The Maltese Incident Page 3

  “Should I steer the ship toward the fin, captain?”

  “No way in hell. Colliding with that monster will be like hitting a reef.”

  “Lookout One, this is Captain Harry. Did you take a photo of that thing?”

  “Yes, sir. I got five pictures.”

  “Make sure you transfer the files to the computer on the bridge when you get off watch. Put them in a file I just created called ‘Big Fish.’ ”

  “Holy shit, look at that,” yelled Lookout One.

  I thought briefly of renaming the Maltese to “Holy Shit.”

  The fish had just breached, and its entire body was out of the water. Jim was right, the thing was humongous. When it landed in the water it created a huge wave.

  Randy Borg came stumbling through the doorway to the bridge.

  “Harry, what the hell was that turbulence all about?”

  I showed Randy the photos of our giant aquatic friend.

  “I recommend a meeting for all personnel tomorrow in the main dining room, Randy. I’m sure others have seen this monster and I don’t want people freaking out.”

  “Hey, Harry,” Meg said. “What about the big announcement we want Randy to make?”

  “Oh, right. Meg and I are getting married and I’d like you to be my best man.”

  I don’t know what “beaming” looks like, but it’s how I felt.

  “Also,” I said, “we’d like you to make the announcement, maybe at tomorrow’s meeting. Our wedding plans will give us something else to talk about besides a giant fish.”

  “That’s fabulous,” Randy yelled. “Congratulations you two.” He walked over to Meg and gave her a kiss on the cheek and gave me a bear hug.

  “I want to make the wedding announcement before we show the photos of the monster,” Randy said. “I think it will be good for morale.”

  Chapter Four

  Randy Borg stood in front of the audience and took the microphone. The meeting was in the ship’s main dining room because it accommodated all guests and crew of the Maltese except for those on watch.

  “Today we’re going to discuss some strange things.” Randy said. “We all know about the bizarre occurrence a few days ago. But before we discuss the odd incident, I first want to announce some great news, some happy news. Captain Harry and our own Meg Johnson are getting married. I have it in strict confidence that they are going to spend their honeymoon on a cruise ship. Maureen O’Malley from our accounting department happens to be Clerk of the Village of Garden City, New York, and as our resident government official she will perform the wedding ceremony. The wedding will take place at our next meeting. Let’s hear it for Captain Harry and his lovely fiancée, Meg Johnson.”

  The crowd stood and gave us a roaring, foot-stomping standing ovation. We may be lost at sea, but at least we’re on a ship full of friends.

  ***

  Our wedding day arrived. I wore my formal captain’s uniform and Meg wore a light blue gown that she had brought with her for formal dinners. Everybody snapped pictures.

  “I want to frame one of these photos and hang it on our wall—next to the giant fish picture.”

  “You’re such a romantic, Harry,” Meg said.

  Maureen O’Malley, who has a big voice despite her petite size, performed the wedding ceremony. The aging Jake Mendenhall, Senior Vice President for Finance, stood in as Meg’s father to give the bride away. When the wedding ceremony was completed, the waiters opened champagne bottles and poured the bubbly into each person’s glass. Randy Borg, in his role as best man, proposed a toast and gave a short speech.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, each one of us is consumed by one thing, an obvious thing—we’re lost. But despite our quandary, sometimes things turn out well. We’re gathered to celebrate, not a sea monster, but Harry and Meg’s wedding. They’re two of the best people I know, and it delights me that they’re now man and wife. I’m also proud that Captain Harry asked me to be his best man. Immediately after our wedding lunch, we’ll discuss the strange sightings recently, and look at some photographs. But now, please raise your glass in a toast to our favorite people, Harry and Meg Fenton.”

  The crowd raised their glasses toward Meg and me when suddenly the ship listed hard to starboard, spilling everybody’s champagne on the closest person. I grabbed Meg by the hand and said, “We need to go to the bridge.”

