Chapter 17

The waters of Alang beach were some of the most polluted in the world. Slicks of heavy oil, gasoline, and diesel mixed with an alphabet soup of toxins: PCBs, which released dioxin when burned; THTs, which were powerful biocides designed to kill microbial life, but were also known to disrupt the human endocrine system; PAHs, which came from the fumes of an endless number of acetylene torches that accumulated in the gray mud and soaked into the sea. On top of that, there was bilgewater, asbestos, raw sewage, and floating tangles of insulation, wiring, and other debris. In the mud down below lay high concentrations of heavy metals like mercury, arsenic, chromium, and lead.

The fact that anything could live in the waters was astonishing. The fact that Kurt and Joe were about to swim in them was only slightly less so. Wearing wetsuits, full face masks, gloves, and hoods, they would be somewhat protected from the filth, but since the suits absorbed water, they both knew the chemicals and sludge would be touching their skin.

“When we get back to the hotel, I’m taking a ninety-minute shower and then dipping myself in a vat of hand sanitizer,” Joe said.

“I wouldn’t worry about sanitizing too much,” Kurt joked. “There are so many toxins in this soup, your microbiome will be completely sterilized by the time we get back.”

“Let’s hope that’s the only thing being sterilized,” Joe said. “I’d like to have kids someday.”

They’d taken a small boat out to a point one mile offshore of Sharma’s yard. Along the way they’d passed several ships being readied for their final runs in which they’d charge the beach at high tide, heading for open space between the other grounded ships.

The ships in question sat oddly high in the water, emptied of fuel, cargo, ballast, and lifeboats. Their plimsoll lines were high above the lapping waves and their bulbous, torpedolike bows—which were normally completely submerged—sat fully exposed to the point that one would need a rope ladder to climb up onto them.

It occurred to Kurt that a huge ship making a high-speed run up onto the beach, where it would die and be dismantled, was the mechanical equivalent of the last acts of the beached whales. Except that there would be no force of do-gooders and volunteers to pull these ships off the beach once they grounded to a halt. Just thousands of workers waiting for the low tide so they could walk across the mud and rip the ships apart.

Most of the vessels they’d passed were sitting at anchor, but one ship was clearly being readied for action tonight. Smoke was coming from its funnel, while a tug was being moved in position to give it a boost. Down on the beach, in a direct line from the ship’s bow, a lane had been marked with lines of tall bamboo posts.

The posts ran down off the beach and out into the water, like approach lights on a runway designed to guide an aircraft in through the fog. They were in the process of being lit on fire, and the flickering, petroleum-induced flames cast a primitive, tribal glow across the mud.

They outlined a slightly dredged channel that would help the big ship get up onto the beach. They also allowed Kurt and Joe to navigate with ease, as the Soufriere was sitting on the mud in the next slot over.

“Surprised they want to bring anything in during the night,” Joe said. “Seems like it would be easier during the day.”

“You’d think,” Kurt said. “But when I checked the local currents, I noticed that tonight is a king tide, higher and faster than a regular tide. There’s supposed to be a decent onshore breeze kicking up after midnight, too. All of which helps them get the ship farther up onto the mud. If I’m right, they’ll head for shore about an hour from now.”

“And in all that commotion we exit unnoticed,” Joe guessed.

“That’s the plan,” Kurt said.

“What’s the backup plan?”

“Don’t have one yet.”

“Considering the vast weight of accrued history,” Joe said, “we should probably start coming up with one now.”

Kurt laughed. Joe wasn’t wrong. But in Kurt’s opinion, backup plans were best made on the spur of the moment.

“The current and tide will be with us,” Kurt said. “Just make for the right side of those torches.”

Joe nodded. “Let’s go.”

Kurt picked up his mask, spit onto the glass, and rubbed the saliva around the lens, which would help keep it from fogging up. After rinsing it with water from a bottle, he pulled the mask on, made sure the fit was snug, and then popped the regulator into his mouth. After two quick breaths to ensure it was working, he gave Joe the thumbs-up, got the same signal in return, and went off the side of the boat, plunging into the dark, murky waters of the bay.

The swim was a leisurely one. Pushed on by the current and the encroaching tide, they made good time. They kept to the right of the line of torches, making for the stern end of the Soufriere , which was sitting with most of its rudder and half of its huge propeller exposed.

While Kurt’s plan had the disadvantage of a swim through a toxic soup, it allowed them to avoid all the gates, razor wire, and security cameras that were focused on keeping people out from the landside.

Reaching the stern of the ship, they were still in twelve feet of water. They edged around the far side, studying the situation and looking for any sign of trouble. The hull was dark and lacking any sign of activity. No flash of torches, no clang of hammers or grinding saws. The yard’s work crews had yet to attack the ship and begin the dismantling process.

Edging their way along the hull, Joe removed his regulator. “Not a worker or goon in sight.”

Kurt grinned. He nodded toward the Khalil . Probing white beams of LED flashlights could be seen moving along its superstructure and inside the open dollhouse-like section where the hull plating had already been removed. “Let’s hope the search keeps them busy while we do our thing.”

They made their way forward, paddling until they were eventually forced to walk. They pulled off the tanks, fins, and weight belts, lashing them together and sinking them in a combined heap. Joe pulled out a piece of white chalk and drew a large symbol on the side of the hull. “X marks the spot.”

They continued ahead, trudging through waist-high waters and finding it more difficult to walk on the unnaturally gray mud than they’d imagined. Each step required a great effort, with their feet sinking into the mud a good six inches and needing to be physically pulled from the cloying grip.

Finally, they came to one of the many open hatches that Kurt had seen from Sharma’s office. This one was near the bow and had been fitted with a ramp to allow workers to get in and out of the ship.

The ramp was raised at the moment to keep it out of the water, but when the tide went out, its far end would be dropped down onto the mud.

Kurt had thought they might need a grappling hook, but a long rope had already been affixed to the end. Sadly it was several feet out of their reach.

Kurt looked around the debris-filled yard for something to extend his grasp.

“Let me get that for you,” Joe said.

From his pack, he pulled out the back scratcher, extended it like a baton, and hooked the rope. With a firm jerk, he pulled it down.

Kurt shook his head as Joe put the device away. “I’ll never doubt you again.”

“I’m getting you one for Christmas,” Joe said.

With the rope in reach, Kurt pulled hard, using his weight to extend the ramp. When it reached its full travel, he hooked the rope around a cleat and climbed on. He and Joe moved cautiously, but the ramp squeaked and groaned with each step.

After entering the ship, Kurt pulled down the diving hood and ran a hand through his silver hair. “Easy peasy,” he said. “Now tell me we’ve got a signal.”

Joe was pulling a receiver from his backpack. It was used to pick up the signals from the sea-life trackers. With a little help from Hiram and Max, he’d tweaked the design to make it more sensitive and to act directionally.

Raising the twin “rabbit ears,” Joe soon found a pulse. He turned in one direction and then the other, watching as the strength of the signal waxed and waned.

“It’s coming from the stern,” he announced. “And it might be above us by a deck or two.”

Kurt pulled out a flashlight and aimed it down the length of the darkened corridor. “Let’s head aft and find the main ladder.”