‘Ok, ok, I'm there.’ he muttered as he rolled over and slowly struggled into a sitting position. He glared at me with those empty, pale blue eyes. I pushed the coffee in his face. The steaming cup drifted a smoke screen between us. He took the coffee, but didn't back down from my stare. I thought we were going to be transfixed like that for ever when the boat shot forward under me, I lurched and snatched at Duval for support. This was a big wave and I could hear the roar of water past the hull. The carbon construction seemed to amplify everything, but even so this was a hell of a surf. The bone jarring crunch came next as she pitched into the wave in front. The boat slowed as though it had been driven into a brick wall, then came a crack like a pistol shot and the roar on deck of a thousand buffalo.
‘Jees! The bloody coffee's all over me.’ Duval was wiping frantically at his lap when Ben hollered down the hatch.
‘All hands, everyone up, the vang's blown.’
I dropped the empty coffee cup and stumbled towards the hatch. The boat had slowed considerably with the power that was lost from the mainsail now the vang, which held it down to the deck and stopped it blowing open, was broken. The waves twisted and turned the disabled boat viciously. It was a struggle just to get out of the hatch. I staggered onto the deck.
‘Martin, you take the halyard, it's that one.’ Scott was yelling with the full force of his lungs to make himself heard above the flogging sail, ‘Ben's on the mainsheet, Duval'll do the genoa.’
I looked behind me, Duval was already out of the hatch, dressed only in his thermals. Prima donna he might be, poor seaman he wasn't. We all moved to our positions, down below I could hear the engine rumble into life. Kate hadn't even needed to be told about that one. I watched Scott bend down and flick her into gear, the revs built and the boat churned forward. Now he would have enough steerage way to get Gold into the wind so we could drop the mainsail, still flapping like a broken wing above us, onto the deck. With everyone in position and eight knots on the dial Scott picked his wave and swung her round.
‘Now, smoke her Martin!’ he bellowed. I had only been shown this by Ben a few hours previously, on my cook's tour. I clicked off the clutch and let the mainsail halyard, which was holding the sail up, run round the winch as fast as I dared. It seared through my hands. But the yards of Dacron were tumbling down on top of me and before I knew it the rope went slack. It seemed incredibly quiet when the flogging stopped. The bow was pulling away from the wind and the genoa filling. I could hear Duval ease the sheet as the sail filled, and once more the boat began to accelerate. There was one more lurch as a final wave caught her broadside before Scott had her back under control and headed north with the wind behind us. Figuring it was safe to move I scrambled out from under the sailcloth that had buried me. Emerging I saw Ben, still holding the now useless mainsheet, turn to Scott, ‘What d'you reckon boss?’ he said.
Scott looked thoughtful, ‘Rehoisting in this stuff is going to be impossible with five of us. Have a look at the vang and see what's wrong.’
But Ben was already on his way to the hardware dangling limply off the boom, ‘The hydraulics are blown.’ he shouted back to us.
Scott looked annoyed, ‘Again? There'll be fluid everywhere down below. Someone just shout down and tell Kate what's happened.’
Figuring I was someone, I bent down to fight my way past the sail to the hatch, but before I could get there Kate's voice emerged, ‘It's ok, I already found the problem. It's up by the mast. Fortunately we've got plenty of coke on board.’
‘Coke?’ I looked at her enquiringly.
‘It breaks down the hydraulic oil.’
‘Listen up guys,’ Scott, who had been conferring with Ben, brought our attention back to the matter in hand, ‘It's a quick repair, but it could be a while before this weather drops off enough to get the main back up. Duval you take the wheel, Martin can help me and Ben with the sails, then go down and give Kate a hand with the mopping up.’
Duval and I nodded, silently. I was surprised at his easy compliance with Scott, maybe he was settling for the quiet life.
