The QE2 Is Missing

Unmoving in the sea, to the casual eye apparently unharmed by the recent storm, the QE2 lay dead in the ocean. Her accommodation ladders stowed; all of her loading doors closed. No one was visible on deck or on her bridge, which could be clearly seen through powerful binoculars. The only sign of anything out of the norm was the absence of all her lifeboats and launches. Yet the davits, the metal arches that swung out from the hull to lower the boats, were still in their upright position. There was something frightening about her immobility, her silence.

“Shall I signal to her, Captain?” the radio operator asked, his strained voice breaking the silence.

“Yes — but not with the radio. They’ve been trying that for three days. Use the lamp. See if anyone is on the bridge.”

A gust of moist, hot air blew across the bridge as the operator struggled the wing door open and forced his way out. He had to hold onto the lamp with his free hand as he worked the handle up and down, over and over. The shutters clacked and the signal went out. And there was no response.

“We’ll go around her stern,” the Captain said. “See if there is anything more to be seen on her port side.”

With just enough revolutions to give her way, the Huascaran moved slowly to the stern of the liner, the towering black hull slipping by beside them like a great wall. Row after row of portholes and windows dotted the metal. All sealed. There were lights behind many of them — but no sign of motion. Nor did anyone come to the rails high above to wave down at the passing of the tiny ship.

They reached the stern and turned behind the bulk of her towering sternpost. The seas were still high and as they passed the stern of the liner it sank down — then surged up far above them. The portside propeller rose up out of the foam-flecked sea, streaming water like a surfacing sea creature. The bronze blades were still, unmoving, hanging there for an instant before sinking back beneath the surface.

The port side of the QE2 was no different from the starboard. The boats and launches were gone, all entrances sealed. From the deck of the coast guard ship, the metal wall of the hull rose up a hundred feet above them. The sailors, who were now coming out on deck, had to strain their necks back to see the railings above.

“We must get aboard,” Captain Borras said. “Break out the line gun.”

The sailors worked swiftly and efficiently, for this was something they had been well trained to do. There was no need for the Petty Officers to shout their commands; they did so in any case. There was a relief in the familiar voices, something to temper the dark menace of the silent ship beside them. The keg of coiled rope was hauled into position below the mouth of the gun, the steel shaft of the grapple slid down the barrel. The shell, with the charge of explosive that would send it hurtling out, slammed into the breach and locked home.

“Too close,” the Bo’sun said. It was his task to aim and fire the gun. “Can’t raise it high enough.”

The gun was already at maximum elevation and was pointing at the liner’s side. It had been designed to hurl a line across another ship, not a floating island like this one.

“We’ll move away,” the Captain said. “Fire when we roll.”

They waited in expectant silence while the Bo’sun aimed the gun at the stern deck, the lowest accessible part of the ship. Waiting, holding their breath, as they rolled — but not far enough to suit the gunner. He released the handles, spat on his palms, then seized his grip again. This time a large sea surged beneath them, the coast guard ship rolled heavily — and the gun fired with a sudden sharp crack.

Almost leisurely, the tonged grapple soared up and out in an arc, towing the thin strand of rope behind it.

High up and over the rail, to vanish from sight.

“Haul in the line,” the Captain ordered.

The sailors pulled mightly until the line grew suddenly tight.

“Secure, sir,” the Bo’sun said. “Caught firm on something.”

The Captain looked up at the thin arc of line, curving up and away from the deck, almost vanishing from sight above. Presenting a very large problem, he suddenly realized. Normally this light line would be simply used to connect the two ships together, a first simple contact. Then a heavier line, then perhaps a cable would be bent to the end, each one thicker and stronger than the one before, each hauled across in turn. By sailors at the other end. Not this time. No one had appeared on the deck of the other ship. The grapple had anchored itself and that was the end of it. What next?

With the question came the answer. A possible answer; the one man on board who might possibly be able to help. “Basilio,” Captain Borras ordered. “Get him up on deck.”