Save the Manatee!
14: Dark Rendezvous
(June 14, 2015)
When the humpbacks tired, half a dozen orcas quickly took their place and the boat sped up even more—over twenty knots, Stanford estimated. Within half an hour, he noticed something on the scope and called everyone over. "We're closing fast," he said. "The Trident has almost reversed her course. She should be in sight within minutes, off the starboard bow."
Mermando whistled and clicked, and splashes broke out all around the Stan O' War II. "I have told them," he said from his tub—they had to keep replacing the water because the boat was tossing it out every time it hit a wave—"to scout the approaching ship. The whales say it is coming very fast. Are you sure that is where my queen is?"
"Unless they've already made the exchange," Stanford said. "Are there any other vessels in the area?"
More cetacean language, and then Mermando said, "No, that ship has not come close to land or to another boat."
"Then she should be aboard."
"My friends," Mermando said, "I thank you for your help. We have never interacted with humans before—the merfolk, I mean—and my hearts are very full. I have seventeen, you know."
"Fascinating," Stanford said. "When this is all over, I'd love to interview you for science."
"Alas, the world must not know of our existence," Mermando said.
"Aw," Mabel pouted. "My Grunkle could make you a star."
Not missing a beat, Mermando continued, "On the other hand, if it is for science—if you visit me in the Florida Keys, Doctor Pines, I will be honored to grant your request."
Kneeling beside his tub and grasping the rail with her left hand, Mabel reached out to hold hands with the manatee king. "I hope you're happy with your wife," she said.
"Some things," Mermando said, "are more important to a ruler than personal happiness. The welfare of his people. The maintaining of peace. The rule of law and order. But, however, Sirenia is a very affectionate wife, and yes, I am happy. Mabel, I hope I did not break your hearts—heart—too badly."
"I'm getting over it," Mabel reassured him.
In the dark Dipper heard a smooch. Yech. His mouth tastes like anchovies! he remembered from his resuscitation effort. Diplomatically, he kept quiet.
"Is that a ship?" Stan rumbled.
Dipper strained his eyes. "I don't see anything."
Wendy had dived into the deckhouse. "Here ya go, Stan," she said. "Binoculars."
"Thanks, Wendy." Beside Dipper, Stan raised the instrument and started to improvise one of his busy songs: "Do da dee do, lookin' at nothin', everything's dark . . .. Huh. Yeah. Poindexter, I think it's the freighter, but it's runnin' without lights."
"So are we," Dipper pointed out.
"Yeah, but in our case, it's 'cause we're runnin' on whale power. They're hidin' from something."
"I've got them on radar," Ford said. He hesitated and then added, "I must use the radio to call for backup. It's a restricted channel, but if they're monitoring—"
"Take the chance," Stanley advised. "We got a magnet gun and a .22 rifle. No tellin' what kinda arsenal they might be packin'."
"Hold this course," Ford said. "I'll be back as soon as possible." He ducked into the deckhouse. Stan took the wheel and handed the binoculars to Dipper. "Try to keep an eye on it. It's hard to find. Scan the horizon just right of the pointy part of the boat."
Dipper passed them to Wendy. "You're probably better at this," he said.
She took them. "I'm seein' nothin', dudes." Dipper felt her swivel as she tracked slowly back and forth. "Hang on, I think I got something. Yeah, it's, like, a little bit blacker than the ocean and sky."
"Listen!" Mabel yelled. "I think I can hear it!"
Everyone held their breath, and Mermando held his water. Against the swash of the waves slapping the bow and the puffs of the orcas as they spouted and breathed, Dipper heard a low, barely audible thrumming. "It's an engine," he confirmed.
"We're gettin' close," Stan muttered. "They gotta have us on radar by now."
Ford came back and took the wheel. "The Agency is sending a helicopter," he said. "It's coming from Coos Bay, so once they're in the air, they can get here within half an hour or so."
