Crash Course

by Derek Fee

  “Don’t be such an old misery guts.” She snuggled into his broad chest. “Your precious boat won’t fail. It looks wonderful and if it performs according to your calculations, it will beat the socks off every boat on the circuit. Now let’s get out of this depressive humour and think positively for a change.”

  “I’m confident about the boat. It’s bloody Mark Kane that worries me. Not only does he know bugger all about driving a powerboat, he’s also one of the most arrogant and ignorant men I’ve ever met. And that’s saying something.”

  “I don’t suppose he reminds you of someone. Like a fresh know-it-all captain in the Royal Navy. What is it about you men? Thousands of years of evolution and you still behave as though you were living in a cave and hunting meat with a club. I was watching your little trip across the bay through the glasses. Our beginner didn’t do too badly and I could see from your face that you thought pretty much the same.”

  “I hope you’re the only one who can see through me so easily. You’re right. Kane didn’t perform too badly and I have no doubt that with a fair amount of tuition and a season or two under his belt he’d give most of the boys on the circuit a run for their money. But we don’t have a season or two. We may not even have a month or two. Most of Tom’s money has gone on the development of the boat. We’ll need to win money from day one if we’re to keep the team on the road.”

  “Have you told Tom this?”

  “It’s bad enough the ancestors knowing that I couldn’t manage a bun fight in a bakery without letting everybody in on the damn secret. Tom’s mind is set on Kane and he’s as stubborn as they come.”

  “Someday that damn Penhalion pride of yours will land us all in trouble. I may have lost my touch with looking into men’s souls but I’ll wager everything I’ve got, which according to you isn’t very much, that Mark will surprise quite a few people before he’s finished. Now, let’s forget all this gloomy talk about bankruptcy and the ability, or lack of, of Mark Kane. I’m ravenous. Take me out to dinner.”

  “At your service.” David made a mock bow. “Blast the bean counters all to hell.” He closed the account books that lay on the desk. “And if Tom wants Mark Kane to be a powerboat driver, then so be it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Kane screamed.

  “No, no, it can’t be. Good God, how could someone do something like that.’

  He snapped awake, sweat streaming down his body. He hadn’t heard the scream but he knew that he had emitted one. The first time in a long while, he thought as he lay in the darkness. Some days he wondered whether the memories would ever fade completely but he knew that they wouldn’t. Bad memories can fade but horror remains fixed in the brain, building and waiting until like tonight it bursts forth in the sub-conscious and returns the horror with stark reality. He groped on the bedside table and found the lamp. He pushed the button and a faint light illuminated the area around his hand. His watch said twenty past two.

  The knock on the door was barely perceptible, as though its author didn’t wish it to be acknowledged. He slid out of the bed and moved to the door.

  “Mark, everything okay?” Doc Watson’s whisper was discernible through the thin wooden door.

  As soon as Bell had returned to Yorkshire, Kane had moved into a room beside Doc above the bar of the Nag’s Head. The pub was clean and comfortable and they didn’t have far to go for food and drink.

  He slipped the bolt and opened the door. Watson stood sheepishly in the corridor his dark hair askew. He was dressed in striped pyjamas as least a size too big for him.

  “I heard a scream.” Doc stared into Kane’s sweat-streaked face.

  “It’s okay.” Kane wiped his face with his hand. “A bad dream. You can go back to bed. I guarantee there’ll be no repeat performance.” And there wouldn’t be because Kane knew that he would not sleep again this night. He couldn’t risk falling again into the pit from which he had awakened.

  “I don’t want to butt in but it sounded like a pretty serious bad dream to me.” Doc moved close to the gap in the door. “Look at you, man, you’re as white as a ghost and sweat is running off you like a stream running down a hill.” He pushed into the room and closed the door behind him. “Don’t forget we’re partners now with everything that entails. I depend on you and you depend on me. That’s how it’s got to be. And if there’s something that I should know about, you should be the one to tell me.” He glanced quickly at the bed and saw the sheets were stained with sweat.