  “Our guests of honor have suddenly been called away,” Randy announced. “Please put your glasses into the nearest receptacle to avoid breakage and stay near any solid object you can grab onto. Everyone please stay here for the meeting, which has just taken on immediate importance. I’m following Captain Harry and Meg to the bridge, so we can figure out what just happened. I’ll report to you from there.”

  “Whatta we got, Jim?” I said to the first officer.

  “Our big friend is back, captain, but this time he came even closer. The lurch we all felt was the damn thing bumping against our hull. I think he’s in love with the Maltese. By the way, congratulations on your wedding. I wish I could have been there.”

  “Thanks, Jim. It was pretty short, thanks to our monster friend.”

  “I snapped some pictures with the hull-bottom camera. I transferred the photos to the bridge computer so we can get a good look on the wide screen. Check this out.”

  Randy Borg had just entered the bridge, and I motioned him over to the computer screen.

  “Oh my God,” said Randy. “That thing looks like it’s half the size of this ship.”

  “Did you see what was following it?” Meg said. “Three little ones, if you can describe something the size of a school bus as ‘little.’”

  “I’m going to increase speed a bit and make for shore, which we can finally see on the horizon,” I said. “We need to get into shallow waters, assuming I can find a bottom.”

  “I suggest pinging the sonar, honey,” Meg said. “That may keep the big fish away from the ship,”

  “And to think that I married you for your looks. Meg’s right, Jim, let’s set the sonar to ping every 30 seconds. Steer course 340. We don’t have reliable charts, but I want to steer visually between those two mountains. The landscape looks flat, and with any luck the depth will be shallow enough to drop the anchor.”

  “Maybe we can take a real honeymoon ashore, handsome.”

  “Let’s see what kind of wild animals are there first.”

  “If they’re as wild as you, I’m ready, honey,” Meg said.

  Randy rolled his eyes.

  “What speed do you want, captain?” Jim Valente asked.

  “Increase it, but to just to nine knots, Jim. We still need to conserve fuel.”

  “When we drop the anchor, we can do some fishing to replenish our stores,” Randy said.

  I looked at Meg, who was standing next to me in her wedding dress. We both laughed. Only a short-story writer with a strange sense of humor could have come up with a description of our brief wedding ceremony.

  ***

  I’ve never been married before, and I expected that Harry and I would have a nicer wedding, one that wasn’t upstaged by sea monsters. I’m beginning to realize that everything will look weird from here on out. Like everybody else on this ship, my emotional state goes from fear to upset, but right now, despite our monster fish encounter, I feel great. I just married a wonderful man, and I refuse to let our newlywed happiness wear off. Harry’s a positive thinker and so am I. We’ll handle this bizarre situation day by day—together. Fuck the sea monsters, as my husband would say.

  Chapter Five

  “We can’t be the only ship that got hit with this madness,” I said. “There’s an ocean full of ships cruising to different ports. Can we be the only one?”

  Meg was standing watch with me on the bridge.

  “You’re right,” Meg said. “It doesn’t make any sense that we’re alone with this crap. Other ships may be in danger too, but we don’t have a way to warn them.”

  Being lost at sea is one of those prim
ordial fears that have kept novelists busy since the beginning of the written word. I’m on a ship with over a thousand intelligent people, my new wife being one of the brightest. We have plenty of brains to work on our problem. What bothers the hell out of me is that I don’t have any explanation for what happened to us, not a clue. One minute we were steaming along on a beautiful evening; the next minute night turned into day, the ship rumbled, and here we are in an ocean full of giant fish. This disgusting gloomy weather isn’t helping my mood. It’s after sunrise, but we can’t see the sun, or even the light patch above the clouds where it’s hiding. A TV weatherman would describe our current climate as “overcast with a chance of rain.”

