by Derek Fee
Kane had learned all this theory from the videos and from David but he didn’t bother to interrupt. So much enthusiasm, he thought as he stared into her clear blue eyes. He had thought that most of the danger in this gig would be from the villains and the powerboats. Now he wasn’t so sure. He tore his eyes away from her and looked out over Falmouth Bay. The water was relatively smooth although he could see white horses forming about a mile offshore. “Is this all theory or will there be any chance to practice?” he asked. Dark clouds were massing on the western horizon. “The sea looks pretty good but the weather might be about to change.”
Her eyes blinked. “You’re right. I thought that I’d bring you up to speed before we went out.” Much of the enthusiasm had drained from her voice. “But I suppose Dad has been drumming the theory into you. I didn’t mean to teach my grandmother how to suck eggs. Okay, let’s do it. After you, skipper.”
Kane moved ahead of her and took his place behind the wheel. This was it. He felt the excitement rising in the pit of his stomach. It was like sitting behind the wheel of a powerful car for the first time. He wanted to turn the key and rev the engines to their highest pitch. Instead he looked around the cockpit. One thing for sure was that it had not been designed with the comfort of the crew in mind. Available space had been reduced to a minimum with only enough room to accommodate the two crew. In one way it was lucky that the throttleman wasn’t the same size as him. Directly in front of him was a bewildering array of dials and screens that would have given a headache to the pilot of a jet airliner. He had spent hours poring over a schematic of the control panel trying to memorise the functions of the various dials. Pressure and flow dials, dials for trimming the craft, fuel dials for all the various tanks, engine function dials; dials, dials and more dials. For him it was overkill but what the hell did he know about it.
Morweena climbed off the edge of the slipway and moved smoothly over the stern of the boat stepping between the two raised panels where the mechanics were working on the engines before sliding into the right-hand cocoon of the cockpit.
Kane had been surprised to learn that powerboats didn’t have seats. Th driver and throttle man were squeezed into cocoons and stood throughout the race.
“So now you know all there is to know about powerboats,” she said as she settled herself beside him.
“Do I look that bloody stupid?” Kane said.
“A flash of modesty, I don’t believe it. You’re fazed. And there I was thinking that you were made of stone and you go all human on me and display a little bit of fallibility. Don’t let the dials worry you. It only looks confusing. By the end of the week, this cockpit will be as familiar as the driver’s seat of a car. Let’s start on your side.” She pointed at one of the dials. “Right in front of you, you’ve got a set of compasses and a pointer there,” Morweena tapped one of the displays, “which is connected to an onboard GRP satellite receiver. Everything looks great now but when you’re moving through rough water at a hundred and fifty knots an hour with spray lashing against the canopy, keeping your bearings visually can present a few ticklish problems. So you’ve got to keep a weather eye on the compasses and the navigation system.” She moved her finger to another set of dials. “These nine little buggers are repeated on the other side of the panel.” She pointed at the indicators directly in front of her. “They show what’s happening in the engines, oil pressure, revs, temperature. Over here I’ve got some other dials showing the fuel levels in the various tanks. All clear so far?”
“Clear as a muddy pool. Are you sure that you don’t need a degree in engineering to handle this beast?”
“It might help but most of the guys on the circuit know as much about engineering as I know about nuclear physics and for the record, I know nothing about nuclear physics. Don’t get all hung up on the technology. Powerboat racing is a team sport. You drive the boat. I man the throttle and those guys fooling around on the stern look after the engines and associated mechanical equipment. Each one of us must be there for the others or the team goes down the toilet. That means all you have to do is to concentrate on your part of the business.”
Kane placed both of his hands on the wheel. The touch of a piece of circular plastic transformed his face.
“Exciting, isn’t it?” she said watching him caress the steering wheel. “And we haven’t even started the engines yet. You’re purring like a cat. Try to imagine two thousand horsepower throbbing beneath you.” She suppressed a smile. “All that naked power in your hands. You’ll never have experienced anything like it. It will be better than the best sex you’ve ever had.”
His hands moved smoothly over the circular steering. He was in a world of his own. He’d found his ultimate toy.
“That’s always assuming that you have had sex.” She couldn’t keep the smile off her face.
Kane suddenly broke out of his reverie. He realised that he had been lulled by her words. Yes, he was excited. Yes, he wanted very badly to switch on the engines and feel the powerboat under his control but her last remark showed him that she had been winding him up.
“Yes,” he said removing his hands from the steering wheel. “For the record, I have had sex and if driving this boat is better than the best I’ve had, then it really will be something to look forward to.”
“Touché,” Morweena said softly under her breath. She turned and shouted over her shoulder. “How are things back there?”
“We’re ready,” Reg answered.
“Shouldn’t we close the canopy?” she said.
“Let’s do it.” There was a tremor of excitement in his voice.
She reached up and pulled the aircraft-type canopy over their heads.
“Why did Tom pick you to be the driver?” she asked as the canopy clicked into place. “Does he owe you?”
“I think that maybe he’s trying to make a man of me. I haven’t exactly covered myself with glory up to now.”
