Crash Course

by Derek Fee

  David took her arm and felt the slight tremble. He led her out of the crowded piazza and up the hill towards the Sorrento Palace.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The weather on the day before the race was not typical for Southern Italy. An overnight shower had dumped a considerable quantity of rain on the town and pools of dirty brown liquid lay in the badly rutted streets. From his room on the fifth floor of the hotel, Kane could see ripples on the four swimming pools beneath him while out to sea small whitecaps ran along the blue-grey surface of the Bay of Naples. The scene would never be captured for a picture postcard of Sorrento but it augured well for the race. Rough water would militate strongly against the catamarans. He’d only had a few hours’ sleep. The TV crew following Jackson certainly knew how to party. They’d left the night club at four o’clock and he had partied with his red-haired friend in her room for a further two hours. He hadn’t realised that he’d been so badly in need of sex. But good as it was it didn’t come close to driving what he was coming to regard as ‘his’ boat. He immediately thought of Morweena. She was the one who had made the remark about driving and sex. He hadn’t been so gauche as to cry out her name at the crucial moment but the thought had been there. He showered for more than fifteen minutes until he was completely awake, dispensed with breakfast, and caught one of the minibuses provided by the race organisers to ferry team members between the hotel and the Piccolo Porto where the powerboats were moored. The Penhalion team was already assembled around their boat which was tied up at a specially constructed wooden marina. The tiny port was crammed with sightseers most of whom had arrived to take the hydrofoils to either Capri or Naples but had stayed on to watch the preparations for the race.

  “Hello, folks,” he called from the walkway. “How does it look, Reg?”

  “So far so good.” Reg looked up from the laptop computer which sat on the pilot’s table. The engine covers were fully open and Bill and Doc were perched precariously on the back of the floating hull. “We’ve nearly finished the final engine checks.”

  “I’m glad to see that you’re still in the land of the living,” Doc called from beneath the open canopy.

  “Didn’t you hear that the qualifying race isn’t until this afternoon?” Kane said. The port authorities had agreed to prohibit traffic across the bay between the hours of three and five in the afternoon to allow the drivers to qualify.

  “Late night?” David asked.

  Something in David’s tone alerted Kane. “You could say that,” he said smiling. He wondered whether David knew. The marina was a hive of activity. Groups of mechanics laboured under the open canopies to ensure that on race day every moving part would be in perfect working order. Nobody wanted to end the race bobbing helplessly about in the centre of the course. Kane recognised Graham Barrett’s blond head sticking out from the cockpit of a yellow catamaran.

  “How are tricks, Mark?” Doug Jackson slapped Kane on the back. “I hear tell you raised some hell last night.”

  Before Kane could reply, Jackson was halfway along the walkway pursued by the omnipresent television crew. He wondered how the poor man ever got to take a leak.

  “What’s all this about raising hell?” Morweena had come up silently behind him.

  Kane detected a sharp edge to her question. He’d been sure that he’d seen her and David crossing the piazza the previous evening and he had been equally sure that she had seen him.

  “I have no idea,” he replied calmly. “Maybe it’s your friend Jackson’s idea of a joke.”

  “Yes, a joke I’m sure.” She made no attempt to keep the coolness out of her tone.

  The marina was developing into a scene straight out of Bedlam with thirty powerboat crews working feverishly to complete work on the boats and engines. Kane smiled when Reg give the thumbs up as he gunned the engines. Reg switched off the engines and motioned to both Bill and Doc to replace the canopies.

  Kane, David and Morweena made their way down to the jetty.

  “That’s as much as we can do right now,” Reg said. “She’s purring like a cat.”

  David slapped him on the shoulder. “Good job, get her fuelled up for the qualifying run this afternoon. Don’t fill her to the gills. I want Mark to get some experience handling her when she’s a bit lively.”

  “Thanks heaps,” Kane said walking towards the end of the jetty.