  I just recalled that prior to our incident, another ship would be heading our way through the Azores. That big new Norwegian Cruise Line ship, the Melody of the Seas was scheduled to leave Manhattan today. I know her captain, a nice guy named Lars Ragnarssen, a perfect name for a Norwegian Cruise Line captain. We had a drink just a couple of weeks ago at a bar near the piers. I remember him saying that the Melody would be leaving today. The ship could be tossing off her lines right now.

  ***

  The deep rumbling sound of the ship’s horn sounded as the Melody of the Seas cast off its lines from the Norwegian Cruise Line terminal at Pier 88 on the West Side of Manhattan. The ship was embarking on a three-week European cruise, its fourth passage. The schedule also called for two days of steaming through the beautiful Azores. The April temperature, despite a cloudless sky, had a slight chill. As the ship steamed slowly down the Hudson River, the public-address system played Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York, a traditional song played over the loudspeakers of an outbound cruise ship as it passed Manhattan to port.

  The Melody of the Seas was the newest ship launched by Norwegian Cruise Line. At 230 gross tons and 1,200 feet in length it was the largest cruise ship afloat, although she would probably keep that record for only a few months. The cruise ship industry keeps going for bigger and better. The vessel’s 2,747 staterooms accommodated 2,479 passengers and a crew of 2,300.

  Captain Lars Ragnarssen has been with Norwegian Cruise Line for all his 30-year career. After this cruise he’ll have five more trips before retirement. Like many a sea captain, he had mixed feelings about retiring. He always loved the sea, and he had already placed a deposit on 50-foot motor yacht, not exactly a cruise ship, but big enough to get him to the ocean when the yearning hit him. The boat would be berthed in Lars’ hometown of Oslo, Norway.

  Lars spoke with only a trace of his native Norwegian accent. Captain Lars, as everybody called him, no longer brings his wife to sea with him. He had learned that lesson after an expensive divorce from his fourth wife, who caught him giving private nautical lessons to a passenger in a hot tub. Lars stood just under six feet tall with blond hair, which he encouraged with hair coloring whenever gray asserted itself. At age 55, he had a youthful appearance to compliment his good looks. Rumor had it that many a single woman booked a cruise just to rub elbows with Captain Lars. According to cruise ship tradition, the captain would dine with a different group of passengers every night. Lars’ wife, Inga, his fifth, is a stunning beauty who owns a chain of clothing stores. Lars is determined that Inga will be his final marriage. He almost said that to a lovely young American woman who flirted with him one evening. He almost said that, but instead asked if he could buy the lady another drink.

  Despite his mutual attraction with good-looking women, Captain Lars took his job as a mariner and ship captain to heart. He knew that the complexities of a giant cruise ship presented countless problems, some life-threatening. Other than heart attacks, falls, swimming pool accidents, and the occasional suicide, his record for passenger safety was unblemished. Long ago, Lars internalized the lessons of The Titanic, and of its ill-fated captain, Edward Smith. The story has been told many times in print and on the screen. Lars had read Walter Lord’s book, A Night to Remember, a dozen times. Captain Smith had allowed himself to be bossed around by the White Star Line brass and ordered a cruising speed much too fast for the iceberg-clogged seas that surrounded the ship. When the lookout spotted the huge iceberg dead-ahead, it was too late to turn the ship. Never would he let the safety of his ship and passengers be compromised by someone else. When he stood on the bridge as captain, the ship was his and he was in command, not some guy at headquarters in a business suit. He liked it that way, and so did the women he dined with.

  The Verrazano Bridge glistened in the late afternoon sun as the huge ship steamed under it, gliding out into the Atlantic. Lars thought about his new friend, Captain Harry Fenton, skipper of the Maltese, the ship that went missing a couple of days ago. It’s always hard to lose a friend, especially when your friend simply disappears.

  ***

  As the Melody of the Seas passed the coast of New Jersey to starboard, the First Officer Bob Simmons approached the captain.

  “Good evening, sir, I have a message for you.”

