Richard Johnson - Deadly Cargo - A Chilling Naval Terrorism Thriller

“She’s in the army hospital in Manila. They’re doing the best they can. I think she’s out of danger of anything more serious than losing her eye, though we’re not entirely sure about that yet. The doctors are hopeful. I’ll keep you informed of her progress. In the meantime, the other news is that I have the numbers for the container you’re looking for. Susan relayed them to me just before she and Alicia Gomez boarded the plane. Are you ready to receive them?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Okay, here they are. Bravo, alpha, one, one, mike.”

“Bravo, alpha, one, one, mike,” Josh repeated for verification.

“That’s correct. The container is rust red in color. The lettering is white. That’s what you’re looking for. The loading manifest listed the container as the last one loaded, and it should be in the top row on the starboard bow. Questions?”

“What did the manifest show as cargo?”

“Personal items, including an RV trailer belonging to a navy man being transferred to Pensacola from Manila. Needless to say, the guy doesn’t exist. The navy’s never heard of him. Anything else?”

A deep sigh escaped his lungs. “None for now. We’re circling the ship. The bow is a mess of tumbled containers. I’ll be on deck in a few minutes and I’ll get back to you with what I find.”

“Right,” was all Delamo said.

“If you can get a message to Susan, tell her…” He paused to think of what was appropriate to say by way of his boss.

“Don’t say it. I know what to tell her. You just take care of yourself. We’ll do everything we can for Susan.”

Josh pressed the button to end the call, flipped the antenna down and stowed the phone in his cargo pocket. He pulled the helmet down over his head and immediately heard a voice in the earphones.

“Bad news?” It was Pfister, and he was looking at Josh with concern. “I can read bad news a mile away.”

“One of our people, was, um…” he lost his words.

“How bad is it?”

Josh felt the wetness in his eyes, so he reached up under his sunglasses and brushed them as casually as he knew how. “It’s bad.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Pfister said. “These are dangerous times. Your people and mine, and some others like us are all that stand as a barrier to protect the innocent ones back home. If not us, then who?”

“I know,” Josh whispered. He looked up into the eyes of the captain. “You a praying man?”

A smile crossed Pfister’s lips. “Humph. Are you kidding?”

Josh didn’t quite know how to take that, but decided to go ahead anyway. “Well, if you were…”

“If I were?” Pfister challenged. “Of course I’m a praying man. I don’t leave my room in the morning without checking in and requisitioning some special favors.”

“Do you mind adding a name to your prayer list, then? Her name is Susan, and she’s really going to need some help.”

“Consider it done. I believe in miracles, and I know just who to ask.”

The helmet earphones clicked and the pilot was suddenly on the intercom. “We’re on final approach. Touch down in thirty seconds.”

The chopper bobbed and weaved, fighting turbulence created by powerful wind swirling around the ship’s structure. From the window, Josh saw the bridge of the huge ship, tilting first one way and then the other as the chopper struggled to find a level spot to set down. He spoke into the mic. “Was there ever any VHF contact? I was on the phone at the time.”

Pfister shook his head, “No joy.”

From beneath the seat, Josh felt a solid impact, then another, as the landing gear slammed onto the upper rack of containers halfway between the bridge and the wreckage at the bow. They were down. While the rotors slowly coasted to a stop, Josh stared out the window at the desolate vision of a ship adrift on the open sea. Scrambled containers at the bow looked as if they had been tossed there by the hand of a giant who was throwing a temper tantrum.

“Sir, we’ve got company,” the pilot said over the intercom. Through the window, Josh saw three men walking across the top of the containers, heading toward the chopper. The side door slid open and Pfister moved past him and jumped onto the container deck.

Even though the rotor height was well overhead, all three men instinctively ducked as they met below the slowly swirling blades. With a hand extended, Pfister introduced himself in a loud voice that carried above the declining whine and whirr as the chopper’s engine and rotors slowed. “Captain Klaus Pfister, United States Coast Guard. How can we be of service?”

“Captain Eric Sleagle, sir,” The captain yelled, as the men shook hands. “Thanks for coming. We’re in kind of a mess.”

“How about your crew?”

“All accounted for and in good shape. We were lucky in that regard. This is Bill Keith, my first officer, and Steve Flynn is our navigator.” The men shook hands all around, then the captain continued. “But we have sustained quite a bit of damage. All communications were lost when a rogue wave broke across the bow with such force that it swept over the bridge. Never seen anything like that before. Stripped our array completely off, including radar and satellite antennas. I’m afraid we’ve lost a few containers overboard, and one of them apparently damaged our rudder as it went under the ship. We’re basically dead in the water.”

As the rotors coasted to a stop, Josh climbed from the helicopter and Pfister made the introduction. “This is Mr Josh Adams. He’s here on official business. We can help you with your ship, but I think you need to hear what Mr Adams has to say before we do anything else.”

Josh stepped forward and extended his hand. “Captain Sleagle, is there someplace private we can talk?”

The ship captain’s grip was powerful, his smile engaging. “Of course. Follow me. We’ll go to my cabin.”

As they made their way toward the bridge, the flight crew scrambled to attach tie-down straps to secure the helo to the platform created by the containers. The ship rolled slowly through a series of deep troughs, and movement on deck was just enough to make it difficult to walk a straight line. The chopper shifted side to side on its landing gear as the crew fought to ratchet the straps tight. The men had not taken a dozen steps before the tortured sound of metal against metal coming from the bow stopped them in their tracks. In unison, every man turned to look forward. Against the backdrop of heaving seas, it was difficult to determine what caused the awful sound, but Josh knew from what he had seen while circling the ship that the pitching and rolling bow was a wrecking yard of tumbled containers. While they watched, the noise came again and, like a sudden avalanche, the precariously piled cargo gave way, launching at least two containers off the starboard side into the water.

“How many have you lost?’ Josh asked.

“Not sure. We lost a couple yesterday, just as the storm started to really hammer us. We’ve been in survival mode for the past twenty hours. It’s been impossible to deal with that load on the bow. Before the storm, that forward stack was two boxes higher all the way across than the stack you landed on. Take a look. You can see that the starboard half of the stack has been torn away, leaving some of the boxes jumbled like a child’s toy blocks. I’m not sure how many we’ve lost altogether. The ship has been too unsteady to risk sending my men into that pile to have a look. I figure at least another twenty-four hours before the seas will be calm enough to start working around that mess.”

A moment later, they turned and headed toward the bridge again, and Josh knew that he couldn’t wait another twenty-four hours for the seas to calm down enough to satisfy the captain before sending his crewmen into harm’s way. Josh would have to go in by himself. And he’d have to do it soon.