“Thanks, Juan. I’m glad Mark works for you.”
“Call me if you need anything in the meantime. See you soon.”
He hung up and headed back toward the op center to plot a new course south once they’d gotten the Senators’ families to safety on Bali. He knew every crew member on board wouldn’t hesitate to go to Murph’s aid, but it still wasn’t going to be fun telling them that their Christmas vacations were canceled.
TWENTY
THE TIMOR SEA
While she waited for help to arrive, Sylvia cared for the stricken crew members by treating wounds, bringing water to those who could drink, and making them as comfortable as possible. In addition to Roberta’s burned arm, there were two men with head injuries, one with a broken arm, and a woman who had somehow sliced her leg with a knife.
As she tended to them, Sylvia kept the uncomfortable mask on, just in case, but she hadn’t noticed any symptoms herself. The illness seemed to have affected people at different intensities. Some, like Mark, were almost totally paralyzed. Others had less severe debilitation but were still unable to speak clearly or move on their own. All of them would require round-the-clock care.
Ninety minutes after her call to Juan Cabrillo, she was startled to hear a ship’s horn in the distance, far sooner than she expected anyone to reach the Empiric. She left the mess hall and went out onto the exterior deck to see who it was.
An unusual red vessel was about a mile away and approaching fast. It had its superstructure at the front of the ship and a helicopter pad mounted on a latticework of girders above the tall bow.
To come so quickly, they must have been fairly close by when Juan’s call for assistance went out. Sylvia wrestled with what to do. If the people on this ship were in league with those on the trimaran, they would eliminate her as a potential witness. But she had nowhere to go. All she could do was follow Juan’s advice and trust that they were here to help.
Sylvia took off her mask and watched apprehensively as the ship approached. When it was less than a quarter mile away, a voice spoke over a loudspeaker.
“Empiric, this is the Australian Defence vessel Ocean Protector
. Prepare to be boarded.”
The ship came to a stop and lowered a tender into the water. It motored over to the Empiric’s stern, and Sylvia went to meet them.
The boarders were already stepping onto the rear platform when she got there. She was surprised to see that all six of them were wearing hazmat suits.
“I’m Lieutenant Commander Womack,” a woman said. “Executive officer of the Ocean Protector. Who are you?”
“I’m Sylvia Chang. I was a passenger on an American ship called the Namaka.”
“Is that the one that sank?”
“Yes.”
“Any survivors of the explosion besides yourself?”
Sylvia thought that was an odd way to refer to the attack.
“No,” she said. “I was the only one lucky enough to make it off the ship.”
“And how many casualties on board the Empiric?”
“All forty-three.”
“Dead?”
“None. They are alive, but something is wrong with them.”
“What do you mean?”
“They were all stricken with a sudden paralysis.”
“How is that possible?”
“I don’t know. Apparently, they all passed out for a while, and when they came to, they couldn’t move properly, if at all.”