I didn't say anything to that one, just watched as Scott hit more buttons. A graph appeared on the display, which said 'Satellite Availability'. I looked across the horizontal row, at 0600 there was three marked to appear.
‘Three?’ I said, in case I had read it wrong.
‘Should be enough to give us a good fix. Best chance we've got.’
I was silent.
‘If it is Janac.’ he added, as though I should have said it and had missed my cue. ‘There'll be enough light to see that by the time we get there. If it looks like a cruising boat we'll just turn round and come back out the way we went in. But if it is a cruising boat, I doubt they would follow us all the way in there anyway. It's a dead end to anyone sailing under normal circumstances.’
He turned round abruptly and reached for the weather fax print out, it tore off easily enough and was smoothed out in front of us. Again Scott studied it in silence.
‘Well?’ I could hold my patience no longer.
Scott shook his head slowly, ‘It isn't good. This system is moving away, the breeze is going to disappear. If we head downwind, we'll track it for a while.’ He paused to look at the computer picture again. The ruler flashed quickly with some measurements.
‘It's moving a lot faster than us though. Whatever we do it'll over-run us by this evening. With no wind we're dead meat to those guys.’ He looked sombrely at the radar picture and the ever present green blip. ‘This boat isn't made for motoring. That channel is the best, perhaps the only chance we've got. It's ten miles around, the only way through. We make it and they don't, then we've got a ten mile head start, or at least till it gets light enough for them to try and follow us.’
I sat silently, nodding was as much as I could do. Once again Scott pulled forward the keyboard. The weather picture disappeared and after a few more keystrokes up came a chart, much like the one we had in front of us. The cursor danced at the mouse's bidding for a minute or two, and then Scott sat back.
‘We're sailing three twenty five at the moment. We can come off to three ten and head for Hong Kong, come up five degrees and go for the gap. Or stay as we are and just hit the south west end of the reef.’ he grunted, ‘We'll slow up about a knot if we bear away to Hong Kong, plus it takes us towards him. Whereas we hold this speed and go away from him if we head up.’ He stared at the blip in silence for a while. ‘I don't think we have any choice. My call is we go for it.’ He hoisted himself out of the chair and climbed up on-deck.
It was just before five when Duval dropped through the hatch behind me.
‘What's happening?’ he said.
I looked up from the screen that I was studying so intently. I felt like the green blip was burned on the back of my retina.
‘No change, he's still there, but just maybe he's pulled back a little bit. That's because the breeze has picked up?’
Duval nodded, serious, unsmiling, ‘Yeah, it's hitting twenty knots in the gusts now and we're doing just under thirteen ourselves.’ his eyes were red and puffed, I realised he'd been on deck for about 11 hours.
I looked back at the screen, ‘Maybe he has gone back a touch.’
‘Could be thirteen knots is too much for him. It's a fair pace for anything but a modern motor yacht. Still nothing on the radios?’ he asked.
‘No.’ I shifted uncomfortably and changed the subject before he could mention the SSB and its damaged microphone, ‘But you can just about see the islands on the radar now. He has to have realised what we're up to.’ I pointed to the screen as I spoke.
‘Or he thinks we're running blind into a dead end. One of the two. He can't have any idea what we can do with this boat. I'll wake Scott up, he'll be talking me in.’
I sat and watched for another twenty minutes, slowly becoming more and more convinced that he was altering position. By the time Kate arrived for a look I was sure.
‘He's going back, I'm certain of it now, coming into line, but also losing distance.’
Kate nodded and climbed up past me. I heard Scott's voice, ‘Hey Katie, this is your last time on deck, the light is starting to come up and we don't want them to know we've got any women on board.’
‘Scott, be serious...’ but he didn't let her finish. I don't think he even said anything, the look must have been obvious enough. She came back down and passed the nav station without so much as a word.
