Clive Cussler's Hellburner

THE NORTH ATLANTIC OCEAN

180 MILES OFF THE COAST OF SURINAME

That’s his third course correction, sir,” Santos said. “There’s no doubt he’s chasing us.”

Captain Calvera heard the tension in his first officer’s voice. They were both hovering over a military-grade electronics suite—something his commercial fishing trawler El Valiente shouldn’t have but did.

Calvera stood scratching his beard, a nervous habit. It didn’t make any sense. According to the automated identification signal, they were being chased by an Indonesian-flagged vessel, the Sungu Barat, a 590-foot break-bulk carrier scheduled to arrive in Caracas in two days. Santos had examined its shipping records. The unremarkable cargo ship had been built in 1971 and had exchanged ownership at least thirteen times over the decades, most recently a month ago. Judging by its Vesseltracker photo, it was a floating wreck. Its hull, bridge and cranes were streaked with rust and grime. It was better suited for a trip to the breaker yard than sailing the open water.

The slow-moving vessel hadn’t caught anyone’s attention over the last few days, but Santos had programmed their search radar to pick up on behavioral anomalies. Three hours ago, the Sungu Barat triggered an alarm and Calvera initiated course corrections to see if the radar’s warning software had made a mistake.

It hadn’t.

Stranger still, the Sungu Barat was over twice the length and double the weight of El Valiente and yet the broken-down cargo ship not only kept pace but was actually gaining on them. Now it was just a little over two kilometers behind and closing in.

“Who do you think it is?” Santos asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine. If anything, I’d say it might be pirates.” But even as he said it, Calvera shook his head in disbelief. “But sailing an old rust bucket like that? I doubt it.”

“What do you want to do, sir?”

Calvera frowned, thinking. There were only three choices ever available to a captain in his position: run, hide or fight. El Valiente was indeed a commercial fishing vessel, but it had been modified to function as a covert smuggler. He and his crew had spent years perfecting the art of hiding in plain sight, plying the fishing waters and port cities of the Atlantic and Mediterranean for over half a decade. Not being noticed was their first and best defense.

Apparently, the Sungu Barat had breached that first defense. Now the options were either to run or fight. His eyes quickly scanned the radar screen again. They were the only two ships within five hundred kilometers, which meant they had this patch of the ocean all to themselves. A gun battle wouldn’t be noticed.

Calvera’s inclination was to attack, but as his grandfather taught him, it was always better to defeat an enemy without actually fighting him. It was a lesson the old man learned as a young guerrilla alongside Che and Fidel in the Sierra Maestra mountains over sixty years ago. While they may be far out at sea, there was always the chance that if Calvera overplayed his hand, the authorities might be alerted. Better to play it safe.

He turned to the ship’s helmsman. “Rico, full speed ahead.”

“A la orden, mi capitán.”

The helmsman advanced the throttle. The ship’s massive diesel engine roared to life. While the trawler normally cruised at eleven knots, its top speed was rated at seventeen. But with the specially modified engine fitted for just such an occasion, El Valiente accelerated to an incredible thirty. The entire vessel thrummed with the vibrations of the racing pistons now hammering belowdecks.