“So she is the one who betrayed you to the authorities, Jan.” Vermeulen nodded. “They have chosen a very remote place for the rendezvous, does he know how she is getting there?”
“Yes, she is on board a Western Saharan fishing boat going to a spot near to an island called Selvagem Grande shortly after midnight tonight. Leonardo gave me the number of the boat but we need to find it before they get to the place.”
“Why is that?”
“If British Intelligence services are meeting them they will be armed and skilled,” replied Vermeulen, not revealing the warning from Leonard Staunton that the rendezvous was probably with HMS Daring. “I don’t want to get involved in a gunfight with highly trained men.”
***
On board the fishing boat the sea remained empty of shipping until after dark when the lights of another vessel appeared in the distance and Cecil noted that it appeared to be carrying out some form of search pattern. As the hours passed, slowly the vessel came closer though not yet close enough for its radar to pick them out amongst the swell and wave clutter and, without their own navigation lights, an approaching vessel would need to be a lot closer to identify them as a solid target.
Beni Tamek endeavoured to coax more speed out of the old and tired engine and for some time it appeared that they were increasing the gap, until, some four miles from the rendezvous, the pursuing vessel changed tactics and came straight towards them.
“They have seen us, Senhor Boyd. I think they went further south on their last sweep and that meant we show up more big on their radar.”
“Can you ask El Ghalia and Salem to get that old dinghy ready and put the outboard on it, I will buy you a new dinghy and outboard, I promise.”
Beni Tamek studied Cecil Boyd’s face carefully before shouting for Salem and giving him the orders. As the young boy turned to get El Ghalia from below, Boyd could clearly see the fear in the youth’s eyes.
“It will be all right, Salem, once the lady is in the dinghy and away from us the people in the other boat will not have reason to harm us.”
“They are closing very fast, Senhor.”
“So I see, Senhor Tamek, so I see,” replied Boyd, unable to think of anything that would give them time. “Keep going and don’t alter course, we must get as near to the rendezvous as we can before they reach us.”
Boyd could now see through the darkness the bow wash and spray thrown up by the speeding vessel approaching them and hoped that the rendezvous vessel was in range and able to intervene.
“That is too fast and too small for fishery protection vessel, Senhor Boyd,” said Tamek, his voice giving away his fear. “I think we have big problem, Senhor!”
Then they were caught like a rabbit in the headlights of a car as the searchlight from the approaching vessel blinded them and the order to heave-to and prepare to be boarded was heard loud and clear.
“We must get you over the side and away now,” said Cecil, turning to Anna-Maria.
Anna-Maria looked at Cecil in alarm. “What? We are in the middle of an ocean.”
“This is not a fishery protection arrest, Anna-Maria. This is that stepfather of yours. If you are not found on board they will search for you somewhere else, then we can turn back and pick you up.”
“How do you know that it’s not fishery protection?”
“Neither the Portuguese nor the Spanish fishery protection vessels can reach thirty-five to forty knots and they would always identify themselves by radio first.”
“They will find my things on board.”
“Get them now and hurry. I will get the crew to launch the dinghy.”
Anna-Maria almost fell down the companionway ladder from the wheelhouse to the crew mess below. Grabbing the holdall she looked around to ensure she had left nothing behind that would hint at her having been on board. Unzipping the holdall she checked the contents and realised that Vermeulen’s notebook was missing. The stress of the moment froze her brain and she panicked and started to lift the berth cushions frantically. Where was she when she last tried to unravel the codes? She stood still and closed her eyes; yes she was in what passed for a galley when the call went up about a fast moving vessel approaching. Stepping into the narrow space she saw the book on the paraffin stove, and snatching it up she rushed over, rammed it into the holdall and made for the companionway ladder.
“Senhor Tamek. Let them get alongside us but do not stop. I will try and talk to them and keep their attention whilst Senhora Ronaldo gets away,” said Cecil, unaware that their identity had been leaked.
Tamek nodded and turned to look forward into the darkness beyond.