It was a full ten minutes before we had the mainsail folded, and another ten before the jib was poled out and the trysail hoisted. Everything is hard on a boat rolling downwind in a big sea. Ben started on the repair, while Scott went below to sleep. I did as I was told, and joined Kate. The hydraulic connector that had blown apart was situated by the mast, below decks. Kate had got to it just in time and contained the leaking fluid to a small area of deck. Paper towels were soaking it up and then dropped into a plastic bag. I sat on the floor beside her and began wiping up the rest.
‘Most of the worst of it is done, we'll wash it over with the coke to get the final bit off.’ she said, looking up only briefly, but I caught a glimpse of that dazzling smile.
I nodded.
Above us Ben was dismantling the broken connector, ‘The damn seal's gone again. It happens all the time this does.’ he muttered.
‘I thought as much from the efficient damage control operations down here.’ I replied.
‘Some of the new boats have got rid of all the hydraulics, they just use a block and tackle to whatever purchase is necessary. Often it's a lot simpler, at least as reliable, and when it does break you don't get all this crap.’
‘How many systems are on the hydraulics?’
‘There we go!’ he said, as whatever it was came undone, ‘The outhaul, backstay, cunningham and the vang. It wouldn't be hard to change them. But with the boat's future up in the air, there's been no point and no money.’
I nodded, I knew all about that from Kate. I looked at her, the blond hair was soaked now, and stuck to her face. She looked pale in the dull glow from the overhead light. I had a suspicion she might not be feeling so good, despite her thousands of miles. The combination of the motion and the enclosed space, with the smell of the hydraulic fluid, could turn the strongest stomach. I was lucky, I seemed to be immune to motion sickness. I caught her eyes and she smiled wanly. There was something of our time together in that look. Then a feeling made me glance aft, and there was Scott, lying on his side in his bunk, staring at us. He held my gaze for a full couple of seconds, then rolled over without a word.
Chapter 20
Something had changed, my eyes were just as gummed up as normal, I could smell and feel the damp and the sweat. But there was no noise. The accompaniment of nearly four and a half days of sailing, the constant foaming of water, the clatter of sails and winches, the shouts carried on the wind from on-deck. It was gone. I levered myself upright. So was the motion. I sat there without bracing myself, I could hardly believe it. Every muscle throbbed and every joint was stiff. I felt as though I had been on the booze for about three months and was waking up sober for the first time. I swung my legs over the edge of the bunk and gingerly tested my feet out with some weight. Not bad. They, at least, had healed and improved.
I rubbed my eyes and peered around me. The spotless boat I'd joined in Sydney had disappeared under an avalanche of wet oilskins, clothes, scraps of food, discarded tools and sails. What a mess. In the middle of it, on the little island of order that the galley represented in this ocean of chaos, was Kate. She looked over at me from the pan she was stirring,
‘How are you feeling?’ Apart from the occasional smile, that was almost the first communication we'd had since that incident when the vang failed. I was sure Scott had been on to her again, after that. Every time I'd tried to get near her, physically or metaphorically, she'd kept a distance between us.
But then, the conditions hadn't exactly helped. The storm had finally abated, at least the clouds had gone and the winds had swung a little to the east and warmed. But it had continued to blow like hell out of a clear blue sky. Ben had muttered darkly to me on a couple of occasions, that it wasn't supposed to be like this. But it was. The weather had turned life into an exercise in survival. You were on watch, sleeping or eating. Anything else was a waste of energy. Even conversation. I was exhausted. I had st
arted the trip exhausted and it had just got worse. Scott, Ben and Duval, even Kate, seemed to take it in their stride, but I'd suffered.
I summoned up my last reserves of energy in an effort to appear cheerful, ‘Good, I feel good. Where did the breeze go?’ I asked.
‘Blew out a couple of hours ago. Just upped and disappeared, along with the sea. Nice isn't it?’ she said.
‘It's so peaceful, it's wonderful.’
‘Unfortunately we're only making about four knots, we should turn the engine on.’ I grimaced, ‘But Scott reckons we'll struggle on under sail for a watch each so everyone can get some rest.’
‘There's no big hurry is there?’
‘Nope, we're miles ahead of schedule so far. We've got to start on this mess though. Get the oilskins hung up on deck, wash or dry the clothes, collect the trash.’