  “Where do you think you’re off to?” Morweena caught hold of his boiler suit. “I’ve put the race route onto the tablet.” She handed him an iPad with the course plotted on the screen. “Perhaps you’d like to commit it to memory before this afternoon.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Like to tell me about last night?” She released his orange boiler suit and they moved off together.

  “Nothing to tell, a few drinks and a bit of dancing.”

  “What about your red-haired friend?”

  “She was part of Jackson’s crew.”

  “That’s not the way it looked.”

  “You’re my teammate, not my mother.”

  “I’ve arranged for us to have lunch with Tom.” David linked Morweena’s arm. “A little team affair you could say.”

  They walked back along the jetty towards the point where their boat was moored. Many of the crews were still working on their boats but most of the principals had already drifted off to their appointed restaurants for a leisurely lunch. Things would not be greatly different with the Penhalion crew, Bill, Reg and Doc being left to work on the boat while Bell, Kane and the Penhalions wound their way up the hill which led from the little port to the village.

  It was a quarter past two when they returned from the small trattoria which David had selected in the side streets which straddled the edge of the precipice directly above the Piccolo Porto.

  “What’s the drill?” Kane asked David.

  “This is a qualifying race. Rather like a serious practice run. There’s no grid tomorrow so it’s a jolly. You take the boat for a rather leisurely run around the course. Most of the other crews will be watching so we won’t give it anything like full throttle although we will wind the engine up in case there’s any problem we should know about.” He handed them their lifejackets and helmets. “We’ll try out the communications as well on this run to make sure everything is shipshape for tomorrow. I’ll be stationed on the top of the hill during the race so we’ll give the comms a try from there. Don’t forget, Morweena, keep something in reserve.” He patted his daughter on the shoulder.

  She took her place beside Kane.

  Some of the boats were already moving towards the mouth of the port. Kane turned the ignition and the engines sprang into life. The hull vibrated to the hum.

  “Let’s do it,” Kane said into his microphone and Morweena eased the throttle forward.

  They moved smoothly into the queue of powerboats heading towards the Bay of Naples. As soon as they rounded the corner of the concrete jetty, the hull heeled as the first wave hit it. Kane looked out into the bay and saw that the wind had picked up whipping the top of the waves into white-capped spray.

  “The wind tends to pick up a bit in the afternoon,” Morweena said. “Even when the weather’s good. If you want to do any sightseeing, I suggest that you do it on this trip, there won’t be time tomorrow. Let’s try to enjoy ourselves.”

  “Good run,” David called as they pulled into their allotted berth.

  Kane removed his helmet and tossed it to Doc.

  “Mark.” Tom stood on the edge of the wooden walkway. “A word, please.”

  Kane removed his lifejacket and handed it to David. Tom took his arm and began to lead him away from the berth.

  “I hope you’re not forgetting what we’re doing here,” Tom said when they were beyond hearing distance.

  “If I did, you’d always be there to remind me I suppose.” The two men continued walking up the hill. “You said yourself that this was a shot in the dark. There are thirty drivers out there and it could be any one of t
hem or it might be none of them. You’re not so naive as to think that the bloke who murdered your daughter will wear a guilty look on his face?”

  Tom stopped at the brow of the hill and they both looked back towards the assembled boats and crews below.

  “The bastard is down there and it’s your job to find him.” There was a determined look in the Yorkshireman’s eyes.

  “It’s early days. All we can do for the present is watch and listen. I haven’t exactly been winning friends and influencing people around here. David thinks that I’m a major shit and I’m beginning to feel a little peculiar with all this aggression pointed in my direction. Still, we’ve made a reasonable start. We know that Tardelli uses coke and that Barrett’s a bully. But we’ve a hell of a long road to travel before we land our fish. That is if we ever land him.”

  “You’ll find him,” Bell said, staring into Kane’s face. “You’ll find the bastard.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Kane and Doc sat in the bar of the Sorrento Palace cradling two tall glasses of beer. The large marble-floored room was packed with crew members and mechanics.

  “What have you got?” Kane asked.

  “So far not much,” Doc said fingering his glass.

