Sam fixed his gaze on the row of shipping containers beside him. A tiny camera mounted within his dive mask took in the image. He held his attention on the first of the shipping containers for a moment longer until it triggered his augmented reality to spit out the shipping container’s position.
10/14/10
Sam said, “It should be directly below here.”
“Great. Can you see how to get down there?”
Sam adjusted his heads-up-display, so that he zoomed out from the ship’s schematics, allowing him to see what he was looking for — a set of stairs and ladders, which would allow him to drop down to the 8th tier.
“Got it!” he said. “There’s a set of ladders that run all the way to the bilge.”
“All right,” Tom said. “I’ll follow you.”
Sam continued to swim toward the ladder. It wasn’t that he needed a ladder to get down, but with the rows upon rows of shipping containers secured so close, it was impossible to move anywhere. Even the gangway and passageway that he was traveling above didn’t have railings — it didn’t need to; the shipping containers formed a natural barrier.
He glanced at another shipping container. The location flashed across his heads-up-display. 10/08/10. Sam kept swimming until he reached the internal ladder system. There, he released a small amount of air from his diving buoyancy wing until he slowly sank downward.
It took only a few seconds to descend to the 8th tier.
Sam followed the narrow gap between the rows of shipping containers, heading toward the port side, and then stopped.
A dark void filled the portside.
He shined his flashlight around and then swore — the 60-foot, specialized shipping container was missing.
Chapter Fifteen
Sam stared at the note being displayed by his heads-up-display’s augmented reality.
10/14/08 — shipping container: missing.
He shined the beam of his flashlight across the dark, empty space. It almost certainly matched the dimensions of the shipping container at 60-feet by 8-feet wide. Directly surrounding its edges were rows upon rows of shipping containers.
Sam's lips formed an incredulous grin. “All right. I’ll bite. Someone’s stolen the damned thing.”
“Looks like it,” Tom agreed.
“The question is, how did they do it?” Sam flashed the beam across the bay. There wasn’t even enough spare room for him or Tom to swim freely, without following the narrow passageways. “It’s not like they could have stolen the shipping container but left the other twenty between here and the deck.”
“No. Which means, they needed to get out through the side of the hull.”
Sam’s head snapped around to Row 14. His eyes hadn’t given it any thought before because he knew that he was at the last row on board the Buckholtz, but now, as he glanced toward the port hull, he spotted it.
Sam stared at the opening. “I don’t believe it!”
Tom moved to follow him. “That’s impressive. A lot of work went into stealing that shipping container. It makes you wonder why?”
“You mean, what’s inside that shipping container that’s worth sinking the entire ship for?”
“Exactly.”
Sam fixed his flashlight on the opening. It was a little over 8-feet wide by 11-feet tall. Almost the same dimensions as the specialized shipping container.
The edges were razor sharp angles, forming a wound of surgical precision rather than a gash made by the sinking of the Buckholtz. There was one thing for certain, the steel had been cut with a powerful piece of hardware.
Sam kicked his fins and moved toward the opening.
There was something about it that caught his eye. Water appeared to be flowing through the opening.
A small eddy had formed, where the murky waters of the Elbe were mixing with the stilled water of the interior hull. That would have made sense if someone had cut the opening moments ago, but surely the damage had been caused nearly twenty-four hours ago when the ship first ran aground?
He swam out through the opening to get a better look and formulate some sort of explanation. The water outside the hull was slightly warmer and the visibility obscured by clouds of mud.
That’s when he stopped.
There, thirty or so feet away, lying on the muddy seabed was the specialized shipping container. From what he could see, the purpose-built container was still intact. According to Gene, it had been designed to withstand significant pressures in the event of water damage.
“Over there!” Sam shouted.
“I see it!” Tom said, without making any move toward the massive hold.
Sam kicked his fins and swam toward the shipping container.
He was nearly there. Maybe five feet shy of placing his hand on it, when the shipping container started to move.
The massive structure jolted forward.
It looked like a magic trick, until he looked up, and spotted the dark fin of the large submarine.
Chapter Sixteen
A series of divers had secured the shipping container onto a buoyant sled and then attached the front of that to the submarine.
Mentally, Sam tried to orient himself to the shipping lanes. There was deep water to the north of Neuwerk Island, where the North Sea began. Even a large submarine could conceal itself indefinitely in its depth.
He had no way of knowing just how valuable the contents of the specialized shipping container might be, but that didn’t matter to him. What counted was the fact someone had gone to such extreme lengths to steal it, and for that, he was willing to put his neck on the line to stop them.
Sam kicked harder until he reached the side of the shipping container. A series of thick nylon cables enmeshed the entire thing like a spider’s web.
He grabbed his dive knife and started to slice through the first one he could find.
The container jolted forward again. It was a tentative movement, like someone was testing it and making certain its cradle would hold. They didn’t have much time to cut it free, or the submarine would drag it off into the North Sea — where it would disappear for good.
“Quick!” Sam shouted. “Tom, try and cut the other side.”
There was no reply.
“Tom?” Sam looked over his right shoulder.
Still no response.
Holding on with his left hand, he flashed the beam of his light behind him, toward the razor-sharp opening of the Buckholtz.
The void was dark, and visibility nearly impossible beneath the recently disturbed muddy waters, but Sam spotted the series of large bubbles as they drifted toward the surface.
There were too many, and they were too large to be the natural result of Tom releasing excess gas from his buoyancy wing.
Had he been injured somehow?
The fleeting thought dissipated as quickly as it had arrived. Sam’s heart raced and the lines of his face creased with concern.
Those bubbles looked like what you’d expect to see from a traditional scuba as the expired air bled into the water.
In fact, those bubbles had come from three scuba divers.
Sam forgot about the specialized shipping container and its precious secret cargo. He let go of the remaining nylon tiedown, switched off his flashlight and raced toward the Buckholtz in cover of darkness.
He took in the scene at a glance.
They had caught Tom as he swam out of the hold, and in the process had somehow damaged his underwater radio — thus explaining why he hadn’t called for help. It had taken three divers to get Tom down, but Sam couldn’t see what they were trying to do to him.