by Derek Fee
Karakatis caught a glimpse of the Kernow as it sped past him in the opposite direction heading for the buoy. Penhalion must have the luck of the devil, he thought. His deep-V was trailing the leaders but as long as he could stay in the race until the catamarans had to slow down, he would still have a chance. However, he was willing to sacrifice everything to make sure that the Penhalion boat did not finish in the first three.
“Two more boats are out!” There was now a note of excitement creeping into David’s voice as he followed the race from the helicopter. “Conditions are deteriorating. The wind is rising and there’s a noticeable increase in the swell.” Kane and Morweena were working miracles beneath him but he wondered how long the boat and its crew could take the pressure that their move through the field was taking on them. “Hakonen is lying dead in the water and Lemay’s boat is hobbling along.”
The straggler’s boat was now clearly in view and Kane recognised the blue catamaran of di Mena’s Azzurra ploughing sedately through the waves. The Kernow’s engines screamed as they powered past the Italian. One more down, Kane thought. The boat was appreciably lighter than at the start of the race and the combination of the reduced weight and rougher water would place even greater pressure on the driver’s efforts to keep up the speed. There were three laps remaining and they had been racing flat out for two hours. The Penhalion team were rapidly running out of time.
“Another casualty,” David announced from his perch. “San Miguel has stopped dead.” David focused his glasses on the Spanish boat which sat motionless in the water off the island of Sainte Marguerite. “More casualties!” he shouted, swivelling to focus on two further boats bobbing helplessly in the water.
Morweena felt the first wave of fatigue hitting her when she mistimed a throttle-back as the boat leapt salmon-like from the water. The adrenaline pumped around her body, fighting off the tiredness caused by the intense concentration.
They were leaving the stragglers behind and back in the race proper. Kane pointed the nose of the speeding boat directly ahead and they raced past the bay leaving the high-rise apartments and hotels of the town of Cannes behind them on their right. He felt a knot of excitement in the pit of his stomach as he urged the boat forward in the wake of the remaining boats. Only fifteen of the thirty starters were still in the race.
“You’ve cut their lead to a quarter of a lap.” David’s voice was shaking with excitement. “Give it all you’ve got.” Kane wasn’t only a miracle worker, David thought, he was a bloody phenomenon.
The boat was appreciatively lighter and they were spending more time sailing through the air than skipping over the waves. Morweena knew that she was being imprudent in her use of the throttle but it was all or nothing. Better to go out in a blaze of glory than not put in the maximum effort.
Kane braced himself against the wheel as the boat crashed into the water before rocking from side to side as he tried to regain stability. As they passed the Cap d’Antibes, the rear of the leading pack came into sight. He tried to pick out individual boats but it was impossible to focus through the canopy as they bucked and rolled through the choppy waters.
Barrett listened quietly to the report from his team manager. Kane was closing on him.
“He’s not getting past us,” he said to Milan. “Do you understand that?”
“I hear and obey. I’d push this fucking throttle clear out of the housing if I wasn’t so fucking scared that we’ll go aerodynamic.”
“Well then let’s go fucking aerodynamic. I don’t want that bastard getting ahead of us. Okay.”
“You’re the boss,” Milan said, and for maybe the first time in his life a feeling of dread pervaded him.
Kane moved steadily through the field as they sped eastwards.
“David,” Kane said, “Situation report.”
“Jackson’s Brit1 is in the lead, Tadeka’s second with Barrett third. You’re in fifth place and closing on Karakatis in fourth.”
“Penhalion is directly behind you,” Karakatis’ team manager reported. “About one hundred metres and closing,” he added. “If you thought Kane was crazy at Sorrento, it looks like here he’s intent on killing himself, or another competitor.”
“Give me his movements, exactly,” Karakatis said calmly from the cockpit. The devil was not helping Kane, the man was the devil himself. Nobody could make up a lap in an offshore race.
“Kane will try and pass you on the landward side,” the manager reported.
Karakatis immediately changed course and began to veer to the port cutting off Kane’s approach.
Kane could see Karakatis’ white and blue striped Hellas directly in front of him. The Greek’s boat was making good speed despite the choppy waters but Kane’s combination catamaran/deep-V was faster and as stable as the Greek boat at speed. The boat responded immediately to the alteration of course as he brought it to a heading which would pass Karakatis on the landward side.
“What the hell!” Kane peered through the canopy as Karakatis turned the Hellas slightly to the left in order to block his approach. “Someone is playing silly buggers and we don’t have time for that. Give it all you’ve got, Morweena.”
“We’re pushing our luck as it is.” Her voice was tense with fatigue and excitement. “It will get hairy if we open the throttle any further.”
“Do it.”
Morweena opened the throttle slowly and the speedometer began to inch up while the gap between the two boats closed slowly. “Karakatis is keeping his course pushing us further towards the coast and blocking an overtaking manoeuvre.”
Kane watched the distance between the two boats diminishing. The buffeting they were taking was incredible as their boat rode Karakatis’ wake. They were on the edge between marginal stability and instability. There was now less than thirty metres between the two boats and the gap was closing.