“Go out the starboard side and lower yourself down to the deck over the forward rail, you can’t use the steps otherwise they will see you,” said Cecil.
Anna-Maria kissed him hurriedly, opened the wheelhouse door and with Cecil’s help slid out over the rail and holding onto the wing deck frame lowered herself down, then let go to drop the last metre to the main deck. Looking up she saw Cecil leaning out lowering her holdall, and catching it she turned to El Ghalia who was pointing over the vessel’s side. As she looked over she could just make out the dinghy bouncing against the boat’s side on the bow wash. The crewman placed a loop of rope over her head and she put her arms through and grasped hold. El Ghalia then indicated for her to climb over the side, then nodding to her, he leant forward and lowered her down the vessel’s side. When she felt her feet in firm contact with the dinghy she waved her hand and with that he let go and she fell in a heap into the ancient Zodiac dinghy, bruising her knee on the pair of oars and banging her head on the thwart. Her holdall dropped onto her feet with a thud then suddenly the fishing boat was gone and the dinghy was bouncing wildly in its wake.
Looking up she saw the two vessels were now on parallel courses with the other vessel still playing its searchlight on the fishing vessel wheelhouse and the loudhailer barking the order in Spanish for the fishing vessel to heave-to and prepare to be boarded. She could just make out the podgy form of Cecil standing at the head of the port side wheelhouse steps apparently shouting back and buying her that precious time to disappear further into the darkness. Another demand for the fishing boat to heave-to was heard, but still Beni Tamek kept the rusting ancient craft ploughing steadily abeam to the gentle swell of the Atlantic.
Then it happened, a burst of small arms fire from the deck of the searchlight vessel. Anna-Maria gasped, surely Beni Tamek will obey now and soon the searchlight will be sweeping the sea for her. She went to reach for the oars then saw the outboard motor on the dinghy’s transom and trying to calm herself she quickly talked herself through the sequence David had taught her on their boat trips up the river.
“Release the air vent to the fuel tank, that knob on the top. Turn on the fuel tap, ah, here I think yes, now pull on the starter cord.”
The battered outboard coughed but did not start. She pulled again, this time opening the throttle a little and the outboard fired up then died.
“Oh God, please make it start, oh please,” she cried, tears now blurring her vision.
She fumbled for the handle to the pull cord and tried again and again until on the tenth pull the Yamaha sprung into life, and putting it in gear she turned the dinghy and set off on a course at right angles to that of the two boats. As she did so she heard another more prolonged burst of small arms fire. Looking back she saw the stern light of the attacking boat drift away from Beni Tamek’s vessel, still illuminated by the searchlight, then there was an explosion aboard the fishing boat followed by another then another. Then the small arms fire started up again, but just in short bursts that suggested to Anna-Maria it was aimed at individuals trying to escape. As the dinghy topped a wave she could see the fishing boat in silhouette on fire, then, after several minutes, the silhouette shape changed as the vessel rolled over and sank. Now she had to hide quietly, so reaching towards the outboard, she cut the engine and lay on the dinghy bottom occasionally looking over the transom at
the searchlight as it swept the area where the fishing vessel went down.
She was crying now, knowing in her heart that Cecil, Tamek, El Ghalia and Salem were dead, all because Cecil had been ordered to ensure that she escaped the clutches of Jan Vermeulen. Twenty minutes or so must have passed before she heard the faint sounds of the searchlight vessel’s engines as it turned south-eastwards and powered away into the darkness, now without showing navigation lights.
Strangely the silhouette of the boat departing against the night sky brought an immense sense of fear as the prospect of being adrift upon the vast Atlantic dawned upon her. “Help! Help! Don’t leave me, help!” she shouted, waving her arms high above her head, before realising the futility of her actions.
The question that now entered her mind was how far away from the rendezvous were they at the moment the fishing boat turned over and sank. Starting the outboard again she tried to motor back to the point where she thought the fishing boat had sunk and circled about in search of wreckage. Disorientated in the darkness she had missed the area altogether then she saw the flash of the lighthouse on Selvagem Grande and then four seconds later another flash, then another and her mind cleared. The island, she thought, aim for the island.
