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nly other thought that briefly crossed his mind was Sandecker's quick mention that Dirk Pitt and Al Giordino would be involved with the intercept after all. But Dover had seen no sign of them. He wondered what had delayed them from attending the briefing, not that they might have made a difference. Dover doubted that they would have proved critical to the operation.
The sun was trying to probe through the clouds as the William Shea and her sister cutter, Timothy Firme, cast off and sailed toward their confrontation with the Mongol Invader and her deadly cargo of propane gas.
49
It doesn't look like any submarine I've ever seen," Giordino remarked, staring at a sleek vessel that looked more like a luxury yacht than an undersea boat.
Pitt stood on the dock at Sheepshead Bay south of Brooklyn, admiring the eighty-five-foot craft whose exterior styling was that of an elegant powerboat. Giordino was right; above the waterline she looked like most any other expensive yacht. The only noticeable differences were what could be seen underwater. The large, rounded viewing ports in the forward sides of her hull were similar but smaller to those mounted in the hull of the Golden Marlin.
Able to sleep eleven passengers and crew in lavish comfort, the Coral Wanderer was the largest model the Meridian Shipyard of Massachusetts built of the Ocean Diver series. Displacing 400 tons, it was designed to operate at a depth of 1,200 feet with a range of 200 nautical miles.
Captain Jimmy Flett walked down the stairs from the deck to the dock and approached Pitt with an outstretched hand. He was short and burly, with a face turned ruddy from long years of a love affair with scotch whiskey, but his blue eyes had somehow managed to remain clear and bright. The skin on his arms and hands was not deeply tanned as one might expect on a man who had sailed on many voyages across warm, sun-splashed seas. Flett had spent most of his life on ships in the North Sea and had the tough, hardy look of a fisherman who returned home with a catch regardless of stormy seas. He had seen more than his share of hard blows and survived them all.
He squeezed Pitt's hand to a pulp. "Dirk, how long has it been since we trod a deck and drank a scotch together?"
"On the Arvor III back in 'eighty-eight."
"The search for the Bonhomme Richard" said Flett, in a voice surprisingly soft. "As I recall, we didn't find it."
"No, but we did stumble onto a Russian spy trawler that had gone down in a storm."
"I remember. The British Navy ordered us to forget we'd ever found her. I always thought they were diving on her hours after we gave them the position."
Pitt turned to Giordino. "Al, may I present Jimmy Flett. A good friend from times past."
"Glad to meet you," said Giordino. "Dirk has often spoken of you."
"Nothing good, I hope." Jimmy laughed, as he crushed Giordino's hand and got crushed in return.
"So you've gone soft and become a skipper of luxury boats," said Pitt warmly, nodding at the underwater yacht.
"I'm a seaman who prefers the surface. Nothing under the water has any interest for me."
"Then why do it?"
"The pay is good and the job easy. I'm getting old and can't fight the elements the way I used to."
"Did you clear it with your bosses for us to use it?" asked Pitt.
"They're not keen on the idea. She's still undergoing trials and is not certified yet. As soon as she passes all the regulations, I'm scheduled to sail her across the sea to Monte Carlo, where her new owners intend to put her out for charter to wealthy Europeans."
"This is an extremely critical situation."
Flett stared into Pitt's green eyes. "What do you want with her? All you said over the phone was that it was a NUMA charter."
"We intend to use her as a torpedo boat."
Flett stared at Pitt as though his gray matter were oozing from one ear. "I see," he murmured softly, "a torpedo boat. And what ship do you plan on sending to the bottom?"
"A Liquid Natural Gas tanker."
Now Flett could imagine gray matter flowing from Pitt's other ear as well. "And if I refuse your request?"
"Then you will carry the blame for more than five hundred thousand lost lives."
Flett instantly read the situation. "This tanker-are terrorists planning to blow her up?"
"Not terrorists in the strict sense of the word. But a team of criminals who intend to run the ship aground near the World Trade Center towers before igniting the combustible gas."