A couple of minutes later Scott appeared below. ‘I'll take over now Martin, you stand up here by the hatch and relay my instructions to Pete. Once we get in there it's going to be noisy, with this swell breaking on the reef. I don't want to have to leave the nav station to talk to him. Ben's going on the bow to watch the water.’
I was quite relieved to be moving after three and a half hours jammed behind that chart table. I stepped out of the hatch and tripped on the liferaft, which had been moved on deck.
‘What's that for?’ I said, warily.
‘Just in case we screw it up.’ Duval replied grimly, staring fixedly ahead.
I looked around. There was the faintest orange glow away to the east, slowly spreading its way into the sky, the first sign of day. In front the deep, blue water of the ocean gave way faintly to the moonlit, azure shimmer of the shallowing reef, and then on the far horizon the flecked white of breaking waves stood out in the gloom. Somewhere in there, was a channel. I peered intently behind us, but could see nothing of our pursuer.
‘He's there.’ Duval muttered.
I hunched down by the hatch, alternately watching Scott, ahead and behind. Occasionally I passed up messages - down a couple, up one. I guessed he meant degrees, but couldn't believe that Duval could steer a boat under sail that precisely. We thundered on, thirteen and a half on the dial, water foaming at the forefoot, headed straight for a reef in the half-light. I switched my gaze from the bow to the stern and finally I thought I could see something. The sun was coming up on our starboard quarter and there was the faintest sign of a silhouette against the lightening sky behind us. Slowly it picked itself out of the blackness and the boat's superstructure emerged. I got Scott to pass up the binoculars. I could just make out the high deck house I had seen before, surrounded with davits and tackle. The boys were right, it was no cruising boat.
Ben dropped down beside me and took the glasses. ‘It's a local boat for sure, with that profile. And she wouldn't be chasing us in here if fishing were on her mind.’ he said, matter of factly. But the words caught me with a sudden chill, ‘Hang on to this Martin,’ he handed me the rifle, I took it uncomfortably, ‘I'm going forward, it's going to get a little wet up there.’ and he moved silently forward. I looked back again, I could see the white of the bow wave now, and the dark of the hull against the lighter black of the ocean. They were not that far away.
‘We're no more than five minutes from the reef guys, get organised up there.’ Scott's voice, belying no tension, emerged from the hatch.
‘Everyone's in position Scott.’ I replied. Ben was perched on the plunging bow, already soaked.
‘Ease the genoa just a tad for us will you please Martin.’ It was Duval this time, voice as cool as ice. I was choking with nerves, I wasn't even sure my voice was going to work. I moved forward and the winch groaned as I eased the heavily loaded sheet off an inch.
‘That's fine,’ came the call from astern. I hurried back to my station. Scott called another tiny course change. Behind, the hull of the boat was finally visible against the horizon. Rolling quite heavily, she looked like a big, squat, round bilge fishing boat.
‘I can hear the surf.’ Ben's voice crackled through the radio by Scott's head. I started, I had expected him to shout. But he was seventy feet away, we'd never hear him. I looked forward into the half-light, there was little of the deep blue left to go, and a hell of a lot of reef and white water. Where the fuck was this channel? And now I could hear the thunder of rollers. It seemed there was nothing quite so frightening as hearing the crash of surf from a sailboat in poor visibility.
Crack
Except that. The unmistakeable report of a firearm.
‘They've opened fire.’ I called below to Scott, my voice was a squeaky croak.
Scott looked up at me grimly, ‘At least we're doing this shit for a reason. Come up just a fraction now.’ he said. I passed the message on to Duval. We plunged on, into the open, gaping mouth of the reef, jagged, white teeth appearing either side of us. Another shot from astern, but again not so much as a splash to show where it had gone. A flat, dull report muffled by the thunder around us. Nothing like the movies, no whining ricochet to add to the effect.
‘Surf either side, clear ahead, but it looks shallow.’ came Ben's voice again, distorted, metallic and far away from here.
