Page 26 of Wild Tempest

"Take the helm," I said to Tempest before darting out of the wheelhouse with Jack. We made our way down to the bowels of the ship and into the engine compartment.

The twin diesels sat silent.

There were a million things to go wrong—a fuel filter, a fuel pump, a clogged line, a clogged intake filter. The electronic control module could have spit a false code or shut down the system as a precaution. Those damn things could be finicky. I worried the lightning strike may have fried the circuit board.

Salt water, corrosion, and vibration can wreak havoc on connections and sensitive components. A stray current or poor grounding could cause intermittent issues. A problem with an electrical bus, a corroded wiring harness, or a faulty sensor could bring everything to a halt.

I checked the gauges. The fuel pressure was low in both engines. Oil pressure and coolant temperature were good.

The onboard diagnostics showed a fault with the fuel filter.

A straightforward repair, but not in weather like this. Hot engines, rolling swells, and bleeding fuel lines are not the best combination.

We weren’t down there long when Tempest shouted from above. "Hey! I think you guys need to come see this.”

JD and I shared a look, then hustled out of the engine compartment and climbed the ladder up to the main deck. We followed Tempest back to the bridge deck and peered across the foredeck, squinting at the horizon.

Through the rain and haze, a ship appeared.

I grabbed a pair of binoculars for a better look.

Sure enough, it was the Almaz Morya, the name stenciled in bold Cyrillic letters against the navy blue hull. I blinked twice to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.

The arctic white superstructure was stained and bubbling with orange-brown rust. It bled from every bolt and seam. Pummeled for years by wind, rain, sun, and salt, it was a haunted shadow of its former self. Antennae and satellite dishes stabbed at the gray sky. Several radar domes topped the superstructure. Orange cranes lined the deck. Much more than a research vessel, she was a spy ship. It was likely, in her prime, she mapped critical infrastructure and even planted remote explosives around undersea cables and pipelines for later use in wartime.

Jack took the optics when I was done and gave a look. “That’s her, alright.”

The Titan Deep was equipped with the latest tech. Right now, most of it was on the fritz. The multi-beam sonar told me we were in a relatively shallow area at 150 meters. We had plenty of chain to anchor, if the readout was correct. We’d drop anchor and ride out the storm. With any luck, we wouldn’t lose sight of the research vessel.

Excitement mixed with dread. We all wanted to get a look aboard the derelict vessel. But the weather and our situation provided a challenge.

I grabbed the handset and tried to make contact. “Almaz Morya, Almaz Morya, this is salvage tug Titan Deep, do you copy? Over.”

We listened for a response.

Static crackled the line.

I repeated the call.

Still nothing.

I scanned the horizon again, looking for any sign of the Tempest, but we were all alone with the Morya.

“When can we go aboard?” Tempest asked.

“Not in weather like this,” I said. “Too dangerous.”

“What if the Morya is gone when the weather settles? This may be our only opportunity,” she said with impassioned eyes.

“I know you’re anxious to find your father, but we don’t need three more people lost at sea.”

She made a sad face, but knew I was right.

Jack returned to the engine room and started looking for a spare fuel filter, tools, and other things we might need to address the situation. I stayed on the bridge deck with Tempest, keeping an eye on the Morya.

The NAV screen and electronics still flickered and glitched, filling with snow and static.

Lightning flashed again, and thunder rumbled. This time, closer. The tug creaked and groaned. The storm showed no signs of letting up. The sea tossed us around like a toy in the tub.