The Hellas held steady to her course as the gap between the two boats narrowed to twenty-five metres. Kane turned the wheel and the boat took a huge leap out of the water before careering to the side. His boat was now travelling on the seaward side of the Hellas. As soon as the propellers hit the water, Morweena opened the throttle and the black boat shot forward.
“He’s switched to seaward!” Karakatis cursed when he heard his team manager’s exclamation. He had been outmanoeuvred and it was too late to react. He was beaten. The Greek turned the wheel slowly back onto his original course as Kane shot past him to seaward.
Kane didn’t break his concentration for one second to glance at his adversary. There would be plenty of time to gloat at the end of the race. De Vries’ remark came into his mind. There were no adherents of the Marquis of Queensberry rules among the offshore racers. However, had the Greek done anything that he or the other thirty starters wouldn’t have done in the same circumstances? Everybody was on the water to win and to stop their adversaries any way they could. He would certainly remember Karakatis’ attempt at foul play, but right now there were Jackson, Tadeka and Barrett to worry about and little more than two laps to go.
“You might have given me a hint of what you had in mind,” Morweena said.
“I would have if I’d known myself.” He glanced at Morweena and saw the lines of fatigue etched on her face. He marvelled not for the first time at her courage and determination.
“I don’t fucking believe it,” Milan said. The crew of the Metro had been informed by radio that Kane was directly behind him.
“Shit!” Barrett shouted.
“The fucker Kane is right behind us. They’ve got past Karakatis.”
“Open that fucking throttle,” Barrett shouted.
“That’s insane, boss. Any more throttle and we won’t be able to control her.” Milan looked at Barrett’s expression and reluctantly opened the throttle.
An ocean of spray was flowing over the canopy restricting their view of the three leaders directly in front of them. Morweena was working the throttle constantly now as their boat bounced around on the surface of t
he water like a cork in a gale. She could feel the bruises rising on her arms and legs and her right arm had long since lost the articulation of the elbow. Why the hell are we doing this? she thought as she responded once again to the boat leaping out of the water. They could have been sunning themselves on one of the beaches they were passing instead of taking a pummelling that would fell a prize-fighter. She looked at Kane and saw the intense concentration on his face.
Brit1 began the final lap with a two hundred metre lead over Tadeka’s Nippon with Metro a hundred and fifty metres further behind. Kane got a view of the three boats passing on his port side as he prepared to make the turn around the buoy. It was all or nothing on the seven kilometres of the last lap. Kernow skipped over the water as Kane wheeled hard to port and swung the powerful boat around the buoy. Morweena opened the throttle as soon as they were lined up along the coast and they set off in pursuit of the leaders.
Barrett’s boat was now operating at full throttle and was exhibiting signs of instability.
“More throttle,” Barrett roared as the Metro surged out of the water and crashed down several seconds later, listing badly as the stern clipped the top of a wave.
“There is no more throttle,” Milan cried. “And even if there was, I wouldn’t give it. I’m easing off.” He closed the throttle.
“You move that throttle one millimetre from the fully open position and you’ll answer to me at the end of this race!”
Milan scowled and pushed the throttle into its former position. The boat lurched as the extra fuel was injected into the already churning engines.
Kane and Barrett were racing side by side separated by twenty metres. The Penhalion boat was being pushed to the limits of its design while Barrett’s boat had already passed its threshold. Kernow gradually crept ahead until it nosed in front as the two boats raced past Cap Ferrat. Suddenly a freak wave hit the two bows, and both boats were launched into the air.
The nose of Barrett’s boat ascended vertically in front of him and he prayed that it would stop. The bow kept rising and Barrett realised that they had hit the critical moment in any offshore racer’s life. They were about to ‘roll’. The boat seemed to hang in the air for several seconds before Barrett saw the nose passing directly over his head. He and Milan screamed in unison as the boat turned over on itself in the air and fell backwards into the sea with an enormous crash.
Kane was riveted to his seat as his boat took off and virtually flew into the air as its bow hit the top of the wave. The nose of the huge boat soared into the air as the stern fish-tailed on the surface of the blue waters. Kane glanced sideways in time to see the Metro flip over and crash into the water trapping the crew underneath.
Kernow twisted in the air as it fell forward and smashed into the sea sending up a huge cloud of spray.
Kane and Morweena breathed a sigh of relief as their powerboat righted itself and continued to accelerate in the direction of the race leaders.
“Dad!” Morweena shouted. “Barrett rolled. They’ll need help. Get to them quick.”
“That was a little too close for comfort.” Kane was aware that they had nearly rolled but was completely unaware of the fate of the Metro’s crew.
“Is everybody all right down there?” David asked shrilly over the radio.
“Everybody’s perfect,” Kane said, concentrating on the stern of Tadeka’s boat some hundred metres ahead.
“Barrett wasn’t so lucky,” David said gravely. “The ambulance helicopter’s circling over the spot now and I can see two bodies in the water. The crazy bastard was pushing his boat too hard. That’s exactly how Peroni and Casiraghi were killed.”