"Something's happening," Stan said.
Squawks and chatter came from the mammals around the boat.
Mermando said, "My friends tell me the big ship is slowing almost to a stop!"
"I see some lights," Stan said. "Maybe they spotted us."
A red streak etched itself up toward the cloudy sky.
"Fireworks!" Mabel yelled.
"Shh! That's a flare," Ford said. "But surely not so they can signal us!"
"My friends!" Mermando called. "The whales say there is another ship, past that one, coming on fast!"
Fusel said, "I tell you, without shelter, we can't risk trying to load the tank."
Beside him on the bridge, Voillelli sourly said, "Don't worry about it. Arm the torpedoes."
The captain shot him a shocked glance. "Why?"
"Do it," Voillelli said. He grunted. "I'm losing my hold over the merman, but I'm saving myself two hundred grand."
"I won't do it," Fusel said, his voice flat.
Without changing expression, Voillelli said, "You're fired. Grandham, you're captain. Morklin, take Fusel into custody. Cuff him."
The muscular Vaughan Morklin, who rarely said anything, reached for Fusel's arm, pinning it before he could move to defend himself. Voillelli watched as the big man spun the former captain, shoved him against the bulkhead, wrenched his arms behind him, and snapped the handcuffs on. Then Voillelli said, "Take him to his bunk." Morklin again pushed the shackled man, and he stumbled over the steel deck rim and fell face-first, tumbling down the steps to the deck, a drop of five feet. Voillelli grabbed Morklin's arm. "Overboard," he whispered, and the big man nodded before going down and jerking the groaning Fusel to his feet.
When they had gone, Voillelli said to Fritz Grandham, "You got a problem with arming the torpedoes?"
"No, boss," Grandham said, and he ordered it done.
"They ain't noticed us," Stan said. They Stan O'War II had been towed, silently, to within a hundred yards of the freighter, which they could now see in silhouette. Everyone aboard the ship seemed to have clustered on the far rail, the one looking northwest, out to sea. Deck lights had come on, and a searchlight fingered the sky, projecting a circle on the cloud cover. The freighter's engine hardly kept her under headway, maybe two knots if that.
"We might be able to sneak aboard," Dipper said.
"Break out the rubber raft," Stan told him. "Ford, I'm goin' in. Gunfire breaks out, you get the kids the hell outa here."
Stanford nodded grimly. The crew of the Stan O' War II could see each other in the dim spill of light from the freighter, though they looked like ghosts newly materialized from the night.
Dipper went to Mabel's side and whispered something. She sped into the deckhouse and was back in a few seconds. Dipper took something from her and reached out to touch Wendy's face with his bare hand. –Keep yourself and Mabel safe. I've got to go with Grunkle Stan.
Dip, no! You're not ditchin' me!
–Got to. Stan will need help.
Stan came back in a wetsuit. He wore a waist pouch which bulged—Dipper suspected—with brass knuckles. Dipper had opened the locker and they inflated the yellow rubber life raft. "Mermando," Dipper said quietly, "can one of your friends get us to the side of the ship?"
"Of course, amigo."
Stan opened the transom and they wrestled the raft into the water, the painter line trailing down. "You guys take care," he said, climbing in.
Dipper was in, too, before Stan could react—and Wendy came right behind him. Stan growled, "What th'—"
But a dolphin had seized the towline, and the raft sped away. "You kids can't come!" Stan whispered fiercely.
"We're here," Dipper pointed out. "Wendy, got your axe?"
"Got a hatchet I took from a locker. It'll do."
It seemed to take no time to close the gap. The raft bumped against the sheer side of the freighter, in the blackness of its shadow. "Look, I gotta find a way up—" Stan started.
"Grappling hook!" Dipper did a fair impression of Mabel.
"Shh!" Wendy said.
"What?" Stan whispered.
"Maybe nothing. I think the engines are revving, though."
Dipper raised and fired the grappling hook.