***
An hour earlier, satisfied that all was secure on deck and below, Vaughan had turned his yacht onto a course of one eight zero, planning to go south to clear the overfalls around Baixa da Joana and continue on that course until he reached the latitude thirty degrees zero seven fifty north, then turn to port and stay on that latitude eastward until he reached the rendezvous. He had motored some way south when lights appeared on the eastern horizon, as if someone was conducting a search. Vaughan was about to turn in the direction of the lights when he thought he heard shooting. Putting the engine in neutral he went forward away from the engine’s noise to listen. There it was, clearer now, the sound of small arms fire, then two or three flashes then the sound of explosions followed by the loom of flickering light that lasted for only a minute or so before being extinguished.
Ian Vaughan knew that London would need confirmation of the loss of his passenger, his position was just under four miles from where he estimated the source of the gun fire and explosions to be, and aware that he needed to be able to hear clearly any cries for help he decided to sail rather than motor towards that location. Returning to the cockpit he freed the mainsheet, letting the boom swing downwind over the yacht’s quarter, then hurrying to the mast, hoisted the mainsail. Back in the cockpit he hardened up the mainsheet and as the yacht started to make way released the roller reefing on the jib and hauled the jib sheet tight enabling the yacht to sail at a touch under forty degrees off the wind. Now he noted the log and compass bearing, estimating that in four nautical miles he should be near where the incident happened. The problem was when to show navigation lights, was it safe or was another vessel waiting in the dark to ambush him? Setting the auto helm, Vaughan went below to get his pistol and a spare clip of ammunition. Returning on deck he felt very vulnerable, he had had previous experience of small arms fire against a fibreglass hulled yacht and knew only too well the consequences. Momentarily in his mind he was back on the Chesapeake watching holes appear through the sides of the Victoria 34 he had been hiding behind. Snapping back to the present and his current strategy, he looked at the log then raised his night sight binoculars to his eyes and scanned the seas ahead. “Not close enough to the danger zone yet, in ten minutes time maybe.”
Vaughan glanced at his wristwatch and noted the time as 0115 hours, his passenger would have been at the rendezvous early had they not been attacked. He had just passed the exact location, according to the GPS repeater on the yacht’s cabin bulkhead, but was maybe a mile away from where he estimated the attack had taken place. Raising the night glasses, he searched the seas again in the hope of picking up the sight of a vessel adrift, but there was none. Ten minutes later he checked his position and noted that leeway and a slight shift in wind direction was taking him south of the desired latitude so he tacked the yacht and in doing so brought himself towards the few bits of flotsam from the fishing boat. It was a piece of timber from a hatch cover which “La Mouette sur le Vent” struck, that had Vaughan rounding the yacht up into the wind and furling in the jib.
Plugging in the powerful hand held flashlight to the cockpit socket, Vaughan directed the beam onto the sea surrounding the yacht, spotting almost immediately the body of Boyd, floating face down in the water surrounded by bits of a life ring and patches of diesel. As he looked the body suddenly jerked then the telltale fin broke the surface, making Vaughan shudder, there was nothing he could do to deprive the shark of its meal so he offered up a silent prayer. A wider sweep with the flashlight confirmed that he was alone in the area and satisfied that it was safe to do so he switched on the navigation and deck lights. Going to the mast he dropped the mainsail then started the engine and began slowly circling the area finding El Ghalia’s body floating not far away. Vaughan of course was unaware of the bodies of Beni Tamek and Salem aboard the fishing boat that had carried both men down into the deep, trapped in the twisted metal of the wheelhouse. Unaware of their fate and unable to offer any service to the two corpses as they floated on the sea Vaughan carefully motored westward, clear of the area, then hoisted the sails and cut the engine in preparation to head to the Canary Islands. “Just one more look around then head for Lanzarote and report the bad news.”
