The ride ended quickly, and Sam and Tom climbed out with their duffel bags.
Anchored in the bay was a Prestige 620 pleasure cruiser, named, Matilda.
Its naval architecture was a combination of rich teak and ultramodern carbon fiber flybridge and cabin. It was powered by twin 700 HP Volvo Penta D11 IPS900 engines, allowing the pleasure cruiser to reach a cruise speed of 18.1 knots.
A local tourist operator met them at the harbor, and the operator ferried them out to the yacht in a small tender.
Once onboard, Sam and Tom quickly checked over the yacht. She was kept in pristine condition, and originally there for a rich guest who would arrive in another two weeks. Sam had promised to have the yacht back in a matter of days with plenty of time to spare.
Confident the yacht was in a safe condition, Sam pulled up the anchor, and Tom set a course due south toward the last known location of the now drifting, stricken, Vostok.
It took nearly twenty-four hours to reach the Vostok.
Sam switched off the sports cruiser’s autopilot and took control of the helm. He eased the yacht in a slow cruise around the much larger Russian vessel. From the outside, it certainly looked like it had once been a fishing trawler. Of course, that’s what it was supposed to look like. It no longer mattered, the entire vessel was now frozen solid. Whatever secrets it once knew, would never be told. Thick ice caked its deck, and several pieces of the overhead rigging had collapsed under the weight.
Tom expelled a breath. “It’s a wonder the entire ship didn’t sink under the weight.”
“Yeah, that surprised me, too. I suppose it shows that the internal hull is hollow and not filled with water for its live holding tanks — otherwise, that too, would have frozen solid, and then the entire thing would have lost its buoyancy.”
After the second reconnaissance trip, Tom said, “Should we tie up alongside the trawler?”
Sam shook his head, “I don’t like the idea. If something changes and the Vostok goes under, I’d rather it not take our little pleasure cruiser with it.”
“Agreed. But what other choice do we have?”
“We could take the little runabout across.”
“Sure, but then what do we do with Matilda? The water’s too deep to anchor out here, and there’s only you and me, so someone’s going to have to stay on board.”
Sam shrugged. “It’s okay. You can stay here. Just bring me closer to the Vostok, and I’ll climb aboard. Keep your eyes out for me on deck. I’ll give you a wave when I’m done.”
“You want to go and explore a frozen ghost ship by yourself?”
“No. You have a better idea?”
“Not really.”
“Okay, so that’s the plan, then.”
Tom adjusted the twin throttles as he gently maneuvered Matilda in beside the Russian trawler. Sam, standing on the bow, waited until the two ships were nearly touching and then leaped across onto the lower aft deck of the Vostok.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sam’s feet landed on the icy deck and slipped out from under him. His back struck the solid ice with force, winding him. He gritted his teeth, rolled onto his side, and carefully stood up. His boat shoes were poorly designed for walking on ice.
Over his portable radio, he heard Tom say, “Are you all right? That looked like it hurt.”
Sam thought he could hear the slightest snigger, as Tom tried to restrain his amusement. “I’m fine, Tom. The deck’s a little slippery, that’s all.”
“Okay, let me know if you need me and be careful.”
“I will.”
Sam’s eyes raked the icy ghost ship. He tried to imagine what it would have been like. Someone must have experimented with the blackbody, and then minutes later there would have been an icy storm. By the time anyone knew what was happening, they were most likely already frozen.
Just in case, he shouted, “Hello. Is there anyone alive here?”
There was no response.
He didn’t expect there to be.
But just in case, he shouted again, “I’m coming aboard to help.”
Next to the frozen fishing lines was a fish-hook. The handle was nearly six feet high and made of wood, with a sharp metal u-shaped hook and spike on the end. Its hook was joined with the rigging by ice, but it didn’t take much for Sam to free it.
Sam gripped it with his gloved hand. He was thankful he’d had the foresight to bring a thick jacket and snow gloves but forgot about crampons, or at least something more practical than his boat shoes.
He pointed the spike into the ice and used the tool to brace himself as he made his way across the open deck.
It took him several minutes to reach the bridge.
Ice throughout the ship had started melting, and the internal stairwell leading to the upper bridge had a small stream of water running down it. Sam carefully climbed the stairs until he reached the main door. Like everything else on board the stricken vessel, it was frozen shut.
He took the fish-hook and used the spike to chisel away at the thin layer of frozen ice. The ice was already thawing and came apart easily enough.
Sam carefully opened the door.
Inside, were the bodies of several sailors snap frozen in time. Sam took in their appearance in an instant. Despite being frozen, he could make out some of the tell-tail signs of seasoned fishermen, including heavily callused hands. For a moment, he wondered if the U.S. Navy had gotten it wrong, maybe the Vostok was indeed a fishing vessel?
He glanced at the instruments. The digital course plotters, radar, depth sounder, and engine readings were all destroyed. He would have loved to know where they were heading. At the back of the navigation table was a pair of Admiralty charts for the region. There were a few penciled notations and some comments regarding continental shelves, deep reefs, and other high yield fishing spots.
Sam put them back. They were nothing more than a simple ruse. After all, why would a Russian fishing trawler need to travel all the way to the South Pacific to find its catch? No, this was an intelligence gathering vessel, despite its clever façade.
So far, all he’d found confirmed what they already knew about the Vostok. What he needed to do was locate where the crew had been conducting their experiments with the blackbody material. And that meant getting below decks.
He carefully made his way back down the icy cascade of the internal stairwell.
Sam scoured the frozen deck for a means of accessing the areas below the deck. It seemed like someone had almost gone out of their way to remove all evidence of the multiple decks below. On his second lap of the main deck he spotted the little hatchway near the bow. It was frozen over with three or four inches of ice, but visible.
He chipped away at it using the fish-hook, the same way he had done with the doorway to the bridge. Sam was getting better at the technique, and within about fifteen minutes he’d broken through the edges of the hatch, allowing him to dig the hook into the hatch and pry it open.
It was dark inside.
Sam retrieved a small flashlight from his jacket and shined it into the hold. A vertical ladder led at least ten feet into the deck below. He felt like he was entering the frozen cool room at the butchers. At the bottom of the ladder, he swept the room with his flashlight.
The place looked like it was one giant hold for live fish. Of course, there was no water and no fish. It was most likely more of the subterfuge used by the Russians to promote their image of a legitimate fishing trawler and not an intelligence gathering vessel.