Read Online Deadly Straits (A Tom Dugan Novel) by R.E. McDermott - Free Book Online

stared down into the black void. They’d removed the temporary lights. He pulled an elastic headband from the fanny pack and donned it, slipping a small flashlight into it like a headlamp to free his hands and light his way down the ladder. He left the ladder at the uppermost horizontal stringer plate and moved forward through the tank, one of twelve forming the double hull between the cargo tanks and the sea, counting the frames forming the ship’s ribs as he went. When he reckoned himself in position, he looked up and smiled as his light illuminated the vent opening near the shipside, the fine wire he’d placed dangling out, almost invisible.
    Structural members marched up the outer hull like widely spaced shelves or rungs of a giant ladder, and Medina climbed, stretching and straining to pull himself up to the underside of the main deck. At the uppermost member, he clung one-handed, his feet on the next member down as he reached toward the ship’s side with a charge. He gave a relieved grunt as the magnet sucked the charge to the steel, and then examined the placement. It sat on the uppermost member, like a box at the back of a high shelf, invisible unless someone scaled the structure as Medina had.
    He groped under the vent and pulled the dangling wire to the charge antenna and twisted the two together, locking them with a tiny wire nut with trembling fingers. Sweat stung his eyes and soaked his coveralls, and he wiped his eyes with the back of his free hand to study his work in the beam of his little light. Perfect, he thought, and began to inch his way down.
    Clang. The sharp ring of steel on steel sent Medina’s heart into his throat, and he clung motionless, listening as more noise indicated activity on the main deck above him. He recovered and continued his descent, faster now. Back on the horizontal stringer, he moved aft toward the ladder with no clear plan. Should he go up? He still had to drill and plug a tiny hole near the top of the common bulkhead between this tank and the adjacent cargo tank. But what was happening on main deck? What if they were bolting the manhole? No one knew he was here. He’d be trapped until he starved to death or drowned when they flooded the ballast tank.
    Medina took a deep breath and controlled his fear. His hand fell on the fanny pack, and he felt the small cordless drill through the fabric. He gathered his resolve and moved across the tank to the cargo-tank bulkhead.
    Twenty minutes later, Medina eased his head out of the manhole and surveyed the main deck. Whoever had been there was gone, and he pulled himself from the manhole and stood on deck. His legs ached from climbing, but he felt the weight of the remaining charge in his pocket and pressed on. A half hour later, he exited the last ballast tank, sweating and dirty but exultant. He entered the deckhouse and went to the Cargo Control Room, where he walked to a control panel labeled “Mariner Tek—Model BT 6000—Ballast-Tank Gas-Detection System.”
    He extracted a pair of needle-nose pliers and a spool of wire from this fanny pack, then secured the power to the panel and opened it. This was the easy part. He’d studied the schematic in the technical manual for days and knew it cold. His fingers flew as he wired in jumpers, then arranged them within the existing wiring so that nothing looked amiss. He stepped back and admired his handiwork before closing the panel and powering up the system.
    Green lights glowed, showing all ballast tanks safe and gas-free. He smiled again, knowing those lights would stay green, regardless of conditions in the tanks. He powered down the system and hummed a little tune as he climbed to his cabin for a shower.
    Offices of Phoenix Shipping Ltd.
London
3 June
    Dugan wrinkled his nose at the faint smell of fresh paint and watched through the door as Anna scooped up folders from her own desk and maneuvered around a ladder in the outer office. Over Alex’s objections, Dugan was working