Clive Cussler - Fast Ice

Whitaker spoke again. “I’d be a full admiral by now if you’d have done your job right. My nefarious association with you has done nothing but hold my career back all these years.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Rudi said with a laugh. “All the same, I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I understand you’re in the reconnaissance business these days.”

“Vicious rumor,” Whitaker insisted. “I might know someone who is, however. This better be important.”

“I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t,” Rudi said. “I need a recon pass over a long, narrow strip of the Antarctic.”

“Just use one of your satellites,” Whitaker said. “At this point, you have more birds than we do.”

“I need more detail than I can get from a satellite. And I need to see beneath the snow. I’m hoping you have something that can perform that task?”

Whitaker remained silent for a moment. “We might. But why Antarctica? What on earth are you looking for down there?”

Rudi sighed. “Admiral,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

36

SOUTH AFRICAN TERRITORIAL WATERS

Kurt stood on the deck of a South African patrol boat as it cruised in tight formation with a black-hulled container ship. He wore South African Navy fatigues, a flak jacket and a helmet. Seven men of the South African Navy stood beside him in similar gear.

The patrol boat had pulled in tight beside the larger vessel and was now riding on the very cusp of the ship’s bow wave.

“You’ve got a good pilot at the wheel,” Kurt said, addressing the boat’s commanding officer, a South African by the name of Clarence Zama.

“He’s showing off,” Zama replied. “He knows who you are.”

“You mean an old friend who shows up out of the blue and asks for an impossible favor?” Kurt said.

“Yes,” Zama replied, laughing. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

Kurt and Zama had worked together on an anti-smuggling operation years ago. They’d tracked down and captured a group of poachers who were smuggling ivory and endangered species out of Cape Town.

Rather than give up, the poachers had set off explosives, attempting to scuttle their ship. Zama had been trapped belowdecks, Kurt managed to save him by ramming a hole in the side of the poacher’s vessel and giving him a way to get out.

“I doubt we’ll see any explosions today,” Zama said. “But these illegal China trawlers don’t give up so easily either.”

“How often do you deal with them?”

“All the time,” Zama said. “They sail in groups. Sometimes ten or more. The moment they see us coming, they scatter and run in all directions. Obviously, we can only go after one boat at a time. So even if we catch it, nine fully loaded trawlers get away. And usually the captain of the vessel we catch has dumped his catch before we get aboard. When that happens, our efforts are all for nothing. And if they make it to international waters, then we aren’t even allowed to board them.”

A trio of seagulls flew overhead, calling out loudly and riding the wind off the container ship’s hull.

“You expect this time to be different,” Kurt noted.

“I do,” Zama said. “Because the trawler you picked is a larger vessel and working alone. And because this time they won’t know we’re coming.”

“Hiding behind the container ship was a great idea,” Kurt said.

With a broad smile, Zama thanked him for the compliment. “The illegal trawlers use radar and lookouts, but behind this wall of steel we can’t be seen. Not with human eyes or electronic beams. While I’ve wanted to try this tactic for years, the big wigs in my government have refused to allow it. Now, thanks to you we’ve finally been granted permission.”

“Glad I could help,” he said.

“Don’t be too happy,” Zama said. “If something goes wrong it’s going to be blamed on you.”

“It usually is,” Kurt said. “My only concern is the container ship. What’s to stop someone on board from giving us away?”

“Two of my men,” Zama said. “One on the bridge and one in the radio room. Add to that the fact this is an Indonesian vessel and we should be okay. The Chinese fish their waters mercilessly. There is no love lost between them. Also . . .” he added. “I may have mentioned a cash reward.”

“How much of a reward?”

“How much do you have on you?”

Kurt laughed. “Get me on that ship and I’ll see what I can come up with.”

Zama checked his watch. They’d been traveling in formation with the container ship for two hours. “We’re almost abeam the trawler. Once we get there, you’ll feel the full power of our engines. I suggest you hold on.”

Kurt locked one hand on the rail and placed his other hand on the inner collar of the flak jacket as Zama checked his watch. The seconds counted down, with Zama raising his arm for the helmsman to see. When the clock hit zero, he brought his arm down with a flourish, like the starter at a drag race sending the cars off down the track.

The surge from the vessel’s gas turbine engines hit almost instantly. A powerful vibration coursed through the hull and the patrol boat jumped forward.

It nosed over the edge of the bow wave, riding down it and picking up speed. By the time it shot out ahead of the container ship, the patrol boat was traveling at thirty knots.

Kurt, both hands now on the rail, looked to his right. Just over a mile away, he spied the Chinese trawler. A two-hundred-foot vessel with a pea green hull, fishing booms out on either side and a large net trailing from the stern.

The patrol boat cut to the right, the g-force of the turn forcing everyone on deck to brace against the acceleration. Now on an intercept course, the boat straightened, heading for the trawler and jump-crash-jump-crashing across the waves. Each jump offering a full second of zero gravity, each crash enough to buckle a man’s legs if he wasn’t ready for it.

Zama got on the radio, broadcasting to the Chinese ship, ordering them to cut engines to full stop and await boarding.

The repeated warnings went unheeded and it became clear that the Chinese had no intention of obeying. A flurry of activity began in earnest. Kurt saw them cutting away the nets and dropping the lines from the booms. Other men were running about the deck, while black smoke began to billow from the funnel and the trawler turned away.

“She’s pouring on the coal,” Kurt said, shouting above the wind.

“Making for international waters,” Lieutenant Zama replied. “But she’ll never get across the line before we reach her.”

The enthusiasm in his voice was that of a man who’d been held back from doing his duty by bureaucrats for far too long. Now, finally given a chance, he was acting.

Kurt felt the enthusiasm of the group around him. And while he had his own reasons for wanting to capture the illegal fishing trawler, he couldn’t help but feel a camaraderie with the men on the patrol boat. “Where do you plan to go aboard?”

“It depends if they come to their senses or not,” Zama replied. “Should they hove to and cut their engines, we’ll board at the stern. If they continue to run, we’ll pull up on their port beam and fire a few lines across.”

A quick glance told Kurt the trawler wasn’t slowing. In fact, it continued to pick up speed, appearing surprisingly quick for such an ungainly looking ship. “Better get those lines ready,” Kurt said. “Something tells me they’re not pulling over.”

“They want to make it interesting,” Zama said. “So be it.” He shouted to his men. “Get ready to show them what we can do.”

The men reacted quickly, securing braided nylon lines to rocket-propelled anchors, which they loaded into weapons that resembled World War II bazookas.