Ghostboat Read Free Page B

for the intercom, swearing out loud, “Shit! Hold the dive! Surface! Surface!”
    Basquine hit the alarm—three blasts. Bates was already up the ladder again, opening the hatch. The pumps reversed, and he could hear the air-intake valves.
    Hardy heard the rush of high-pressure air as the Candlefish forced out the water ballast she had so eagerly sought seconds before. He had already started to make his peace with God, desperately cried out for his wife, Elena, and Peter, the son he would never see. Through the mist and flying water and the awful trembling of the boat he made out a figure standing on the bridge, looking for him.
    Yelling into the wind, he hailed, “Down here! By the deck gun!”
    He saw the figure turn, homing in on his voice. His joy turned to horror as the entire superstructure of the Candlefish lit up in a blue-white display of electricity. Bates froze. Still crying out for help, Hardy dragged himself along the strakes. The roar of air and the extra shudder that ran through the boat told him that the Candlefish was getting ready to submerge again.
    The sub took a bonebreaking spasm, and Hardy was ripped loose of his hold on the slatting. Water rushed up around him and flung him hard against the base of the conning tower. For a moment he was bathed clearly in the blue-white light from the flickering St. Elmo’s fire on the antenna cables, and Bates flopped down on the cigarette deck and flung out a hand to grab him—too late. The decks went awash, and Hardy was carried away on a wave. The bow dug in deeply; Bates could feel the stern rising, the water cascading off the afterdeck. He jumped to his feet and, with a last glimpse at Hardy thrashing around in the sea, Lieutenant Bates struggled back to the hatch and rode the lanyard down. He secured the hatch himself, avoiding Basquine’s gaze. He could hear men starting to yell around him and below as the sub tilted forward. His eyes met Basquine’s, and he saw at once horror, anguish, and total, mind-bending fury.
    “Not now!” Basquine let out a roar that reverberated through the boat as he felt glory slipping through his fingers. The deck canted, and somewhere forward Bates heard a grinding noise.
     
    The rending screech of metal cut through Hardy’s numbed senses. He watched through fog and heaving waters as the stern of the Candlefish lifted high in the air and loomed almost directly overhead, then slowly slipped beneath the ocean surface.
    After a few moments, silence descended. The sea stopped churning. The fog wisped around him, and he looked about for some trace of the submarine. It was gone. The quickness of it all overwhelmed him. He let his arms dangle around the life jacket, and his heart began to slow its powerful thumping. After a long time just drifting around the little patch of sea, he began to swim away...
     
     

 
     
     
    PART II
     
     

 
    CHAPTER 2
     
     
    Octobers 5, 1974
     
    Ed Frank lay sound asleep on rumpled blue sheets. One of those hot, muggy Washington nights. Joanne was beside him on her back, her half of the sheet tossed carelessly away sometime during the night, her body splayed out over two thirds of the bed, long hair swept across her face and breast.
    Frank’s eyes fluttered open at twelve minutes past two. After a few moments of groggy consideration, he knew he wasn’t going to sleep any more that night. He rubbed his scratchy chin and ran one hand through his stiff black hair.
    He rolled over on one side and studied Joanne. One of her arms was crooked up at the elbow, the hand trailing over her bare midriff. Her mouth was open; he could hear her breathing. Her skin was burned red in all but a few strategic places, but Frank was tired of sympathizing. He couldn’t even work up a convincing cluck; he had spent two hours last night covering her with ointment and listening to her plaintive cries and half-assed excuses. Sunburns are deserved, he had told her, the result of unforgiveable carelessness. And if