‘Keep her steady,’ said Scott. I passed the message on, then glanced down, he was working furiously. First on the chart, then on the computer. Checking and checking again. By now the sound of the surf was everywhere, I daren't look up. Stick to your job I thought, don't want to screw up now. I braced myself hard, just in case.
‘Come up five now.’ came the call from below. I looked up to pass it on, there was thundering water all around us. No turning back. I glanced at Duval. His face was calm, but his knuckles were white.
‘Surf everywhere, I can see no clear water.’ hissed through the radio.
‘Did you hear that!’ I shouted at Scott, the fear lacing through.
‘Keep it steady.’ he said urgently, ‘it's shallower than I thought, it may break in the channel. But there should be enough water.’
‘Hang on everyone!’ Duval screamed over the noise, ‘We're going to get a ride on this one!’
And then the bow dipped as the boat surged forward in the foaming water around us. I was just plain terrified now, hanging on for dear, sweet life.
‘Yeehaaaa.’ I heard Ben scream from the bow. He had almost disappeared under the froth of creaming sea. Beside me Duval fought the wheel as though we were back in the gale. The sails clattered and banged as the acceleration blew them into the middle of the boat. Empty of wind, all the power was from the ocean. Power we could barely control. One mistake on the wheel, if we went broadside to this baby all the liferafts in the world wouldn't save us.
Then suddenly we were clear. Racing ahead of the breaking water. Ben was running back from the bow, fists clenched, ‘Yes!’ he shouted.
I looked up at Duval. His normally expressionless face was illuminated by the widest grin I've ever seen.
‘What a blast.’ he shook his head disbelievingly, ‘Who needs drugs when you can do this shit?’
Ben was back beside us, dripping wet and breathing heavily, ‘That was better than the Southern Ocean!’
We stared at each other, smiling, laughing. We did it. They did it. I looked behind, there was a solid, white wall of breaking seas, their glow a row of white fangs in the gloom. From here you wouldn't dream of going in there.
Scott emerged through the hatch to reinforce what was becoming apparent, ‘They haven't followed us. They're a mile back on the other side of the reef. We cracked it. Now let's get the kite up and put some distance between us,’ his business-like voice cut through the adrenalin drenched high on-deck, ‘Ben, set the spinnaker up, hoist this side, pole on the headstay.’ He leant down the hatch and yelled, ‘Katie, we're far enough clear of them now, come up and take the wheel so Peter can help with the hoist. Stow that rifle below Martin, we won't be needing it, for a while at least.’ He followed Ben forward. I dropped down the hatch and jammed the rifle into a bunk.
I struggled along the passage, the deck leaping and jumping under me. When I emerged from the main hatch Ben already had the spinnaker on the foredeck and was clipping the gear on. The boat was pounding forward now, heeled over, spray coming back in chunks. I caught one of these full in the face but barely noticed. Scott dragged me up to the mast and handed me a rope.
‘This is the spinnaker halyard,’ he shouted, head shaking to flick away the water running down his face, ‘you're going to hoist it here, while I tail the rope on the winch, right behind you there.’ he pointed. I looked back and could see Duval moving round the cockpit, setting up the sheets on to winches. But Scott was still talking, ‘As soon as it gets too hard to pull, you leave it to me to finish with the winch, then go back and get on the handles to help with the sheet, okay?’
I nodded.
‘Ready forward.’ shouted Ben. He was crouched by the leeward lifelines, balanced against the waves crashing over him, shirt and hair flapping. He seemed barely aware that the ocean and the boat were making a concerted effort to pluck him off and take him away.
Scott was already in the pit behind the mast, he yelled back, ‘Ok. Once she's clear you're on the sheet Ben. Ready Peter?’
Duval was standing by a windward winch with a rope loaded and in his hand, he nodded.
‘Bear away for the hoist Kate.’ Scott shouted aft. She span the wheel as Scott looked back to me, ‘Let's go Martin.’
