After what seemed a few sips, Malone was surprised to discover that he'd emptied his glass. Confused, he squinted blearily, assessed the situation, and decided. What the hell, we're almost in port. This'll be my last chance before we dock. A routine assignment. No problems coming up. Why let the rest of the bottle go to waste? So Malone poured another two inches into his glass, and by the time he fell asleep a half-hour later, the bottle and the glass were drained.
Abruptly his watch officer's gravelly voice roused him. 'Captain?'
Malone struggled – and managed – to raise one eyelid.
'Captain?'
Malone, through his half-opened right eye, sought the source of the voice and gradually realized that it came from the wall, from the intercom.
'Captain, we're having some problems with our sonar reception.'
With difficulty, Malone raised his head. He shook it to try to clear his thoughts, opened both eyes, and blinked, his vision blurry. His glass fell off his lap as he lurched to his feet and groped for the intercom's speaker button. 'Uh, yeah, what? Uh, what was…? Tell me that again.'
'Captain, I said we're having problems with the sonar.'
Malone rubbed his throbbing forehead. 'Problems? What kind of…?'
'Intermittent fade-outs.'
Malone's tongue felt thick. He strained not to slur his words. 'Sounds like… an…' That word was a tough one. His lips were rubbery. 'An electrical short.'
'That's what it seems to me, Captain. I've ordered a maintenance crew to look into it.'
'Good. Yes, good. A maintenance crew. Good. Let me know what they report.'
'Captain, I think you'd better get up here.'
'Absolutely. I was having a nap. I'll be there shortly. As soon as possible.' Too many s's, Malone nervously realized despite his grogginess. He picked up his glass, rinsed it in his cabin's sink, and set it on a counter. Next he placed the empty vodka bottle inside his desk and locked the drawer.
Better brush my teeth.
Better gargle and wash my face.
But when Malone scowled in the mirror above the sink, the stupor in his bloodshot eyes appalled him. Come on! he thought. Wake up!
He washed his face with hot, then cold water, and swallowed two aspirins. With alarm, he noticed that his shirt was wrinkled. Better change it, he thought. Look alert!
From the intercom, the watch officer's gravelly voice blurted, 'Captain, the sonar has failed. It's…' Garbled voices in the background. '… completely dead.'
Malone somehow didn't waver as he crossed his cabin and reached the intercom, pushing its transmit button. 'Completely?'
'The screen is blank.'
'Switch to the backup system.'
'I did, but it's not working either, Captain.'
'Not…?' Malone inhaled. Dear God. I'm coming right up.' With trembling fingers, he fumbled to change his shirt. As a last-moment thought, he splashed his face with after-shave lotion on the off-chance that a crew member might somehow smell the supposedly undetectable vodka.
God was merciful. No one saw Malone stumble from his cabin, grasp a bulkhead, straighten himself, and waver onward.
'Status report!' Malone demanded when he entered the control room with what he hoped was convincing authority.
'The same,' his watch officer replied. 'Both primary and secondary sonar systems are not in operation.'
'Give me the navigation charts.'
'I assumed you'd want them ready for you, Captain. Should I stop the engines?'
'No! Not yet! Not until we have to!' Malone glared toward his officers. What the hell was wrong with them? Didn't they realize how long it would take for the huge, heavy Argonaut to coast to a stop and, after the sonar was repaired, to regain maximum speed? Three hours! We're three hours ahead of schedule! The refinery's expecting us! We'll probably get a bonus for being so efficient! But all we'll get is shit if we stop to fix a minor problem with the sonar and we show up God knows how late!'
The lingering effects of the vodka were making him overreact, Malone realized, but he couldn't help himself. He'd counted on reaching the refinery by tomorrow morning, eager to relieve himself of his obligation, to escape this massive vessel, the walls of which had lately seemed to close in on him.
Most of all, he'd counted on his reward. The martinis.
He could almost taste them.
'But Captain, without the sonar…'
'It's just an electrical problem,' Malone insisted. The maintenance crew will find what it is and repair it.' He spread the navigation charts on a table and studied them, noting the varying depths of the ocean and the pattern of reefs.
Yes! These waters were just as Malone remembered! To avoid the reefs in the Torres Strait to the north, he'd guided the Argonaut around New Guinea, then southward through the Soloman Sea into the Coral Sea, carefully skirting the Great Barrier Reef along Australia 's northeastern coast.
Once past the Great Barrier, except for a few smaller reefs, the ocean was clear all the way to Brisbane.
'What was our position when the sonar went out?'
'Right here, Captain,' the watch officer said, naming a latitude and a longitude, pointing at the chart.
'Perfect.' Malone's skull felt as if a spike had been driven through it. 'No problem. Then all we have to do is make sure to avoid these two reefs.' Striving to maintain his balance, he turned from the chart. Twenty degrees starboard.'
'Aye, aye, Captain,' the watch officer said. He repeated the course correction to the helmsman, who acknowledged his instructions by repeating them as well. Twenty degrees starboard.'
Malone's hands shook as he lit a cigarette. 'Now let's get that electrical problem fixed.' He'd amazed himself by thinking so clearly, given his hangover. 'And order some coffee up here. It'll be a long night.'
Ninety minutes later, Malone requested confirmation of the Argonaut's speed, determined the tanker's position on the chart, satisfied himself that the first reef had been avoided, and turned to order another course correction. As he did so, he bumped his cup of coffee, knocking it onto the floor. 'Shit! Get someone to clean this up! Ten degrees starboard!'
'Aye, aye, Captain. Ten degrees starboard.'
The control room became tensely silent.
The sonar screen flickered.
'Captain, the maintenance crew has located the problem. We're ready to… There. The sonar's functional.'
'I told you. A minor problem. No need to stop.'
Malone and his officers leaned forward to study the suddenly glowing console.
'Jesus,' someone said.
Malone clasped a hand to his mouth.
The outline of a reef flashed before him. At the same time, a sickening, rumbling crunch shook the supertanker's hull. As Malone lost his balance and fell to his knees, the coffee he'd spilled soaked his trousers. Legs wet, he gaped down in shock as another crunch shook the tanker. The coffee. So dark. So much like…
FIVE
'Good evening. This is Dan Rather. CBS News. The worst oil spill in history continues to become more catastrophic. Since striking a reef off Australia 's eastern coast yesterday, the Argonaut - a Pacific-Rim Petroleum Corporation supertanker – remains in danger of sinking while efforts to contain its cargo have been alarmingly ineffectual. An estimated thirty million gallons of crude oil now pollute the formerly pristine Coral Sea. Prevailing currents direct the spill toward one of the world's finest natural wonders, the thousand-mile-long Great Barrier Reef. Ecologists predict that, unless a miracle occurs, the delicate microscopic organisms that form the basis of the reef will be destroyed, and along with those organisms, the Great Barrier itself will be destroyed. As our correspondent in Brisbane explains, yet another magnificent and irreplaceable glory of our planet is about to cease to exist.'