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19
The hawse pipe was a good ten feet below the top edge of the bow gunnels. Without a rope and a grappling hook, there was no way Pitt and Giordino could climb onto the foredeck. The rest of the hull held out little hope of boarding either. No protrusions beckoned as a means of climbing on board. Pitt cursed his lack of planning for such an elementary contingency.
He lowered himself back down the anchor chain. "She's Deep Encounter," he informed Giordino quietly.
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Giordino gazed upward, and his expression in the dim light was one of puzzlement. "How do we get aboard without a gangplank or a ladder?"
"We don't."
"Naturally, you have an alternate plan," he said mechanically.
"Of course."
"Give me the bad news."
Pitt's slight grin was lost in the darkness. "The hijacker's ship is smaller. We can probably go over the stern, then work our way on board Deep Encounter."
Pitt felt comfortable, on an even keel again. He'd guessed right.
The pirates' vessel was not a sailing ship bristling with muzzle-loading guns but a 135-foot utility work boat, whose stern was not only low enough for them to struggle aboard but showed them all the consideration in the world by providing a diver's boarding ladder and a small platform.
Giordino murmured, "I hope we find a length of good old-fashioned pipe to dent heads with. I feel naked with only my bare hands."
"I'm not concerned," Pitt said airily. "I've seen what you can do with those big hams. You forget. We have the element of surprise. They won't be expecting visitors, especially disreputable characters like us, skulking through the back door."
Pitt was in the act of climbing over the stern railing when Giordino's fingers dug into his arm. "What's wrong?" he muttered, rubbing his pulped forearm.
"Someone's standing in the shadows by the aft deckhouse, smoking a cigarette," Giordino spoke softly in Pitt's ear.
Pitt slowly raised his head until he could peek across the work deck. Giordino's remarkable night vision was on target. A barely seen figure was outlined in the darkness only by the movement of his puffing on a cigarette while he leaned over the railing, enjoying the tropical air. He did not appear alert, but as though he was lost in his thoughts.
Quiet as a wraith, Giordino climbed over the stern railing, hoping the water dripping from his body couldn't be heard above a slight breeze rocking the fronds of the palm trees, padded silently across the deck and hooked those big hands around the man's neck, cutting off all air to the lungs. There was a brief struggle, and then the body went limp. With only a slight whisper of sound, he dragged the hijacker back to the stern and behind a large winch.
Pitt searched through the man's clothing, discovering a large folding knife and a snub-nosed revolver. "We're in business," he proclaimed.
"He's still breathing," said Giordino. "What do we do with him?"
"Lay him on the diver's boarding platform out of sight."
Giordino nodded and easily lifted the hijacker over the railing and dropped him in a heap on the boarding platform, where he came within inches of rolling into the sea and drowning. "Evil deed done."
"Let's hope he stays in slumberland for the next hour."
"Guaranteed." Giordino stared into the darkness, his eyes probing the open decks. "How many of them do you think there are?"
"NUMA has two similar work boats of about the same size. They accommodate a crew of fifteen, but they can carry more than a hundred passengers."
Pitt passed the knife to Giordino, who studied it morosely. "Why can't I have the gun?"
"You're the one who always watches old Errol Flynn movies."
"He used a sword, not a cheap switchblade."
"Just pretend."
Without another word of complaint from Giordino, they crossed the expansive cargo and work deck at a steady, unhurried pace to a hatch on the aft bulkhead. The hatch door was closed to take full advantage of the workboat's air-conditioning. This might have been a time to fear the unknown, but that was unacceptable. There was only the ice-cold dread that they had arrived too late to save the men and women of the Deep Encounter. Pitt's mind registered the worst, but he disregarded it, just as he disregarded any concern about being killed.