Kane looked at Morweena and saw the shock on her face. “Pull yourself together for God’s sake,” he shouted. “There’s only four kilometres left and there are still two boats ahead of us. I don’t want you to cut out on me now.”
“To hell with you,” Morweena said angrily. “There are two men probably lying dead back there in the water and all you can think of is winning this damn race. You really are an emotionless git.”
Kane wondered if fate had robbed him of his chance of nailing Barrett’s arse to the wall. But there was no point in telling Morweena that. “We can’t do anything for them but we can do something for the living if we win. Now let’s get concentrating again.”
“Jackson’s boat has stopped,” David said in a hoarse voice. “I can’t see what’s wrong but you’ve only got Tadeka to beat now.”
They were closing the gap as the two boats sped past the stricken Brit1 lying dead in the water. Doug Jackson’s jinx had apparently struck again. As they passed Cap d’Antibes for the last time, Tadeka’s lead had been cut to fifty metres. The two boats bounced over the waves as the drivers and throttlemen put in the maximum effort over the last two miles of the course. Every joint in the bodies of both crews ached as they strove to make the finish line first. Slowly but perceptively Kane was cutting into Tadeka’s lead as the twin islands came into sight. Only twenty metres separated the boats as they streaked along the edge of the peninsula containing Cap d’Antibes.
Both powerboats raced for the same point between the moored starting boats leaving in their wake twin streaks of white water. The drivers gave their all as they tried to gain the single metre which would give them the lead and the winner’s place on the rostrum. Tedeka still held a narrow lead as they sped across the final piece of clear water between the islands of Sainte Marguerite and Saint-Honorat.
Morweena jammed the throttle fully open. Tedeka responded and held the lead as they crossed the finish line. She immediately closed the throttle and leaned back in her bucket seat. “I wouldn’t want to do this too often. I don’t think my heart could stand it.”
Wild whoops came over the radio as David and Tom celebrated in the helicopter above their heads.
The boat gradually slowed and came to rest twenty metres from a flotilla of small speedboats and yachts which immediately surrounded them.
“Never again,” she said, bringing her head forward and letting him pull her to his side of the cockpit.
“Only until next week.”
The scene at Port Palm Beach was chaotic. The race had been watched by thousands of people along the route and many of them had congregated at the small port beneath the casino to see the drivers for themselves.
Reg jumped onto the battered hull as soon as Kane eased it into position on their assigned finger wharf. “Where’s our other mechanic?” Kane asked.
“We haven’t seen Bill since the race started. You think it was him that sabotaged the boat.”
“I expect so.” Kane doubted if they would see Bill Thompson again. It was unimportant now whether he was right about Barrett’s attempt at sabotage and whether Thompson had been involved. They’d won and that was what counted.
“What’s the story on Barrett and his throttleman?” Kane asked.
“I heard the news over the radio,” Reg said. “Milan’s bought it, the poor bugger. I never much liked the man but I’m damned if I like seeing anyone go out like that.”
“And Barrett?”
“Still alive by all accounts. Rushed off to hospital. I don’t know how badly he’s injured. The man must have a charmed life. Nobody would believe that you could get out of a crash like that with your life. Must have someone up there praying for him.”
Barrett was still alive, Kane thought. At least for the moment. They were still in the game and he might still have a chance to expose the bastard if he survived.
“Congratulations!” Doug Jackson hugged Morweena and shook Kane’s hand at the same time. “You have got to be the craziest bastard in the world. I thought I’d seen everything back in Sorrento but you outdid yourself today. Nobody in his right mind would take those chances.”
“Thanks.” Kane gripped Jackson’s hand in a solid handshake. “Being behind the wheel of the right boat nothing is impossible. I see you’re still riding your streak of bad luck.”
“We’ll b
e back next season and you’d better watch out because we’ll have all these damn bugs ironed out. Maybe I’ll even employ David to make me a boat like yours. Then we’ll be able to see which of us is the craziest. Enjoy your moment in the sun.”
“Mark, Morweena.” David moved his huge bulk along the finger wharf making the wooden slats sway as he approached. “You were bloody wonderful. Weren’t they bloody wonderful?” he said to the assembled multitudes.
“Don’t forget the men who put us back into the race.” Kane nodded in the direction of Reg and Doc.
“Have you any idea who tampered with the boat?” Tom asked.
“I think Barrett was behind it. But it’s not important now. It also appears that our good friend Bill Thompson has gone walkabout. Maybe I’m being a bit hasty putting two and two together but I suppose it’s safe to assume that he was the person who fouled the fuel lines.”
“The bastard will never work in a boatyard again,” David blustered.
“You came second against all odds,” Tom said putting his hand on Kane’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, lad. I knew you’d come through.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I wasn’t so sure out there myself for a long time.”
Beyond Tom’s shoulder, Kane saw the remains of the Metro being towed into port. That’s what the crowd had come to see.
They were suddenly being swept along in a human flood heading for the rostrum at the centre of the marina, their hands being pumped by well-wishers as they progressed.
Kane looked over at Morweena. “Are you OK?”
She tried a smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired.”
“You were incredible.’
