Ten-foot swells of thick, milky pulp slammed against the launch’s iron hull.
Marcus “Mac” Cole held the throttle with his right hand, bracing his boots against the deck plates. His left arm--the heavy alloy socket fitted with a 1.5-inch naval brass spanner--rested on the wheelhouse sill.
He didn’t like the feel of the water. Real saltwater had teeth and spray, while this stuff dragged like wet cement against the rudder.
“Hold on to something solid,” Mac barked over his shoulder. “I’m putting us against the bumper.”
He hauled the port throttle back and shoved the starboard lever forward.
WHAM.
The sixty-foot launch hit the giant rubber Yokohama fender on Mooring Leg A1, throwing Julian Vance and Lin Mei against the navigation table. Dr. Corvo caught the companionway handrail with one glove, his Pyrex beaker staying upright in his coat pocket.
Outside the salt-crusted glass, Mooring Leg A1 rose straight out of the churning white froth.
