Клайв Касслер - Marauder

Even at night, boats filled the harbor. Ferries, yachts, and sailboats of all sizes took advantage of the warm summer evening. On New Year’s Eve, the harbor near the bridge would be crowded with pleasure craft hoping to get the best view in the city.

Next they passed the sails of the iconic opera house, which were lit in a dazzling white. The promenade in front was crammed with people taking pictures of the scenery and enjoying the ocean breeze. There would be even more viewers packing the area to watch the fireworks tomorrow night.

Lu’s reasoning for launching the rockets at exactly midnight, besides his desire for theatrics, was to maximize the number of people outdoors when the gas was dispersed. Polk imagined the optics of hundreds of thousands of paralyzed residents lying out in the streets on New Year’s Day.

Five minutes later, they approached the far end of the harbor where it turned to exit to the Pacific. The anchored Centaurus came into view behind Shark Island, home to a small park for picnics and parties. Around them overlooking the harbor were some of the most expensive estates in all of Australia. It was very likely that some of the customers for the Enervum antidote would be people living in those villas and mansions.

As they rounded the island, Polk saw a boat lashed alongside the Centaurus . It had MARITIME painted on the side. He was alarmed to realize that it was a boat from the Port Authority of New South Wales.

When he reached the Centaurus , he climbed on board, letting his men haul up the boxes of antidote. He asked where he could find Captain Rathman and was told that he was on the bridge.

Polk looked at the men transferring the boxes. “I’ll come back to secure these. If I return to find any of the contents missing or broken, I will hold every one of you responsible.”

He took the external stairs to the bridge. When he got there, Captain Rathman was speaking to a man in a shirt with the Port Authority logo on it. It was clear the captain was nervous, despite the fake smile that was plastered on his face.

“I’m Alfred Johnson,” Polk said. “I’m with the importer receiving this ship’s cargo. What’s this about?” His hand rested on the Glock pistol tucked in his waistband.

“It’s nothing,” Rathman said. “Just some confusion about our crew.”

“I’m Paul Smythe,” the visitor said. “We’ve had a report that a man was found floating in the open ocean north of Brisbane.”

Rathman shifted uncomfortably.

“What does that have to do with the Centaurus , Mr. Smythe?” Polk asked.

“When this man was rescued, he was speaking in Chinese. He said only one sentence over and over.”

“What did he say?”

“The people who plucked him out of the sea thought he was saying, ‘The centaur left me.’ But the Border Force district office in Cairns had his words professionally translated. He was actually saying, ‘The Centaurus left me.’ We thought he might have fallen overboard from this ship.”

“And I’ve just shown Mr. Smythe our manifest,” Rathman said, pointing to the logbook Smythe was holding. “As you can see, we arrived in Sydney with our full complement of crewmen.”

“Did this man say anything else?” Polk asked.

“Sadly, he died before he could say any more or reveal his identity,” Smythe said.

“What an odd situation.”

Smythe looked at Rathman with an unconvinced expression. “Why do you think he was saying ‘The Centaurus left me,’ if he wasn’t from your ship? It seems like a strange thing for a dying man to utter.”

Rathman shrugged. “We were traveling in that area a few nights ago. Perhaps he saw us pass by and was upset that we didn’t see him.”

“I suppose that’s a possibility. But he must have fallen off some ship to be that far out in the ocean.”

“I hope you’re able to solve the mystery someday,” Polk said.

Smythe handed back the logbook. “Everything seems to be in order.” He began to walk out, then turned and said, “How long will you be in Sydney?”

“Just another day,” Rathman said. “We set sail on January first.”

“Then you’ll be able to enjoy the fireworks while you’re here. This year I understand it will be even more spectacular than ever, something truly to remember. Good evening, gentlemen. And Happy New Year.”

Polk glared at Rathman as Smythe left. When the official was out of earshot, Polk said, “Tell me what happened.”

Rathman cleared his throat. “We did have a man fall overboard. It was during that storm. I thought he was a dead man for sure, so I didn’t turn around to search for him. It would have delayed our arrival in Sydney.”

“And you just admitted the ship was in the area where the man was found.”

“He probably would have found out anyway.”

“Do you realize how dangerous it is to have the authorities snooping around on this ship?”

“I doctored the manifest, just in case,” Rathman said. “He seemed satisfied that we never had that man aboard.”

“Are there any other surprises I should know about?” Polk demanded.

“We rechecked the cargo when we lowered the anchor,” Rathman said. “All of the pallets weathered the storm intact and without damage.”

“And you have no other missing crewmen? No errant radio calls that might be investigated?”

Rathman shook his head vigorously. “Nothing like that. There shouldn’t be any more interruptions.”

“You should be glad that crewman died before he could divulge anything else,” Polk said. “Otherwise, I’d make this more painful.”

He drew the Glock and put a bullet in Rathman’s chest. He keeled over, and Polk bent down to make sure he was dead.

When Rathman’s pulse ceased, Polk stood and told two of the men to take his body to cold storage.

As it was, he didn’t need the irresponsible captain anymore. The Centaurus was never leaving Sydney Harbour.

SIXTY-FIVE

THE GOLD COAST, AUSTRALIA

While the Oregon raced south toward Sydney, Juan briefed Langston Overholt on the events of the last few days. The aristocratic CIA official nodded silently from the wall screen of Juan’s cabin until the end.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think we have enough hard evidence to convince the Australian Defence Force to mount a raid,” Overholt said. “The best we could hope for would be a thorough search of the ship’s cargo.”

“We can’t take that risk,” Juan said. “An inspection might prompt Polk to launch his rockets early. Besides, we don’t even know the name of the ship.”

“I believe I can help on that front. As you requested, I had the NSA monitor networks for the key words you suggested. They got a hit on Nhulunbuy. It seems a private yacht picked up a stranded man in the middle of the Coral Sea. He died from a shark attack, but before he succumbed to his injuries, he repeated the following phrase. ‘The Centaurus left me.’ His possessions included a matchbook from a tavern called the Lazy Goanna in Nhulunbuy.”

For the first time, Juan felt a ray of hope. “That’s where we met Bob Parsons. Was the man from the town?”

“The authorities circulated his picture there, but no one knew him. However, we ran him through the CIA’s database. Facial recognition identified him as a former soldier in the Chinese Army who subsequently worked for a private military contractor known for its brutal operatives and their willingness to do exceedingly dirty work if the money was right. The firm was owned by Lu Yang.”

“That can’t be a coincidence.”

“I agree.”

“‘The Centaurus left me,’” Juan repeated. “Did he fall overboard from a ship called the Centaurus ?”