  “Nobody said it would be easy. Or even successful. You and I know the score. I’ve been on operations that lasted more than a year. Some have lasted long enough for the undercover officer to get married and have a kid. I don’t suppose you’ve stumbled onto any clues lately.”

  “I’m still the new boy among the crews. Nobody’s opening up to me, yet.”

  Kane drained his glass of beer and called for two more.

  Doc raised his eyebrows. “What about the race tomorrow?”

  “This far and no further, as my kindly old dad says.” Kane dropped thirty euros onto the waiter’s tray and hoped it was enough. “Of course, now I’ve got another kindly old dad, don’t I?”

  “And who would that be?” Doc asked.

  “You, of course.” Kane tipped his glass to Doc’s. “Sláinte as they say in the old country.” He sipped his beer. “I’ve been thinking lately how we might move this process along.”

  “And what have you come up with?”

  “I’m getting nowhere proving what a hard-arse I am by mouthing off.”

  “And?”

  “I think it’s time I got physical. Someone will get hurt.”

  “You’ve got someone in mind?”

  “There are a couple of candidates. I’ll see if I can piss someone off during this race.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “I’ll have to play it by ear and hope an occasion presents itself. If we don’t get moving on the investigation, we’ll end up drawing our pensions at Penhalions.”

  “It’s a risky strategy. Most of the drivers are toffs. You dust them and it might mean jail.”

  “I’m sure Davenport can square that.”

  “Is there something going on between you and Morweena?”

  “There’s nothing going on and nothing will go on. This is strictly business. I will not compromise the operation. If there is any operation to compromise.”

  “If you say so. She’s not like the piece of skirt you bedded last night.”

  Kane raised his eyebrows. “My, but we are on the ball.”

  “I hope you managed to cram a few hours’ sleep into your night.”

  “Maybe we should relax a bit. We’re sitting in the foyer of a five-star hotel in Sorrento for God’s sake. We’re rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous and at the same time we’re two simple coppers earning a pittance.”

  “Tell that to Davenport and Bell. They want a result.”

  “We can only give them what we can give them.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dark grey clouds enshrouded Sorrento as dawn broke on the day of the opening race of the European Offshore Powerboat Championship. Crowds began pouring into the town by early morning. Despite the overcast skies, there was a festival atmosphere in the Piazza Tasso and the surrounding streets. Cafés were filled to overflowing as the crowds descended on the sleepy town. This was one of the major sporting events of the year and it was totally free. No tickets were required only the procurement of a good vantage point and either excellent eyesight or a pair of binoculars.

  The festival proper began after lunch when the drivers and throttlemen made their way through the packed town towards the Piccolo Porto. Mechanics had been testing equipment since the early hours and the road to the small marina had been cordoned off from the public by the police.

  Drivers and their teams chatted excitedly; smiles pasted on their taut faces. The scene of activity at the marina was the same as that before any big sporting event, with the added scent of danger which fast sports engender. Two hours of high-speed racing in a sleek machine loaded to the gills with high octane fuel was calculated to loosen the bowels of even the strongest stomach. All sportsmen appreciate the positive benefits of apprehension and the increase of adrenaline it produces and Kane wasn’t immune to the atmosphere. A glance at his opponents showed him that he was not alone.

  “You look like you’re suitably hyped up.” Morweena joined Kane as they passed through the police cordon at the road that led to the marina.

  “Raring to go. What about you?” His teammate’s face was flushed with excitement.

  “The butterflies in my stomach have butterflies in their stomachs. My breakfast stayed down for exactly fifteen minutes before finding its way into the toilet bowl.”