  Kane looked at his new partner. This was one of the reasons he liked working alone. He wasn’t the kind that opened his heart to new or old friends. There were certain things in a man’s life that were private. Sacred things that only he should carry with him. Watson was doing his ‘you-can-tell-me-your-secret’ act. But Kane would not oblige. Firstly, because he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it and secondly because knowledge was power and he wasn’t about to hand Watson power over him.

  “A bad dream,” he repeated. “Too many spins. Too much violence. Every now and then the eyelid movies replay some old scenes and the adrenaline starts to pump even though I’m asleep.” He sucked in a deep breath.

  “You should never try to con a conman.” Doc padded across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. The floppy bottoms of his pyjamas obliterated his white feet. “You’re not the first man I’ve heard scream in the night like that. I’ve been there. Combat does lots of things to people. The ones that get off easy are the ones who end up in hospital with a piece of lead in their body. The unlucky are those who keep seeing the sights and smelling the smells for the rest of their lives. I’ve seen friends with post-traumatic stress disorder. They scream in the middle of the night for no reason except they see too many eyelid movies as you call them. The problem is that it doesn’t stop there for a lot of them. They beat their wives and children. They can’t hold down a proper job and sometimes they want to relive that traumatic moment when they’ve totally lost it.”

  “Don’t try to psychoanalyse me, Doc.” Kane was breathing easily. The crisis was over and it was time to get rid of his new partner. “You might not like what you find.”

  “Not too long ago you told me that you were afraid that I’d get you killed. Maybe the boot is on the other foot. Something doesn’t smell right and if I’m half the copper I think I am, I should go straight to your boss with this. You may be suffering a breakdown. I’m not qualified to say. But I’ve seen enough in the army to know that you should at least be talking to somebody.”

  “Been there, done that, bought the tee shirt,” Kane said. “Go to Davenport and tell him I had a nightmare and cried out. He’ll laugh at you. Furthermore, he won’t thank you if you compromise an operation that’s already underway.”

  “I’m not your enemy. But like it or not something went down here that I think I should know about. Otherwise, the operation might already be compromised.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Kane ushered him towards the door. “Remind me never to have a nightmare when you’re in the vicinity.”

  Doc opened the door. “You’ll have to learn to trust me. Sooner or later you’ll have to open up to me.” He opened the door and slipped into the hall.

  “Sorry for disturbing your sleep. Pleasant dreams.” Kane smiled and closed the door.

  He lay back on the bed and stared directly in front of him at the faded flower pattern of the wallpaper. God but he needed a friend. He thought of his parents. They’d tried to help but he had pushed them away. It was his load and he would carry it alone. Doc’s words resounded around his brain. Maybe he was finally coming apart. Maybe his father was right and those years in SO10 had scarred him so much that his mind was unhinged. But the scars on his mind hadn’t led to the death of his wife and children. That was completely different and that was the reason he was coming apart. The villains he could deal with. It was the photographs in his wallet that caused his palms to sweat and filled his sleeping hours with nightmares. He thought about Tom B
ell and wondered whether the night visited the same dreams on him. Perhaps he would be able to provide Bell with the closure that he knew he would never enjoy. He doubted it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Doc hadn’t mentioned a word about the events of the previous night, either during breakfast or on their walk to the Penhalion yard but Kane had spent long enough reading people’s thoughts to know that the little Mancunian was preoccupied and that he was most likely the subject of that preoccupation. After Doc had left his room, he had asked himself what he would have done if he had found his partner screaming his lungs out in the middle of a quiet night. One thing was for sure, he wouldn’t let it stop there. So he had to assume that Doc had something in mind.

