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Together, Pitt, Giordino and O'Malley went down to the evacua-tion pod deck. O'Malley began opening inspection panels and check-ing the system. There was something oddly reassuring about the big Irishman. He knew his job and knew it well. No lost motion with him. Less than five minutes after he began his inspection, he steppec back from the open panels, sat down in a chair and sighed. "Whoever activated the evacuation pods knew his business. He overrode the cir-cuits leading to the bridge and set the pods in motion by using the emergency manual controls. Luckily, it looks like one pod failed to release."
"Small consolation," muttered Giordino.
Pitt slowly shook his head in defeat. "They've been two steps ahead of us from the beginning. I have to give than an A for planning."
"Who's they?" asked O'Malley.
"Men who will murder children as easily as you and I would kill flies."
"It makes no sense."
"Not to sane people."
"We still have one pod to put the children in," said Giordino.
"It's the captain's job to give the order," Pitt said, staring at the remaining pod. "The question is, how many can we put in it?"
An hour later, a Coast Guard cutter arrived on the scene, hauled aboard the orange marker buoy released from the Golden Marlin with a telephone line and opened communications to the boat. Only then did Baldwin give the command to gather the passengers into the theater and explain the situation. He concentrated on minimizing the danger and stated that it was in keeping with company regulations to send the youngest to the surface in case of an emergency. None of it sat well. Questions were raised. Tempers flared, and it was all the captain could do to defuse the anger and fear.
Before the pod was loaded, Pitt and O'Malley sat at a computer in the purser's office and estimated the number of bodies the pod could carry beyond the safe limits as stated by the manufacturer and still float free to the surface.
While they were absorbed in their work, Giordino left them to look for Kelly.
"How many children on board?" asked O'Malley.
Using the purser's list of passengers, Pitt totaled up the number. "Fifty-four who are under the age of eighteen."
"The pods are constructed to carry fifty people with an average weight of one hundred and sixty pounds, for a total weight limit of eight thousand pounds. Anything above that and they won't float to the surface."
"We can cut that figure in half. The kids should average around eighty pounds or less."
"Now that we're down to four thousand pounds, that leaves room for some of the mothers," said O'Malley, feeling odd to be discussing whose lives would be saved.
"Take an average weight of one-forty and we have room for nearly twenty-nine mothers."
O'Malley punched up the families and number of children. "There are twenty-seven mothers on board," he said with a hint of optimism. "Thank God we can evacuate all of them and their children."
"We have to ignore the new tradition of keeping families together," said Pitt. "The men make up too much weight."
"I agree," O'Malley said heavily.
"We still have room for one or two more bodies."
"We can't exactly ask the other six hundred and seventeen passengers and crew to draw straws."
"No," said Pitt. "We have to send someone, one of us, who can give a detailed report on the situation down here that can't be fully interpreted through underwater communications."
"I'm more important here," O'Malley said firmly.
Giordino returned at that moment. The expression on his face was not one of pleasure. "Kelly has disappeared," he said simply. "I put together a search party, but we can find no trace of her."
"Bloody hell," Pitt swore. He did not question Giordino, did not doubt for a moment that Kelly had indeed vanished. Gut instinct alone told him it was true. Suddenly, the photo of a passenger filled his mind. He programmed in the passenger list on the computer and typed the name Jonathan Ford.
The picture of Ford taken as he stepped off the gangway onto the deck filled the monitor. Next, Pitt hit the print key and waited until a colored image rolled from the printer. While O'Malley and Giordino stood silent, he studied the face, comparing it mentally with the pilot of the red Fokker he'd met at the air show before the dogfight. He took the image over to a desk, took a pencil and began shading in the man's face. When he was finished, he felt as if a fist had struck him in the stomach.
"He was here on board and I missed him."
Completely adrift, O'Malley asked, "Who are you talking about?"