I wasn't so keen on that, the last thing I needed was work, and said so.
She smiled, ‘You'll feel better for it when it's done. Or at least that's what Scott says. Personally, I'm on your side.’
I laughed, ‘Good!’
She glanced up from the bowl, and I held her gaze for just a second. But it was long enough. She knew what I meant.
There was a loud crackle and buzz of static from the back of the boat.
‘Shit.’ it was Scott's voice. The volume of static eased.
‘Bloody hell Scott, I'm trying to sleep.’ that was Duval.
There was a creak of floorboards and the snap of a switch, the static disappeared.
‘You're on watch in ten minutes anyway Duval, better get up.’ Scott again. I heard him climb on deck through the aft hatch.
I turned back to Kate, ‘Who was Scott talking to on the radio?’
She looked up from the pan, shrugged, ‘No idea, probably a weather forecast.’ she went back to the stirring for a moment, then said, ‘But it reminds me.’ she glanced up, ‘Scott left most of my stuff at the hotel for me. He thought it would look good for the police. He was thinking about phoning the hotel, to see if there was any news, or if my bags were still there. He thought it would add to the cover story. And we would maybe get to hear what was going on back there. But I thought it might indicate that he was still interested in what happened to me - maybe attract more suspicion than it would deflect. What do you think?’ the blue eyes settled on me.
‘He can phone the hotel from out here?’
‘Yes of course. You can make a ship to shore link to the coast station on the SSB radio, and then connect to any land phone number through the radio operator.’
I nodded automatically, ‘I think you're right, there should be no communication, he's forgotten about you, doesn't care.’ Kate nodded her agreement and said, ‘I'll tell Scott to forget the idea.’
‘It would have been good to know what was happening in Sydney though.’ I said, but my mind was going back to an incident in the storm. It had seemed insignificant at the time, but now I wasn't so sure. I moved across the boat and checked aft, Duval was in the far bunk, apparently asleep again. I moved forward of the mast, as far away from him as I could get, indicating to Kate to join me. I kept my voice down, ‘A couple of days ago I came below in a major rush, there was a crisis, that genoa halyard that was chafing through, remember?’
She nodded.
‘I came down the back hatch and Duval was on the radio. I didn't think much of it at the time, I didn't realise we had a phone facility. And a second after I got down here the halyard blew and all hell broke loose. But there was something about his reaction.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Kate.
‘Well, he jumped, I thought I'd just surprised him. But the more I think about it now, it was like I'd caught him doing something he shouldn't, a guilty reaction.’
‘What are you trying to say?’
I looked at her anxiously, ‘Well, what if Janac got to him before we left? One of his bent cops could have told Duval to call them if Scott gave anything away about our whereabouts. He's been real quiet after that first row when we came on-board. We know he doesn't want us here, if he believes all that stuff in the papers, maybe he'd book himself some insurance by informing. Maybe he even approached them before we left...’
Incredulity and concern were chasing each other across Kate's face - incredulity won. She said, ‘Don't you think that might be getting just a little paranoid?’
‘You were the one who said we shouldn't trust him.’
‘I said he was a shit. I had it in mind that he'll have you doing all the work on your watch, while he festers in his bunk - not that he might turn us in. I mean, deep down, he's one of us, he's a yachtie.’
I looked away, perhaps she was right, but something inside me didn't want to give the idea up. There was a thump behind us, I looked round. Ben was cursing, having just slipped on the layer of trash that covered the deck.
‘Goddam, we really have to clear this mess up you know.’ he said.
‘You want some soup Ben?’ Kate was already half way back to the galley.
‘Nah, it's hot up there already.’
‘What about you Martin?’
I nodded and launched myself off the sloping hull to take the bowl.
Ben shook his head, ‘It's pretty hot on deck. It's going to be a scorcher down here before long - you'll be after cold drinks in half an hour. We're less than a thousand miles off the equator.’
‘Where are we?’ I hadn't taken much interest in such issues up till now.