Inglehorn stared through the binoculars. "Why isn't he slowing?" he asked. "Get the Cutwater on the radio."
"Been trying," the mate told him. "They won't answer."
The yacht was only a few hundred yards away and closing fast. Inglehorn's spine crept with an intimation of danger. "Hard a-port," he said. "Give me five knots!"
The helmsman called for power and started the turn. The prow of the freighter fell away from the approaching yacht.
Their speed had not even reached three knots when the first torpedo slammed into the starboard flank.
"Hit 'em again," Voillelli said, watching the explosion.
"They're semaphoring," Grandham told him. "Identifying themselves. Asking us to cease fire."
"Hit them," Voillelli said very clearly and almost pleasantly, "again!"
"Whoa!" on the port side of the deck, Stan grabbed Wendy and steadied her as Dipper went sprawling. They heard screams and outraged bellows from the far side of a village of shipping containers. "What the heck was that?" Dipper asked, getting to his feet.
"Explosion," Stan said. Bells rang. The ship's horn shrieked.
A man's amplified voice came over the PA: "Abandon ship! All hands, abandon ship!"
Stan pushed Dipper and Wendy into a tight space between two cargo containers. Dark figures ran past, and they heard the whine of winches. "They're droppin' the lifeboats," Stan said. "C'mon, while there's time!"
They ran across to the starboard side in time to see about ten men pile into a lifeboat and start to winch it down. The second torpedo hit the starboard flank, close to the stern, and the davit gave way. Over the ringing in his ears, Dipper heard the terrified screeches of the sailors as the lifeboat fell free and dangled from one rope, dumping them out. The sea cut off their screams.
"Dude, I think this thing's going down!" Wendy yelled. The deck was tilting underfoot.
"Takin' on water fast," Stan said. "Where is it, where is it—there!"
They found the crate, already rigged to the winch by a stout steel cable, its hook holding four smaller cables, one to each corner of the tank. The manatee was trying with frantic bobs of her head to butt the grating loose.
The deck tilted even more, and the container swung free by a couple of inches. Stan fumbled with the grate, found the latches, and opened them. "Grab it, Dipper! One, two, three!"
They heaved the grate over the rail. Stan was working the controls of the winch. "Don't lose power now, don't lose power now!"
The electric motor whirred, and the container, sloshing water, swung up and outward. The deck had reached a thirty-degree angle, and behind him, Dipper heard alarming scrapes, pops, and groans as the huge shipping containers threatened to break loose.
"Look!" Wendy yelled, pointing downward. "That must be the magic circle!"
Directly below them, a whirlpool of water on the face of the dark ocean glowed golden. Dipper glimpsed the shadowy forms of dolphins racing around its edge. The winch groaned, and the container descended slowly toward it—but the ship, wallowing and sinking, was still turning.
"They're moving the circle along with us!" Dipper yelled, looking down. "Five more feet, Grunkle Stan!"
"Gotta take the chance," Stan said. "We're gonna be dead if we don't!" He hit a lever, the cable zizzed through the davit, and the manatee's enclosure splashed into the center of the glowing circle. Dipper saw the mammal break free, her paddle-tail beating the golden water, and then the pool of light closed like the iris of a camera and blinked out.
Stan, fighting to keep his footing, yelled, "Now we gotta get outa here—"
Something exploded far down in the ship, the deck vibrated, and all the lights went out.
"There's our raft!" Wendy yelled. Below them, the dolphin had towed it into range, though they could barely see it in the ruddy light of flames breaking out at the stern.
"Go!" Stan yelled. He climbed up on the rail, reaching back for the kids, but lost his footing and fell. They heard him splash, shout, "Come on!" and then "No, you crazy—not yet!" His voice faded as if the dolphin were hauling him away.
"Dipper!" Wendy shouted. "I'm caught!"