  To Kane, this would simply be another day under the Penhalion lash. During the previous week, he’d been the sole student on a crash course in the basics of powerboat racing. He’d learned how the boat had been designed and built, the basics of marine engineering, and the mechanics of the engines. When he wasn’t in the design office or the finishing shed, David arranged to fill the intervening hours with screenings of videos of actual races. He’d hardly had time to draw breath. He had to give old Penhalion his due, he knew how to work the hired help. That was for sure. Kane had studied with the best and the best could have learned from David. From knowing absolutely nothing about powerboats, Kane would now be able to hold his own in any conversation on the subject. But he still had not put his foot into the mighty boat itself.

  “By God,” Doc said as they strode through the yard. “I envy you. I’d give anything to sit behind the wheel of that boat. And they’ll pay you to do it. There’s no justice. Most people would give their eye teeth for a chance to drive that boat.”

  Kane looked ahead to the small group of people assembled at the edge of the slipway, noticing David resplendent in an orange boiler suit.

  “It’s part of the job, Doc.” Kane strode on in the direction of the group. He hoped that Doc wasn’t good at reading him. Because then he would know what a liar he was. He wouldn’t be human if he didn’t feel excited at the thought of two thousand horsepower purring underneath him.

  “I wouldn’t overdo the Cool Hand Luke bit if I were you,”

  Kane looked at his new partner. There was a hell of a lot more to Doc Watson than met the eye.

  “Ah,” David said. “The remainder of our crew, the good Misters Kane and Watson. Fresh and ready for another day of fun and games.” He turned to Doc. “Be a good chap and get cracking with Reg and Bill on those engines.” He nodded towards the boat which sat in the water beneath the slipway. “I want her ready to run in half an hour.”

  Doc immediately pulled on the boiler suit which Reg tossed him and the three mechanics climbed onto the Kevlar hull.

  The powerboat sat bobbing in the calm waters of the slipway. Kane stared at the powerful machine. It was getting easier to understand David’s reservations in handing over such a beautiful boat to a complete amateur. He felt the adrenalin circulating in his body. In his mind he could already feel his hands on the controls and he hoped it would feel natural and good.

  “Magnificent, isn’t she?” David said. “The mechanics spent the last twenty-four hours on the final checks. If I do say so myself, it’s a superb design topped off with the highest quality precision machined components.” He watched the mechanics raise the canopy which covered the engines. “The engines are out of this world, truly a thing of beauty and the boat is the future of the Penhalion boatyard. I hope you’re aware of the singular honour you are being afforded in piloting this awesome machine. Most of the drivers on the circuit would sell their sisters to drive that boat. And we’re lucky enough to have you.”

  “It’s a beautiful machine,” Kane said. “And if you do your job properly then so will I and we’ll have nothing to worry about.”

  The good humour faded from David’s face.

  “Good morning.” Morweena appeared on the slipway dressed in a similar overall to her father. The legend ‘Team Penhalion’ had been stencilled in black on the back of the orange suits while the front was obliterated by badges advertising various motor products.

  “Good morning.” Kane turned and looked at her. There had been a lot of bad press about undercover officers and sexual relations. He knew the dangers and he would do his best to avoid entanglements but she was one hell of a good-looking woman and all things being equal he would have been happy to make a play for her. But this was business. “And aren’t we all dressed up. I hope the execution equals the attire.”

  “Your gear.” She tossed an orange overall to him. “We didn’t know your size but it should fit. I have a selection of helmets because I wasn’t sure of your head size. The largest might be a good fit. I take it that you’re not really a morning person.”

  “He’s not an anytime kind of person if you want my opinion,” David chimed in.

  “What you see is what you get.” Kane caught the orange overalls and the helmet. He held the garment directly in front of him. “Very fetching. Boat designed by Penhalion: overall by Giorgio Armani. Maybe it’d work out better if it was the other way around.” He bared his teeth in a fake smile.

  “I should remind you,” David said, “that you are here to perform a specific task, to drive a rather complicated piece of machinery. However, it would be beneficial if in learning to do so you could also try to keep a civil tongue in your mouth.”