She looked back blankly.
“No, I wouldn’t believe that either,” he said before she could reply. “Let’s say that he has his own reasons. Most of which he hasn’t explained to me.” He could feel her eyes boring into him and it made him uncomfortable. He wanted to scratch his head, fiddle with his hair, avert his eyes, anything that would show her he didn’t want to be questioned but he stared straight ahead. With the canopy closed the cockpit appeared even smaller. Lucky he wasn’t claustrophobic.
“Quick run-through before we get going,” she began in her most controlled voice. “Sooner or later you’ll skipper the boat but for the moment let’s say that I’m in charge.” She looked at him half-expecting an argument but there was none forthcoming. “You steer the boat and keep it on course as much as possible. I look after the motors.” She dropped her right hand onto a handle at the side of the boat. “This is the actual throttle mechanism. The one thing that we try to avoid is revving the engines when the boat is out of the water. And believe me, this boat will spend a lot of time in the air. Every time we’re about to take off, I throttle back and then start revving as the boat hits the water. If I don’t manage to do my job properly, not only do we not make the right speed but we may destroy two beautifully constructed marine engines. I also balance the flow of fuel from the various segregated tanks in order to ensure the boat maintains its trim.”
“It looks to me like you’re probably the most important person in the boat.”
“It’s funny you should say that because, in general, the throttlemen and the mechanics are the professionals in the team. The drivers are usually the owners. They spend the big bucks on the boat and the team and they always get the kudos. In your case, of course, your uncle is spending the big bucks but we’ll keep that our little secret. If the other drivers don’t respect you, we stand a good chance of being driven over.”
“Life is cruel.” He flicked the switch on his helmet which activated the communications headset.
“Welcome,” Reg said as soon as the headset was active.
Kane looked over his shoulder to the stern and saw that Reg had donned his communications headset. He looked like an old-style telephone operator except that the headset was state-of-the-art.
“When do we get this bloody show on the road?” Kane asked, staring through the canopy at Reg.
“Ready when you are, skipper.” Reg closed the canopies and gave the thumbs-up sign. He clambered across the stern of the boat and climbed back onto the slipway.
“Switch on.” Morweena nodded towards the ignition block. “And try not to come in your pants. We’ve got a full morning’s work ahead of us.”
“You’re some ball-breaker.” Kane flicked the switch and the engines immediately roared into life. The noise was already deafening. From now on he and his throttleman would communicate through the headsets in their helmets.
“Good God!” Doc stood on the slipway listening to the roar of the engines. “Lucky bastard,” he muttered as he watched the two figures beneath the canopy.
She hadn’t been joking, Kane thought. He might have already come in his pants but he wasn’t about to check it out. He really didn’t want to think what might happen to his bodily functions once the boat was motoring across the bay. Back at the Yard, he was known as the man who never flapped no matter how hot the situation. If only they could see him now.
“Let’s get strapped in,” she said, aware of the tremor in her voice.
As soon as they were secured in their belts, she engaged the drive and eased up the throttle. Kane pointed the helm away from the slipway and the Karnow moved smoothly into the choppy waters of Falmouth Bay.
David watched as the sleek black powerboat surged towards the centre of the bay. He looked to where Reg and Doc were standing. Both men gave him the thumbs up. He returned his gaze to the magnificent boat powering away from him. If it were to be his last throw of the dice, it would be a magnificent one. Something that even the grim-faced ancestors on his office wall might be proud of.
It was only the start of the second practice run and already Kane felt that all his insides had spent at least ten minutes in a blender. His knees ached from the continual buffeting they were receiving as the boat thrashed its way through the swell. He brought it around to line up on the buoy Reg had set in the bay the previous day. The course laid down by the mechanic was approximately seven nautical miles, so each circuit between the two buoys was taking around sixteen minutes. They had gone up to eighty knots during one of the runs and that was as much as Kane felt he could safely handle. Every fibre of his being had been forced into the most intense concentration he had ever known. Although the race between the buoys had only taken a matter of minutes, it had seemed like hours to him. He couldn’t believe that time could be so drawn out. By the time he’d completed the third run, the adrenaline was in full flow and every nerve end was tingling with excitement. So far it hadn’t bettered the best sex he’d ever had but it was a close second. It certainly whipped the ass off every other thrill he’d experienced. And he had experienced some thrills. Of course, he wasn’t about to admit that to his throttleman. When Morweena had finally throttled back and the boat had slowed, every muscle in his body involuntarily relaxed. He didn’t want to think about maintaining that level of physical and mental concentration for more than two hours. That was certainly beyond his current capacity. David had a point. There was no way that he would be ready to race in five weeks.
“I think this time we’ll give it a little more throttle?” Morweena said into her microphone. “What do you think, Dad.”
“I don’t want to push it on your first outing,” David said. “But it’s your call. Just don’t overdo it.”
More throttle. An extra jolt of adrenaline coursed around his body. He didn’t think it was possible that the boat could surpass the speed they’d already done. He took a deep breath filling his nostrils and lungs with the ozone-laden sea air which was filtered into the cockpit. Suddenly he felt more alive than at any moment in his life. He steadied the boat and pointed the bow at the buoy directly ahead.