  He handed the captain the printout of a message from the Norwegian Cruise Line home office. The letter, from the president of NCL, warned about the dangers of terrorism, and recommended extreme caution. Ever since the Achille Lauro was hijacked off Egypt in 1985, security on cruise ships was tight. The events of 9/11 and other prominent terrorist actions over the years made cruise ship management edgy.

  Lars looked at Simmons and shook his head.

  “Trouble, captain?” Simmons said.

  “No, not exactly, Bob. Just another message from the home office warning about terrorism.”

  “Let me guess, captain. They’re worried about the Maltese Incident.”

  “Yes, they are. After the Maltese went missing the cruise line industry will never be the same.”

  Chapter Six

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, Shepard Smith here for Fox News. I have an update to the story we broke two days ago concerning the cruise ship Maltese.

  “The ship disappeared while steaming in the Azores, en route to Lisbon, Portugal. No distress signal was heard, and nothing indicated that the ship was in trouble. Submersibles have scoured the sea bottom in the area where the ship went missing, but no debris has been found.

  “So far nobody has come up with an explanation of just what happened—or just where the ship is. The unexplained event has become known as the Maltese Incident. The Maltese is owned by Malta Investments, a huge and successful securities firm. The company uses the ship to entertain clients on charity fund raisers. I’m going to tell you more about the Maltese from information given to us by the current board of directors.

  “Her skipper is a man well-known in maritime circles. Captain Harold Fenton, or Captain Harry as everybody knows him, is a graduate of the United States Naval Academy. He saw action in the Persian Gulf as commanding officer of the USS Bentley, a destroyer. Captain Harry received a chest wound and facial injuries in an encounter with Iranian gunboats, earning him the Purple Heart. He was also awarded the Navy Cross for valor. After his military service he went back to sea as a captain on private cruise ships. Besides his seagoing expertise, he’s known for his sense of humor and colorful language. From everything I’ve read about him, Captain Harry’s quite a guy, liked by anyone who’s met him. But now he’s missing, along with the Maltese and all her crew and passengers.

  “We’ll bring you updates to this still-breaking story as we receive them.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Sonar shows 300 feet, captain,” said the first officer Jim Valente.

  “Another mind-blower,” I said. “A few yards to seaward and we couldn’t spot bottom, now we’re in 300 feet of water. Let me know as we get shallower. Give me 25-foot intervals.”

  Meg walked onto the bridge carrying a tray with our lunch. Meg and I were standing watch together.

  “What have you got for us, honey?”

  “Guess—fish. We ran out of filet mignon. If we send a scouting party ashore, maybe they can pick up what we can’t find at sea. Chef Carlos to
ld me he would love to get his hands on some olive oil so he can perk up the taste of the fish dishes.”

  “If we find some small game, even better,” I said.

  “225 feet, captain.”

  “Very well, slow to five knots and keep the numbers coming.”

  “What depth are you looking for, Harry?” Meg asked.

  “I want 75 feet, enough to give us a comfortable anchorage. Of course, a lot depends on wave activity onshore.”

  “I wonder why we haven’t seen one of those gigantic fish for days,” Meg said.

  “There’s no pattern to it, Meg. They either show up or not. We don’t know how to attract them, not that I’d want to. Hey, from the look of things ashore, I think we’re going to arrive in a good spot.”

  “The land looks beautiful, Harry. It looks like an untouched forest. And where did that beautiful sunshine come from? All the time we were at sea it was overcast, but now there isn’t a cloud in the sky.”

  “75 feet, captain,” Valente said, “75 and holding.”

  “Anchor room, this is the bridge, all engines stop,” I yelled. “Let go the anchor.”

  When I was in the Navy, I seldom had to yell. The entire crew was well trained and could take voice orders even when I spoke softly. On this civilian ship, it’s different. I yell a lot.

  I maneuvered the ship to make sure the anchor was firmly secured.

  “All engines back one-third. All stop. All engines ahead one-third. All stop.” I felt at home, handling a ship in an anchorage. The anchor was secure in a sandy bottom.