Valhalla Rising by Clive Cussler Page A

room. The radio operator on the graveyard shift looked up sleepily and said automatically, “Latest satellite weather forecast reports heavy squalls headed our way with thirty-mile-an-hour winds and ten-foot seas.”
    “Perfect for flying a kite,” Pitt said, smiling. Then his expression turned serious. “Have you picked up any distress signals in the last hour?”
    The operator shook his head. “I had a short conversation with the radioman on board a British containership around one o’clock. But no distress signal.”
    “A large ship off to the north looks like it’s on fire. See if you can make contact with her.”
    Pitt turned and touched Leo Delgado, the officer on duty, on the shoulder. “Leo, I’d like you to turn the ship north and proceed at full speed. I believe we have a ship on fire. Wake Captain Burch and ask him to come to the pilothouse.”
    Though Pitt was head of the project and outranked Burch, the captain still commanded the ship. Kermit Burch came almost immediately, wearing only a pair of polka-dot shorts. “What’s this about a ship on fire?” he asked Pitt, suppressing a yawn.
    Pitt motioned out on the bridge wing and handed him the binoculars. Burch peered at the horizon, paused, rubbed the lenses on his shorts and peered again. “You’re right. She’s blazing like a torch. I make her out to be a cruise ship. A big one.”
    “Odd that she hasn’t sent out a Mayday.”
    “That is curious. Her radio must be disabled.”
    “I requested Delgado to turn from our course and head toward her at full speed. I hope you don’t mind my stepping in your territory. I thought it would save a few minutes.”
    Burch grinned. “You gave the same order I would have given.” Then he stepped over to the ship’s phone. “Engine room, roust Marvin out of bed. I want every revolution he can get out of the engines.” He paused to listen to the voice on the other end. “Why? Because we’re going to a fire. That’s why.”
     
    A fter the news went out, the survey ship came alive, as crew and scientists were assigned special duties. The ship’s two thirty-five-foot hydrographic survey launches were made ready to drop in the water. Slings were attached to the two telescoping deck cranes used to raise and lower submersibles and survey equipment, so that groups of people could be pulled from the water. Every ladder and rope on the ship was coiled to be thrown over the sides, along with cradles to lift children and the elderly on board.
    The ship’s doctor, with the assistance of the marine scientists, prepared the hospital and a casualty station in the mess room. The cook and his galley help began setting out bottles of water, pots of coffee and vats of soup. Everyone chipped in to provide clothing for those who might be rescued without any. Officers instructed selected crewmen to channel survivors onto different parts of the ship, to be cared for as well as act as ballast. With an overall length of 230 feet and a 50-foot beam, the Deep Encounter was not designed to support, much less float, with two thousand passengers. If the horde that was expected to come on board was not placed strategically to balance the ship, it could roll over and capsize.
    The Deep Encounter was only rated at a top speed of sixteen knots, but Chief Engineer Marvin House pulled every ounce of power from his two big 3,000-horsepower diesel electric propulsion engines. Seventeen knots became eighteen, then nineteen, until the bow was thrusting through the sea at twenty knots. Her bow almost leaped clear of the water as she burst through the crest of the rolling waves. No one knew the Deep Encounter could drive so hard.
    Fully dressed, Captain Burch paced the deck, giving orders for the hundred and one details to carry out in readiness for the expected invasion of survivors. He ordered the radio operator to contact the other ships in the area, give them a sketchy report on the fire, request their position and estimated time of