  This is like the lull before a spin, he told himself. The similarities were all there. The forced hilarity and bonhomie. The underlying fear that something nasty could very well happen to you. Except this time he wasn’t going up against Yardies with Uzis. He was up against the cream of the powerboat racing world and they would chop his balls off to gain their place on the winner’s podium. He wasn’t sure which he feared most. At least with the Hardies, he knew who the enemy was. The area in front of the marina was ablaze with boats painted in every colour of the rainbow. The owners appeared to be trying to outdo each other in the gaudiness of their paint jobs. There was Jackson’s Brit1 draped in the blue, red and white of the Union Jack. Tadeka’s Nippon had a great red sunburst painted the forty-foot length of its hull. Beyond, he could see the black and yellow of Kernow. In the middle of the port, engines were being gunned, smoke belching from their exhausts. Propellers were churning the slate grey waters to white. They were the sights and sounds which had been specifically designed to quicken the pulses of the participants and the spectators alike.

  “Some sight,” he said to himself. “The waiting is the hardest part.”

  “And you’d know. Useless you’ve done this before and you’ve been holding out on us.”

  “It’s my first time. But I’ve been in this type of situation before. You know that something bad might be about to happen and you want to get at it.”

  “You cannot be as calm as you’re acting.”

  “My adrenaline is pumping. I’m simply good at hiding it.” He looked back up the hill and saw spectators clinging to every vantage point. The precarious hold some of them had on terra firma led him to wonder whether it was more perilous to participate in offshore racing or to watch it.

  “Break a leg, Morweena.” The entourage that was Doug Jackson passed on its way to the sleek catamaran sporting a red, white and blue Union Jack.

  “I wish Doug would use some other expression to wish one good luck,” she said smiling. “This isn’t quite the theatre.”

  “Hello, you two,” David said. “Everything’s as ready as we can make it. We’ve completed the final checks and she’s all fuelled up. It all up to you now.” He pushed himself up out of the cockpit and stood on the marina in front of them. “I don’t have to keep telling you how important this race is to me but do your best and be careful out there.” He hugged Morweena and shook hands with Kane. “I’d better go and join Tom. Good luck.”

  Doc t
ossed Kane and Morweena their orange lifejackets and their helmets.

  They took their places in the cockpit and waited silently, each with their own thoughts. This was what all the hard work and money was about. Two hours plus from now they would know whether it had been worth it.

  Kane looked out at the choppy waters. They would be doing one hundred and twenty-five knots over those waves. Their concentration could fail at any moment and they would end up either flying or playing submarine. In either case, the effect would not be pretty. He glanced over at Morweena. Her gaze was fixed directly ahead. Two helicopters swooped low overhead whipping up the grey waters of the marina. The rotors beat at the rain-laden air as the machines hovered above the waiting boats.

  Kane was concentrating so intently that he didn’t hear or see the signal to start up the engines but he followed the lead of the other drivers. Within the space of seconds, sixty thousand horsepower leapt into life. The sound of the boats’ engines drowned out the sound of the helicopters. As though giving way to the superior noise, the choppers wheeled together and made for the entrance to the marina where they disappeared.

  The first of the boats was making its way slowly away from the marina and out to open water. As soon as there was a space, Kane nodded at Morweena and she eased the throttle forward so that they joined the line of powerboats making their way to the start. As they edged the boat closer to the entrance of the marina, they saw the white-capped waves washing against the outer walls.

  “Rough water today,” Morweena said absentmindedly. She echoed Kane’s thoughts.

  “Nothing you two can’t handle,” David’s voice came over the communications system. There was a note of apprehension in his voice.

  This wasn’t a horse race over a limited distance so there was no need for lining up or stalls. Offshore racing was a test of endurance as well as speed so it was immaterial who got away first. The boats began milling around the start and Kane saw the starter’s white flag hoisted on the boat nearest to him. Morweena revved the engines while keeping the gear in neutral. The tension in the air was palpable. Suddenly the flag came down and the boats screamed away in the direction of the first buoy beneath the ruins of Pompei. Kane was flung back as Morweena gave the engines full throttle but he adjusted quickly and pointed the boat’s nose in the direction that the other boats were taking. He cursed himself for being so slow off the mark. Where were those famed reactions when it came down to the wire? At least fifteen boats were racing in front of them throwing up streams of spray in their wake.