With its bilge and cockpit filled with water, the speedboat faltered as it tried to accelerate, but it gradually surged forward, gaining speed.

Loren abandoned her efforts to bail water with a seat cushion and approached her husband. She saw a heightened intensity in his deep green eyes.

“Why aren’t we headed to shore?”

Pitt pointed at the freighter. “Look what’s ahead of her.”

Loren peered past the bulk carrier. The large white cruise ship was still anchored in the harbor—and lay exactly perpendicular to the oncoming freighter. If the Tasmanian Star didn’t change course, she would barrel right into the Sea Splendour.

“Dirk, there’s probably a thousand people aboard that ship.”

“If there’s something more than just a nearsighted helmsman driving the Tasmanian Star, hundreds could die.”

Loren grabbed Pitt’s shoulder as the speedboat lurched over a wave. The damaged boat surged and wallowed before finding its legs. The bilge pump caught up with the accumulated water, allowing the boat to rise higher as it gained speed. The damage was all above the waterline, so Pitt had no trouble controlling the boat as it bulled its way past twenty knots, quickly gaining on the freighter.

“Can we alert the cruise ship?” Loren yelled to be heard over the straining engine.

Pitt shook his head. “We have no radio. And the ship is anchored. There’s no way they can move in time.”

“At least we could warn the passengers.”

Pitt simply nodded. That would be a tall order in the scant time available.

As they drew near the freighter’s stern, he considered his few options. There were no other boats nearby, so a radio warning was impossible. Pitt’s immediate thought was to try to board the moving ship. But as he pulled closer, he discarded the notion. There was no easy access, and even if he could somehow find a way aboard, he probably wouldn’t make it to the bridge in time. The sparkling white cruise ship lay dead ahead, barely a half mile away.

Pitt held down the button on the speedboat’s air horn as they ran past the ship’s port flank and shot past its bow. Loren jumped and waved at the forecastle, but there was no response. The Tasmanian Star neither slowed nor altered course, simply plodding ahead on its catastrophic heading. Pitt glanced at the bridge, but could see no moving figures behind the glass windows. By all appearances, it was a ghost ship out of control.

Pitt urgently scanned the surrounding waters for assistance, but there was none to be had. A handful of vessels clustered about the commercial port, a mile or so southwest, but the waters ahead were empty all the way to the curling beachfront. Empty but for the towering mass of the anchored Sea Splendour.