One of the steel cables had broken and curled, part of it pulling taut and pinning her let against the base of the winch. Dipper grabbed it, leaned back, straining to put some slack into it, and she pulled free with a grunt. "Go, go, go!" she yelled.
As they reached the rail, all hell broke loose—a shipping container had snapped its restraints and smashed into another, which also gave way. Four of the enormous crates, each as big as a boxcar, tumbled and crashed into the steel rail, peeling it away as though it were a banana skin.
The teens avoided the avalanche of steel, but just as they tensed to jump, the third and final torpedo exploded. By then, the freighter had turned about ninety degrees to port. It listed badly to starboard, and the torpedo plowed into its exposed bottom about a third of the way up from the stern.
Dipper and Wendy felt the explosion as a giant's hand shoving them. They didn't fall straight down, but arced, tumbling. The impact of the cold water nearly stunned Dipper. His life jacket popped him to the surface, where he shouted, "Wendy!"
"Here!"
The only thing he could really see was the burning freighter, now completely on its side. Spilled diesel fuel had begun to flame on the surface. "Where are you?"
He heard splashing and struck out for it. There—he could see her orange life jacket. "We—we gotta get away—" she gasped. "Fire!"
She floundered for a minute and he reached for her. "What's wrong?"
"Kickin' off my boots! Swim, Dip!"
She outdistanced him, but he yelled, "Don't wait for me! Keep going!" He couldn't swim well—he did a kind of spastic breast-stroke—but he kept moving. Where are those dolphins now when we need them?
He thought they made unusually good time—the sinking ship rapidly fell off behind them. And then he realized We're caught in a current!
"What—what's that?" Wendy called, choking on water.
He caught up to her. He heard it then—a jackhammer sound. "M-machine gun!" he gasped. The water was so cold.
"Sh-ship's goin'!" she chattered. "Dipper—don't leave me!"
"H-here." He pulled her over, reached for her hand—still gloved—and quickly unbuttoned her sleeve cuff. His fingers were going numb. With difficulty, he buttoned it again, threaded through the cuff of his own sleeve. "Th-this'll k-keep us t-together."
"C-can they find us?"
Dipper yanked the cord that started his life jacket beacon light flashing red and—he hoped—activated the GPS tracker. He did the same for her. "Hang on," he said. "It won't be long."
The Triton Trident reared from the water, sinking stern-first. It hung there for a moment in its pool of flaming diesel fuel, like a live thing trying not to drown, and then slipped down in an eruption of foam and a spreading lake of fire—but they were too distant now to worry about that. The ship went under, trailing streamers of steam and smoke.
Now Dipper could glimpse the yacht in the background, beyond the fire and the floating wreckage, turning away, heading off north. What had happened? Why had Voillelli's yacht fired on the cargo he must have ordered delivered to him?
Had Sirenia survived? Grunkle Stan? Where was the Stan O'War II?
The cold ocean held them in its deadly grip. "Dude," Wendy said softly, "I can't f-feel my l-legs. D-don't let go, Dipper. I-I'm s-so sorry. D-don't l-let . . .."
"I've got you," Dipper said. "I've got you. It won't be long. They'll come for us."
How long they floated, he couldn't tell. He was conscious of a deep ache of regret that he hadn't kept Wendy from coming along to the ship. At one point, Wendy could only mumble meaningless sounds.
"I'll sing to you," he told her. And hoarsely, he started trying to sing the love song he had written for her: "I w-will al-always b-believe in f-fairy tales . . .." Like an old-fashioned vinyl record, he got stuck and repeated that much again and again. By the time he was trying to sing "Wendy, you're my magic girl," he could only squeak. And he was starting to feel strangely warm.
—We're dying, he thought. But we're together.
She had slipped off her glove and held his hand. And though she was beyond speech, her faint drowsy thought came back to him: 'S OK, dude. We're together.
And a moment, or maybe a lifetime, later, he saw the bright light.
The one that, as he understood, they needed to go into.