  “Like you said, I signed on to drive a boat. I didn’t enter a popularity contest. If you want a friend, I suggest you buy a dog. In the meantime, let’s get to business. Did Miss Penhalion sign on to look pretty or can she really handle the throttle on that machine?”

  “Perhaps you have not yet been informed,” Morweena’s voice was curt. “I’ve already had a full season of powerboat racing which is a hell of a lot more experience than you can boast and I happen to have studied with Bobby Moore who invented the whole concept of the throttleman. I’m sure this brash character of yours might have been wonderful in the army or wherever it is you’ve spent the last decade or so but handling a powerful boat requires more than a little skill and talent. Neither of which we are convinced you possess. So I suggest you shelve your attitude until you’re behind the wheel in an actual race. At that point, you can exhibit all the pent-up aggression that you can manage.”

  “Isn’t there some kind of medicine you girls can take when your hormones are acting up?” Kane turned his back and marched off the slipway in the direction of the galvanised iron shed.

  “Modesty? I thought macho types loved to show off the body beautiful,” she said and smiled.

  Kane looked over his shoulder. “When you dress in the open, so will I.”

  “I’ll throttle the bastard,” David said as Kane disappeared into the shed.

  “I wouldn’t advise it, Daddy.” Morweena kept her gaze on the shed. “I have the distinct feeling that our new pilot is not the type of man to be trifled with. But that’s not a bad trait in an offshore racer. Most of the top drivers are ruthless bastards. It’s just our job to control him.” She put her arm around her father’s waist. “And don’t let’s forget, we need Kane a lot more than he needs us.”

  “Take care out there today,” David said, drawing close to her. “There’s a daredevil streak in that man that could end up getting somebody killed. Any sign of things getting out of control you throttle back. I’ve only one daughter and we’ve only one boat and I don’t want to pick either of them out of the water. Do you understand?”

  “I get the picture,” she said, pecking him on the cheek.

  “Tender scene.” Kane reappeared on the slipway dressed in his orange jumpsuit. “Not bad for something off the peg. When do we begin?”

  “We’ll be competing in the European Championship which is one of the three area championships,” Morweena said. “The other two are the North American and Australian championships. The top three boats in each area assemble in autumn at Key West in Florida to decide the World Championsh
ip.”

  “I know all this crap. Your father has had me watching the videos of last year’s races. Over and over.” Kane had paid particular attention to the videos of Morweena and even with the little he’d learned about the sport he’d picked up enough to know that she was good.

  “Sorry for the repetition. You’ve been out on the bay I assume.”

  “Up and down, over and back. Get the picture.” Kane had lost count of the number of times he had crisscrossed Falmouth Bay in a speedboat over the past three weeks.

  David stood watching the two teammates sparring with each other.

  “Okay,” Morweena continued. “So Dad’s been putting you through your paces with a speedboat. But there’s a world of difference between a speedboat and a Class One powerboat.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  She ignored him. “The main difference, as I’m sure you are now aware, is the speed. It’s well-nigh impossible to kill yourself travelling at thirty knots an hour but it’s a different matter at a hundred and fifty. There are two phenomena you should watch out for. The first is when the bow of the boat strikes the wave on the up…” She demonstrated using her left hand as the waves and her right as the boat. “It gives the boat a lot more lift than it would normally have. If the boat is light, like at the end of a race, the hull begins to climb vertically.” Her right hand was pointing vertically upwards. “Then the stern of the boat slips forward and the boat falls back on itself, finishing upside down and trapping the crew.” She flipped her right hand over as far as it would go. “That’s called rolling and it’s the worse event that can happen in powerboat racing. It was rolling that killed both Didier Pironi and Stefano Casiraghi. The second phenomenon that occurs at speed is when the bow of the boat buries itself in a wave and starts going down.” Again, her hands mimicked the motion of waves and boat. “That’s called stuffing and it plays havoc with the forward momentum of the boat.”