipping container so that we can extract the container E85?”
“Yes. If you have to,” Sam said. “It could be done. It would potentially add weeks or even months to the long-term salvage cost of the Buckholtz.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
Sam made a thin-lipped smile. “What’s inside the container?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Reilly. That’s a proprietary secret.”
Sam swept the ship, partially visible below the waterline, with his eyes. “All right. Let’s hope we can get the ship off Neuwerk Island in time.”
Chapter Ten
Tom slid his arms through the shoulder strap of the duffel bag and ran his eyes across the unique environment of the Buckholtz, whose keel was buried hard into the muddy bottom. In the space between the bow and the bridge, the neatly stacked shipping containers reached five stories above the deck, with nearly half of them now submerged beneath the water. The cool breeze across the Northern Sea predicted the last remnants of fall. If they were going to raise the Buckholtz, they would need to do so quickly, or wait until winter had finished.
Looking at Sam, he asked, “Where do you want to set up for the dive?”
“Let’s set up in the bridge. I’m keen to get a better look at the command center and try and see for myself what the captain saw last night.” Sam looked around, searching for a way down. “Besides, I’m told from inside the bridge there’s an internal stairway that leads all the way down to the engine room below. It should be an easy way to get access to the internal hull.”
“Sounds good. Should we come back for our diving equipment?”
Gene glanced at the two heavy pre-packed crates. “Leave them there. I’ll have some of the engineering team come and move those into the bridge for you.”
“Okay, thanks,” Tom replied. “Lead the way.”
At the edge of the pilothouse, the tip of a steel ladder was visible just a few feet above the starboard side of the helipad. Because the Buckholtz had settled into a 10-degree list to port, the ladder now leaned inward, making it an easy climb down toward the entrance of the internal bridge.
He climbed down arm over arm, before stopping at the landing space directly outside the main bridge. A narrow and open deck ran on the outside of the bridge to the port and starboard side, like a slim wing.
There were multiple engineers and mariners working within the upper decks of the pilothouse, securing the emergency power systems, running diagnostics on the damage, and planning repairs, as well as trying to stabilize the ship from listing farther to port side.
Tom stepped into the bridge from the external port wing.
His eyes ran across the bridge, from port to starboard side. The digitally fortified bridge was a far cry from the command centers of bygone merchant ships. Controls, displays, and instruments ran the entire length of the bridge, with the helm placed at the center, in a position of command.
Along the portside instrument panel stood the navigation station with GPS, digital maps, and Admiralty charts. To the right of which, stood a large monitor with the Electronic Chart Display and Information System (ECDIS), a geographic information system used for nautical navigation.
The first three forward computer screens showed Radar 1, 2, and 3. Directly in front of the helm, and displayed above eye height were the ship’s primary indicators, which showed the ship’s course over ground, compass, depth, engine RPM, rate of turn, clock, and barometry.
To the starboard side was a second ECDIS digital display map, which precisely mirrored the one seen at the navigation station.
Tom stood next to Sam at the helm and stared out across the bow, more than a thousand feet ahead of the bridge, and riding high up on the mudflats of Neuwerk Island.
His eyes darted across the series of controls and displays. The helm still used a small wheel with a compass directly ahead. The controls for the engine’s RPM and bow thrusters were within reach to the right.
He let his eyes search ahead, where the bridge overlooked row upon row of now-submerged shipping containers and more dry containers toward the bow of the ship.
Tom closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it would have looked like at nighttime. The port channel markers were clear and would have been flashing their warnings that the shallow mudflats of Neuwerk Island were nearby. Even if they had failed, the island itself had a lighthouse and a series of small homes that would have lit up the otherwise empty coast.
He opened his eyes and glanced at Sam. “How does an experienced captain and Hamburg Port pilot get things so wrong?”
Sam shook his head. “Beats the hell out of me.”
Tom turned around. Behind the helm, through a green door, was an elevator that could be taken down to the engine room nearly ten stories below. Next to that was a red door, which led to the internal stairwell, leading to the flooded engine room.
He swept his eyes across the radar and radio rooms behind the helm. The radar room had another series of monitors that displayed the radar images of the area ahead and to the side of the ship. Radar 1 displayed anything nearby that might impede their passage, while Radar 2 and Radar 3 processed information from up to ten miles away at the edge of the horizon, including any weather systems which they might want to avoid.
The radio room had a combination of MF and HF radios, Sat C and Sat F, and a satellite phone.
Sam turned to Gene, who had remained silent throughout, letting them examine the bridge like a detective might scrutinize the scene of a homicide. “Do you know where the gash in the hull is?”