Part 3
Ortiz began with the facts that could not argue back: the time Maggie left the raft, the time she reached the ship, the bearing from which Eli had first seen her, the Pacific Meridian’s speed, and the location of the recovered emergency bag. She added wind and surface-current estimates from the rescue center, then drew three possible drift tracks.
Two spread too far apart to search with the helicopter’s remaining fuel. The third followed the debris.
“A life raft carries more wind than broken fiberglass,” Ortiz said. “If it stayed tethered to the hull, it would lag behind the light debris and drift slightly north of it.”
Rourke studied the screen. “Confidence?”
“Forty percent.”
“That is not confidence.”
“It’s more than we had ten minutes ago.”
Eli pointed to Maggie’s recovery position. “She wasn’t drifting when we found her. She was still swimming. If she left the raft after they saw our lights, her arrival line should point back toward them.”
Ortiz extended the bearing. It crossed the northern edge of her third track.
Captain Rourke stared at the intersection while the telephone from BlueCurrent rang again. On the fourth ring, he unplugged it from the console.
“Send the northern track,” he said. “Tell the helicopter we will approach from the southeast and provide a windbreak if they find the raft.”
The Pacific Meridian pushed back through the seas it had already crossed. Every roll shifted containers against their locks with deep metallic groans. On deck, lookouts searched through binoculars while the helicopter flew a creeping line ahead of them, disappearing into rain and emerging again as a dark speck beneath the clouds.
The crew prepared for a rescue they might never be able to perform. Harlan brought warming blankets and oxygen to the muster station. Two deckhands rigged pilot ladders and a recovery sling on the lee side, though the seas remained too violent to lower the ship’s rescue boat. The galley cleared a table for casualties. Nobody discussed the refrigerated cargo or the berth window in Oakland. Once the possibility of three living people became real, the ship seemed to remember what all its steel and machinery were for.
Eli stayed in sick bay because someone had to watch Maggie’s breathing. A veterinarian reached by satellite advised gradual warming, no food until the risk of aspiration had been assessed ashore, and flow-by oxygen held near her muzzle. Harlan found a portable oxygen unit and followed the instructions.
Maggie no longer tried to stand. That frightened Eli more than her struggling had.
He sat with one hand on the blanket over her ribs and listened to search reports through the wall speaker.
“Negative on leg one.”
Five minutes later: “Negative on leg two.”
The helicopter turned into the third pass.
Eli’s phone showed another message from Hannah, just a heart and the words Still here. He typed Me too, then erased the explanation he had started. He could not tell her about another cold child waiting for someone to choose correctly. Not while the choice might still fail.
The radio hissed.
“Pacific Meridian, Rescue Six-Four. Possible visual. White hull, partially submerged, two miles north of your track.”
Maggie’s ear twitched beneath Eli’s hand, and everyone aboard seemed to stop breathing together.
The ship altered five degrees. Through the sick-bay porthole, Eli saw the helicopter bank hard and descend until spray spun beneath it. Then the squall closed like a curtain.
“Lost visual,” the pilot reported. “Commencing orbit.”
Ortiz’s voice came over the shipwide channel. “All starboard lookouts, focus zero-one-five relative. Search for white hull, orange canopy, strobe, or movement.”
Eli could not remain inside. Harlan took his place beside Maggie while Eli climbed to the starboard bridge wing. Rain struck his face in needles. For a minute he saw only peaks and troughs, each one resembling the last.
Then a wave lifted a smooth white curve into view.
“There!” Eli shouted. “One point off the helicopter’s tail!”
The helicopter crew saw it. A rescue swimmer dropped through the mist, hit the water, and fought toward the overturned yacht. A strip of orange appeared on its lee side—the collapsed raft canopy, nearly level with the sea.
The Pacific Meridian angled across the wind at a safe distance, placing the wreck on its lee side. Rourke held the ship there with small adjustments while the helicopter hovered.
The swimmer disappeared beneath the torn canopy. Thirty seconds passed, then sixty. When his voice returned, it was clipped and breathless.
“Three persons located. Adult female conscious. Adult male has a pulse but is unresponsive.”
There was a burst of static.
“Child is unresponsive. Beginning immediate hoist…”
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