for Iris. The first mate got a peck on the cheek from the departing Iris.
Down the hall, LB stabbed the elevator button. When the door slid open, Chief Engineer Razvan stood inside, clutching a brace of folders and loose printout sheets. LB let Iris step in first. The engineer nodded curtly to them both.
Iris lit the button for F deck, explaining she needed a rest before dinner. When the elevator stopped, LB spoke as she exited into the hall.
“See you at dinner.”
“I expect genius,” Iris called around the closing door, “from a relative of Nero’s.”
The door slid shut on Iris turning away. LB would check in with Drozdov on the bridge, have the captain assign him quarters, then head back down to the galley to introduce himself to the Filipino chef.
The elevator continued its ascent. Chief Razvan appeared agitated, finger-tapping the thick sheaf of sheets in his arms. LB made quick conversation, telling him that Nikita might recover; the cadet showed improvement but wasn’t out of the woods. The Romanian nodded, staring at his shoes. He seemed to want to burst out of the elevator.
Rising to the top floor, before the door opened, LB quizzed the engineer. “What’ve you got? Your eyes are bugging out of your head.”
Chief raised a finger. “You.” He stuck the digit into LB’s chest. “You are a reliable person.”
“Yeah?”
Before LB could question him further, the elevator stopped. Razvan charged out, up the steps to the pilothouse, leaving LB to walk in his wake.
“Captain,” the chief called the instant he entered the cool, broad pilothouse, “a word.”
From his chair, Drozdov presided over the array of controls and screens. Outside the ship’s wide windows, the steaming white light glowed in the dusk above the faraway bow.
Without turning from his instruments, Drozdov said, “In a minute.”
Razvan hurried to stand beside the captain’s chair, hefting his bale of pages.
“I am sorry, Captain, but now.”
Drozdov pivoted a taut face. Something else had been bothering him before Chief exploded into the bridge.
“Yes.”
Razvan slapped his papers. “The accident was no accident. It was deliberate.” Chief glanced around the wheelhouse, though only the three of them were there. “Somebody on this ship. Sabotage.”
LB was jolted. The secrets on the Valnea were starting to become oppressive. He kept silent, but suddenly, badly, he wanted off the ship. Stuck here for another thirty hours. He thought of calling Torres on the satellite radio in his vest, telling her to come get him.
Drozdov stayed icy. “How do you know this?”
“I have searched every record of the engine. I found this.” The Romanian plopped his stack of papers on the console.
Before he could dig in, Drozdov said, “Just tell me.”
“Yes, all right. At oh-four-thirteen this morning, voltage for cylinder seven dropped off one instant before the accident. The injection timing signal to the cylinder was interrupted. This caused fuel to come in the wrong time to piston stroke. That blew the gasket. Then, poof, like magic, the voltage returned to the cylinder.”
“Tell me why you think this is sabotage. And be quick, Chief.” Drozdov pointed at one of his radar screens. “I have another problem.”
Chief leaped to his explanation. “In computer records, when there is short in the power, I will see two alarms. The first is pre-alarm. It tells me where to look. It is like skid marks in front of car wreck. The second alarm is actual power interruption. In this case, Captain, I only have alarm, not the pre-alarm. No skid mark. This says the power failure did not come from failure of engine but from outside. This was human hand.”
“How was it done?”
“Simple. Anyone with knowledge can go to fuse box for cylinder seven. Pull the correct fuse. Two seconds. Put it back.”
“You are sure?”
Chief gathered his computer sheets off the console. “Of course. I am sure also that only cadet, Nikita, this American, and I did not do it. The rest of you, I watch now.”
Drozdov turned his weathered face to LB. He asked, “Who would do this?” as if an outsider to the ship might have the best idea.
You, for one, Captain, LB thought.
“Chief,” LB asked, “can you see the pistons from the fuse box?”
“No. Whoever did this could not see Nikita and cadet. Perhaps that was mistake. But I do not forgive.”
Drozdov’s chin dropped to his chest. After a quick moment, he raised his gaze to his controls and the radar sweep.
The small ship off the bow lurked only a mile away, and dead ahead. The blip faded in and