The icy stare returned. If it had been anyone else making the suggestion, he would have thrown the man off the bridge. But the captain knew Kurt’s reputation and had even worked with him once before when Kurt had managed to rig up a water jet to blast his waythrough a sandbar and free a tanker that was stuck in the Bahamas. It would cut into their time to safely evacuate, but there was no point hedging their bets now. He looked Kurt straight in the eye, effectively turning the ship’s fate over to him. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it quickly.”
Chapter 20
With the captain’s blessing in hand, Kurt and Joe raced to the midships cargo bay, where the salvage gear had been stowed. They discussed the plan as they ran the corridors. It came as no surprise to Kurt that Joe understood most of the idea instinctively.
“We secure the lifting bags on the port side, run the straps across the bottom of the hull, and then pull them tight with the onboard cranes,” Kurt said.
Joe nodded. “If we swing the cranes outboard, we’ll add some counterweight to the starboard side of the ship at the same time,” he said. “That will act like an outrigger and help us stay upright without taking on too much water.”
“Great idea,” Kurt said. “With the cranes extended it’ll be like trying to lift something with a long lever instead of a short one.”
“This might just work,” Joe said. “Let’s hope we have enough time.”
As they reached the storage hold, the captain’s voice sounded over the intercom, directing the crew to give full and immediate assistance to Austin and Zavala as they attempted to save the ship. Withinseconds there were a dozen crewmen helping them haul the equipment topside.
The crewmen, knowing their ship’s survival depended on the scheme’s success, followed every one of Kurt’s instructions with speed and purpose. In minutes, the bales containing the uninflated lifting bags were hauled into position beside the portside rail of the ship. Sets of broad, flat straps—used to cradle sunken objects—were bundled up tight and attached to the hard points on the bags. At the same time, common ropes and lines were attached to the bales so they could be lowered and held out of the water until they were ready to be inflated.
“Drop them down,” Kurt shouted, waving his arm forward in the first-down motion familiar to anyone who had ever watched American football.
The crewmen heaved the bales up onto the ship’s rail and then pushed them over, lowering them with ropes until they were just out of reach of the waves. Kurt didn’t want them in the water yet, where the swells would push them back and forth, causing them to rub against the side of the ship, which might damage them.
Joe looked at a phone-sized screen strapped to his forearm; the waterproof dive computer was glowing brightly as a timer he’d set on it counted down. “Based on the last simulation, we have about twelve minutes before the ship goes wrong side up.”
Kurt grimaced at the number. He suspected they had a bit more time to play with.
“Unless the damage goes all the way up past the top of A-deck, there should be some trapped air in each compartment. That’ll give us a little wiggle room, but let’s try to get this done without tapping into it. Ready?”
Joe nodded. Both men pulled on harnesses holding air cylindersand small propulsion units, donned their gloves and helmets, and then stepped to separate gaps in the rail. Kurt went first, grabbing the nylon rope from one of the crew, turning around backward, and then rappelling down the line with his feet on the side of the ship.
He didn’t have to go far. The ship had settled so that the lifting bag was only twenty feet below him. Holding on to the rope, he planted his feet firmly. In their folded and uninflated states, the bales were solid blocks about the size of a compact car. The footing was respectable, which was a good thing, as the bale was swaying back and forth with the ship’s motion like a giant pendulum.
Thirty feet away, Joe landed on the second bag. He looked Kurt’s way and offered a thumbs-up.
Speaking into the tiny microphone in the radio-equipped helmet, Kurt gave a progress report. “We’re on the bags. Crane operators stand by. We’ll be on your side in no time.”
The plan from here on out was simple. He and Joe would connect the broad lifting straps to their dive harnesses and swim under the ship, towing the straps with them. After surfacing on the far side, they’d attach the straps to the dangling hooks of the recently deployed cranes. From there it would be rinse and repeat until all the bags were connected, at which point they would be inflated remotely by a crewman on the deck.
It was a simple plan, but that didn’t make it easy. A hundred things could go wrong.
Kurt hooked the lifting straps to his belt, released the binding that held them in a folded loop, and jumped into the water, pulling the straps with him.
He plunged downward for several feet and then felt a rapid reversal of direction as the buoyancy of the drysuit took over and pulled him up to the surface.
Being on the surface was a miserable experience. The wavesknocked him about, slamming him into the side of the ship not once but twice.
Venting air from the suit, he sank once again, descending until he was far enough down that he was beyond the reach of the wave action. The only issue now was the current. To protect theLyra’s damaged side, the captain had swung the ship around, which meant Kurt and Joe were going into the current. It made for slow going and a lot of exertion, even with the propulsion unit giving Kurt a boost.
He kicked long and hard, crossing under the ship with the lights on his helmet illuminating a small section of hull above him.
A quick glance to the side revealed Joe’s lights trailing him by only a few yards. So far so good.
The hull began to peel away from him, curving upward. Kurt rose with it and kept swimming as he cleared the side of the ship. When he’d put thirty feet between himself and the hull, he pumped some air into his suit and bobbed to the surface like a cork.
Looking up, he spied the dangling hook. The crewman had made it easy to spot by wrapping a reflective life jacket around the cable and shining several portable lights at it. A brilliant touch, Kurt thought, considering how dark the crane’s parts were and how they otherwise blended in with the black water and the night sky.
Kurt swam to it, grabbing it as a passing wave lifted him, and quickly connected the straps. Joe arrived as he was finishing the job and hooked a second batch of straps on as well. It had all gone incredibly smoothly.
“Bags one and two are connected,” he called out over the radio. “We’re going back for numbers three and four.”
