[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.He reached as far as he could with his left hand—knife in his right—and grabbed the rope, lifting Clark straight up to build in a loop of slack, enough to bring the knife around underneath the beam and cut through it.Took him a couple of tries, but his old fold-out Buck got the job done.Breathing hard with the strain of holding up Clark’s body one-handed, he said, “I’m going to slide down the beam.Grab Clark when you can reach him.”This would also help avoid any of the crew slipping in the body fluids—mostly urine and shit—that had run down Clark’s legs to the deck under him.Adam DuFour reached up for Clark, taking the dead man in his arms, letting his head rest against one shoulder, blue pale face and lips, mouth gaping, his eyes open and dead.DuFour, tearing up, whispered, “Please, someone, take the damn rope off his neck.”Transfixed by the sight of one of their own so cold and lifeless, no one looked at Wilraven scrambling back up to the lower crane beam to retrieve the rest of the rope.He swung a hand under to find the end where he had neatly sliced through, but stopped as he was about to bring it up and feel for the underside of the knot to untie it.Holding it between his fingers, he swung the top half of his body over the edge, ducking in to get a close look.Right in front of his face was a perfectly slung anchor hitch.He ran his fingers over the knobs of rope under the beam, automatically counting and feeling his way down the hitches to the tail.This was a nice knot, something he could do with his eyes closed.Wilraven thought it interesting that whoever tied this off could do it in the dark.The moon had been heading into the sky at dusk, had set early, and if Clark had “hanged himself” in the early hours, it would have been close to lightless out on the Irabarren.Mooring lights would have been no good for seeing.He would have had to have help on that knot.Clark operated one of the ROVs—remotely operated vehicles.He ran scanning software and programmed missions for the autonomous vehicles.He was a computer guy, a software engineer in his mid-twenties, not an old barge hand or sailor.Maybe a Boy Scout? That was a possibility, but who would remember that particular knot so well years after earning that badge? And given that you’re not a sailor, if you were bent on hanging yourself from a rope, would an anchor hitch be the first knot that jumped to mind?Wilraven shook his head, leaving the rest of the knot where it was tied.It wouldn’t get in the way of crane operation, and it marked where Clark had died.Had been killed.Letter or no letter, no fucking way he killed himself.Wilraven slid back down the beam, stared at Levesgue a moment; nothing but icy control in the man’s return look.Levesgue shifted first, his gaze sliding past Wilraven to notice he had left the remaining rope where it had been tied.The reason was certainly clear to Levesgue.One of the silent security squad, the one with the goatee, spread out the black PVC bag on the deck, unzipped it, tucked Clark’s body inside and sealed it back up.The body was hidden from view in a matter of seconds, the soldier’s practiced hands in bright blue surgical gloves moving over the folds and zipper.Goatee Boy straightened up, relaxed on the gently rocking deck, feet braced apart, arms loose at his sides, a handgun in a holster held butt-down in a three-way harness in the middle of his chest.He turned to Levesgue, who had jumped up on one of the deck-mounted toolboxes.“I want everyone’s attention.” Levesgue spoke softly, barely audible over the lap of waves against the Irabarren’s steel sides.Other than Nature—the sea and a few seagulls—there was silence, and every eye was on the old soldier in faded gray and black camo.“We are going to do a round of introductions.I will go first.I am Mr.Levesgue and I am running security on this operation—this ‘job’ as you may call it.You will see my team patrolling the Marcene and the Irabarren.Do not talk to them.If you have any questions or information, speak to me.I am available around the clock.”Levesgue pointed to a clear space of deck on his right.“I want the crew of the Marcene to stand over here.” Pointing on his left, he said, “And the crew of the Irabarren over here.”With some grumbling, the gathering divided and moved to each side, the Irabarren’s crew numbering twice Marcene’s.Wilraven hadn’t moved, still standing on the base of the crane where Clark had died.DuFour remained standing next to Clark’s body in the cadaver bag, arms folded, and he hadn’t wiped away the tears on his cheeks.Levesgue ignored the captains, continuing in a quiet voice.“Line up ,please, shoulder to shoulder.I have introduced myself to you.” He turned to his right.“Starting with the Marcene, say your full name and the nature of your work onboard.”He was looking directly at Angelo, who glanced at Wilraven and then said, “Angelo Gorriaga, first officer on Marcene.”They went through the entire crew of both vessels, standard ships op crews: the ABs—able seamen, engineers—in the literal running-the-engine sense; two licensed big crane operators, Erich Hallidan and Dewayne Binman, with Royce Cordell and a couple of ABs—Tam Thadison and Mitch Saverese—on support; the submersibles team—remotely operated vehicle engineers and support crew who handled the lines and maintenance; and the dive team, with a handful of maintenance personnel led by Dive Master Andres Jeanpierre.Dr.Aleksander Kozcera, an MD from Warsaw, primarily supported the dive team and managed the use of the decompression chamber.There was a broad mix of nationalities.More than half of the combined crews were American: welder Jack Minier; Walker Cordel, Jerald Barke and others on the crane crew; two brothers, Miles and Steven Shantz, both green ABs on the Marcene crew; and Inda Rehlander, who was ROV team leader on Irabarren.She was blond, blue-eyed, and had about as much of a German accent as Trinidadian Captain DuFour.Jeannetta Laro, originally from Egypt, was the Irabarren’s first mate, and she ran navigation and shipboard ops with Chief Engineer Aramesh Satapathy from Chennai—Aramesh, at age seven, had been dragged out to sea by the return draw of a tsunami, presumed dead, and when he surfed into the flooded city streets the next day, his mother said she knew he was meant to be at sea.Ranav Dasari—from Kanhangad, India—was the Irabarren’s radio engineer and doubled as cook.Old Oladosu Eze was Nigerian and cook on the Marcene.Aro Taketa on the ROV team was Japanese from Yokosuka, where he’d apparently picked up fluent English—Yokosuka being a US Navy base in Japan.Damien Faurot, French, and Telly Halechko, Russian, were both divers under Canadian Andres Jeanpierre, a former Marine Commando, one of several among the two vessels’ crews who had prior military experience.With a quickly held-in sigh, Wilraven was happy that both Andres and his first, Angelo, had kept their pasts to themselves.He glanced around and then tried to go through the crews in his head [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]