‘The Coral Sea. About two hundred miles south of the south eastern tip of Papua New Guinea. From here it's all glamour. And we're so far ahead of schedule that we can afford to take our time.’ He paused and looked around him a little less enthusiastically, ‘But we got to get this bun-fight cleared up first. There's an island we can maybe stop at, Rossel or something, about two hundred miles up the track, we can do a better job there. But we'll do the best we can for now. Soon as you've finished that soup Martin, we'll get started.’
Two hours later Ben and I had made a big impact on the cleaning, everything that was wet was hung in the lifelines or draped on deck. The sails were all packed and most of the garbage was either picked up or small and biodegradable enough to be washed into the bilge. I was pumping them out when Ben emerged from on-deck.
‘We're nearly there Martin, there's only the bilge to do. You want me to wake Scott to give you a hand?’
I glanced at Ben, raised an eyebrow, ‘Wake him up? To pump a bilge? With me?’
He smiled, ‘I guess not.’ he said.
It was exactly what I didn't want and the reason I'd been busting my butt for the last two hours, ‘No, I'll manage it easily on my own.’
‘Good, I'm about to take a shower, then crash.’ he disappeared back up the companionway.
Pumping bilges is one of those tasks best undertaken with the brain disengaged. In such a fashion it is over quickly enough. You get a rhythm going that you can maintain, then just keep at it until you hear the satisfying sound of sucking air rather than water. It didn't even take half an hour before I was finished, and I headed back up the boat to see how Kate was getting on. Ben had showered and then, like Scott, hit his bunk. Their snores now echoed in unison through the quiet of the boat. With Duval at the wheel, and a good excuse to be down here, I had a chance to talk to Kate again with no one else around. But she too was out cold in her bunk, with a pile of sandwiches left on the galley. Nothing for it but to see how Duval was getting on, maybe I could get something out of him, some clue about what he might be up to.
I climbed up through the main hatch. The glare was unbearable after the gloom of below decks. I stood there for a full minute, with my eyes all but closed, gradually easing them open as they adjusted to more light. Now I understood why sunglasses were such a prized possession to these people. Ben was right about the heat too. It was warm below, but up here it dropped on you like a heavy cloak. Eventually I could peer around me. The boat was sailing gently along on a broad starboard reach. I'd learned a bit o
f sailing in the last few days and had a better grip on the game now. Although there was barely a ripple on the water Duval was coaxing about four knots out of her. The motion was almost soundless. He seemed to have engaged the autopilot and was lounging with his back against a stanchion, reading a book.
‘How's it going?’ I said, stumbling my way across the deck towards him. There was clothing and oilskins strewn everywhere. All of it steaming in the heat. He looked up from his book, barely nodded, then went back to reading. That's a good start I thought. It's going to be hard conducting a discreet interrogation if he won't even talk to me. I tried again, ‘I've finished up down below, she's a new boat. Kate's made some sandwiches, you want one and maybe a coke?’
‘Thanks.’ he said, without taking his eyes off the book.
I went back down the companionway and dug a couple of cokes out of the icebox. I had no idea where all these came from, but there seemed to be an inexhaustible supply, replenishing the cooler at regular intervals. I grabbed two sandwiches to go with them and returned on deck.
‘There you go.’ I said as I handed Duval his, he carefully marked the page in his book and took the sandwich and drink. I sat down opposite. The coke cans hissed as we pulled back the rings together.
‘To light winds.’ I offered the informal toast.
He ignored me, concentrating on the sandwich.
I stared at him, ‘You don't like me do you?’
He looked up that time, ‘As far as I'm concerned you're not even here,’ was the acerbic reply.
‘You want me off the boat that bad huh?’
He lowered the sandwich, wrinkling his nose in sudden distaste, and stared at me with unblinking blue eyes, ‘I didn't want you on it in the first place. You could cost me my career, all the years of effort could go up in smoke. Pooff.’ He made a magician's motion with his hands. ‘Vanish.’ And with that he put the sandwich aside and went back to his book.
The Defector Page 20