“Maybe this time we’ll try rounding the buoy at the other end and finish back here,” he shouted.
Morweena smiled. “Getting confident, are we?” She engaged the drive and jerked up sharply on the throttle bar.
The boat took off like a rocket, throwing Kane back against the rear of the cocoon. He fought to control the boat and bring it back on a line with the buoy. The bow was striking the waves at a tremendous pace causing the hull to buck up and down before launching itself through the air as it scythed directly over a wave. When Kane had managed to steady the wheel, he glanced at his throttleman. Her tanned face was set as she maintained her concentration on the dials in front of her. She looked neither ahead nor to the right or left. She was a consummate professional. The speed gradually increased and Kane had the impression that they were spending more time out of the water than in it. The impact of the boat on the water jarred his legs and knees and sent shudders along his arms. The throttle was nearly three-quarters open and Kane’s concentration was total. The waters of Falmouth Bay rushed beneath them as Morweena worked the throttle in anticipation of the boat leaping from the water. She eased off the throttle as they approached the buoy and Kane struggled with the helm in order to execute a perfect speed turn. Morweena gave him a thumbs-up sign and opened the throttle once more.
The boat sped across the last two miles and Morweena closed the throttle as they rounded the buoy. “Not bad,” she shouted as the whine from the engines died away. “Are you sure this is your first time at the wheel of a powerboat?”
“Let’s go again,” Kane said, glancing at his throttleman. The adrenaline was pulsing in his veins. All he wanted was to feel the speed.
“You must be crazy.” She eased back the throttle once more and two thousand horsepower exploded into life.
Chapter Fourteen
The place that Kane had found to do his exercises was located behind one of the portacabins in the corner of the boatyard. The nine hundred square feet of perfectly cut green lawn was probably somebody’s idea of an oasis in the sea of metallic and wooden junk that littered the area occupied by the boatyard. Over the years the exercises had become like a religion to him. The one constant in a sea of change. The habit had begun in basic training where according to his instructors the practice was a matter of life or death. Unlike the other recruits, he had quickly realised the mental qualities associated with the martial arts taught by his instructors. The movements were not only intended to improve his ability to defend himself but to induce a state of inner calm which facilitated bouts of excessive exertion. The heightened awareness created by the mental exercises had saved his life more than once. After his wife’s death, the doctors had suggested that he continue the regimen he had set himself. They believed in the old axiom ‘mens sana in corpore sano’. But he doubted they could guess the place where his mind was. He moved slowly through the exercise routine and at the same time cleared his mind of the mental detritus of the day.
He had been on an incredible high after the two hours spent racing. Only a retreat into himself would succeed in bringing him down quickly.
After ten years of practice, the schedule always remained the same. A five-mile run followed by a thirty-minute exercise roster which would have left even the fittest of men gasping for breath. When the warming-up was completed, he began the series of rhythmic exercises. Breathing deeply and moving slowly at first, he began with the simplest series of exercises before progressing to the more advanced. As he proceeded, his mind became totally concentrated. The outside world ceased to exist and his body became one with his spirit as the movements flowed. Gradually, he increased in speed until his hands and feet were a blur of tanned flesh against the soft green carpet beneath him. When he finished, he sat cross-legged on the grass, closed his eyes and began breathing deeply. He stayed in this state of intense mediation for fully ten minutes before slowly opening his eyes. A noise behind him caused him to jump quickly to his feet.
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br /> “Very impressive.” Morweena stood leaning against the corner of the portacabin. “I wouldn’t want to meet you in a dark alley.” She watched him move to the edge of the grass and pick up his tee shirt, the sweat glistening on his naked torso highlighting the ridges of muscles of his stomach.
“Do you make a habit of creeping up on people?” He pulled his tee shirt over his wet torso.
“I was watching from the first floor of the office and I couldn’t resist a closer look. What was that? Kung fu?”
“Kung fu, tai chi…” He turned to face her. She had changed into a white silk blouse and a short white skirt which showed off her long, tanned legs.
“Some karate, ju-jitsu, kick-boxing.” He walked towards the main office and she fell into beside him.
“You’re very expert. How did you get into martial arts?”
“A young boy moving from Yorkshire to London. A rough East End school where a strange accent wasn’t appreciated. The school bully decided he would beat my head in every day for a year. In order to make it out alive, I learned to box and then beat the shit out of the bastard.” Half truth, half lie. The events were true enough but the strange accent had been Northern Irish and nobody at his school liked ‘Paddy’. He had learned to take care of himself because his survival depended on it. “After that everybody wanted to be my friend.” Except that he didn’t want or need a friend after he had established his credentials. “The karate and the kung fu came when I joined the army.”
“It’s a solitary pursuit.”
He didn’t reply.
“I mean they’re not team sports,” she continued. “The English way is to have young boys thrashing around in the mud after an oval ball because that builds character. You’ve been a loner since you were a young boy.”