Then he heard a faint cry on the wind, was it someone calling, it was difficult to pick up the direction of the sound and it took several sweeps of the flashlight before he saw something like a flag billowing in the wind some distance away. Gybing the yacht through the wind he pointed it northward towards the target and set the auto helm. Making his way along the side deck he opened the port side gate, then returning to the cockpit retrieved the boarding ladder and a heaving line from the locker and taking back manual control of the tiller adjusted his course to come just downwind of what he now saw was an inflatable dinghy with a woman on board. Heaving-to, he brought the yacht to within a few metres of the dinghy and hurrying forward to the gate attached the boarding ladder.
“I’ll throw you a line,” shouted Vaughan, taking the heaving line and throwing it, ensuring that the heavily weighted end sailed well above the dinghy to avoid it hitting the woman.
Grabbing the line she pulled on it furiously dragging the dinghy alongside, then taking hold of the boarding ladder she said, “Thank God, I thought I was going to die, then I saw your lights but could not get the outboard to start again. Thank God you came.”
“What’s your name?” said Vaughan, looking down at her.
“Anna-Maria Ronaldo.”
“I am Ian Vaughan. Your husband is dead I hear,” said Vaughan, feeling embarrassed by the dark introduction phrase. “I have been sent by London to meet you and get you to Gibraltar.”
The look of relief on her face on hearing the coded message was unmistakeable. “A man on a yacht! Cecil assumed it would be the Royal Navy sent to the rendezvous,” she said, taking Vaughan’s hand as she started to climb the boarding ladder.
“Afraid not, you have my company for several days instead.”
“As long as I’m away from Africa and that evil man I do not mind whose company I am in.”
“Is that all you were able to bring with you?” said Vaughan, looking down at the holdall slung over her shoulder. “What happened back there?”
“The fishing boat I was on was attacked, I think by people working for my stepfather, Jan Vermeulen.”
“Let’s get underway, you can tell me the details then. There is nothing left in the dinghy?”
“No, everything is here in this bag.”
“Right. You go and sit in the cockpit, I better sink the dinghy just in case someone else comes searching.”
“Can we search to see if Cecil or any of the crew survived?”
Vaughan looked at her seeing the tears running down her face. “I am sorry, Anna-
Maria, I searched among what little wreckage remained on the surface. There were no survivors other than you I’m afraid.”
Bursting into tears she stumbled into the cockpit and sat, head in her hands, crying her heart out as Vaughan pulled out his Leatherman and opening the blade climbed down the boarding ladder and cut slits in the dinghy’s side tanks and watched as the weight of the outboard dragged it to the bottom.
Anxious to leave the scene quickly Vaughan had “La mouette sur le Vent” underway on a course of zero nine zero to windward as soon as he had stowed the boarding ladder and closed the gate. The next task was to get a hot drink inside her and some food for them both, so setting the auto helm he helped her below, sorted her out some dry clothes and whilst she was changing in the forward cabin he prepared the food and drink. An hour later Anna-Maria lay stretched out on the starboard settee in the main cabin snug under the duvet that had lulled Amelia de Lima and her son Zeferino to sleep weeks before. Only then could Vaughan return to his lone sailor routine, but now with the Glock 26 firmly thrust into the underarm holster worn beneath his lightweight wind-cheater. Twenty-five miles east of the point where Vaughan had found Anna-Maria, he tacked the yacht through ninety degrees and headed north, thankful to be on a course that was more indicative of his having set off from the Canary Islands.
The last time he had looked at her, Anna-Maria had been asleep and as he returned below to take his own rest period he was pleased to see that she still lay there, eyes closed and relaxed, the exhaustion of previous days overcoming the horrors of the more recent events.
***
Reshetnikov’s arrest at dawn the day after delivery of the newsprint message had Staunton standing on the doorstep of the Kazakov house within minutes of the papers hitting the streets brandishing a copy of the newspaper announcing the arrest.
“Here, read this.”
Boris read the article. “So?”
In Treacherous Waters Page 11