I started to pull, there was eighty or ninety feet of this, and I figured none of them were going to be any easier than the one before.
‘Com'mon Martin, put your back into it.’ screamed Scott. I could feel him pull on the rope from his position behind me, it was whistling through my hands so fast I was hardly contributing anything. I went at it harder, breath starting to rise, snatching at the rope from the mast as fast as I could.
‘Good work guys, over half way.’ I could hear Duval's encouragement, but it was getting tougher now with every pull. I couldn't use just my arms any more, but had to lean my weight on it. I could hear Scott's laboured breathing. Then I felt Ben run down the deck past me and I knew we were close.
‘Five feet, she's starting to pop Scott, we need a grinder.’ shouted Duval.
I could hear the kite begin to open. I didn't need any more telling, the halyard was already impossible to move. I leapt past Scott, who was loading the rope into the self-tailer on the winch, and landed by the coffee grinder handles.
‘Go Martin!’ urged Ben, who was struggling to control the spinnaker sheet. I wound like hell, but with arms already weak from the halyard I might have been climbing a mountain towing the boat.
‘Guy's set Katie, steer it to help him.’ I heard Duval shout through the blood pounding in my ears. Then he was there beside me, the extra power on the handles made the difference. The spinnaker gave a final crack and set full. The boat lurched, staggered once under the new sail area, recovered, then lifted up her skirts and pounded forward.
‘Well done Martin, bloody good effort, take a break, I'll wind for a while.’ Duval patted me on the back, I looked up through my heaving breath and the sweat running into my eyes and smiled. ‘We'll make a grinder of you yet.’ he added.
I was still recovering five minutes later, by which time the others had all settled down. Duval was back on the helm, Kate had taken over trimming with Ben winding the handles for her, and Scott had disappeared down below. Behind us I could just see the other boat as we both bobbed up on waves. But under Duval's deft touch she was getting further away pretty quickly. The boat was surging forward, spray licking back all the way to the wheels as she heeled to the breeze.
‘What now?’ I said to no one in particular.
‘Scott's gone down to have a think about it.’ said Ben, in between bouts of winding. ‘You might as well get some rest while you can.’
That was what I wanted to hear, I picked my way aft through the hardware and loaded ropes and slid into the hatch. Scott was once more bent over the chart table.
‘You're still worried Scott.’ I said, it was a statement.
He looked up and shrugged, ‘They could pick their way through there in full daylight.’ He looked back at the radar, ‘They haven't tried it yet, but there must be nearly enough light now. It's given us a headstart, but not much. I'd like to see them turn around and go chase someone else. But they're not going to are they?’ He looked at me directly.
The elation of only moments before disappeared. I was silent.
‘You've really dropped us all in the shit, haven't you?’ Scott said with a sudden flash of temper.
I tensed, hackles rising, ‘Now wait a minute, he might be after me, but Duval was the one that got them onto us.’ I retorted.
Scott didn't respond immediately, the anger seemed to drain as fast as it had arisen. ‘We don't know that.’ he was looking right through me, his voice tired. ‘We don't know anything.’ He looked back down at the charts. I waited, but he didn't push the point any further. Instead, rubbing his forehead he slowly went on, ‘The only plan is to put as much distance between us and them as we can. Which means sailing at whatever angle takes us away from them the quickest.’
I nodded, having no idea how he could work that out. He picked up the computer mouse, and more images flashed up on the screen. This time it was a section of a complex spider's web pattern, radiating from a central point. The mouse clicked a couple more times and up came a number.
‘Which,’ said Scott, ‘if this latest forecast is correct, is
three hundred.’
‘How the hell does it work that out?’ I said.
Scott looked up and managed a weak half smile, ‘Some other time Martin, some other time.’
Chapter 25
I crawled into the nearest bunk, guilty at the realisation that I had already had more than my share of rest. Duval had steered for almost three straight watches. But he's the best in the world, an internal voice replied, what can you do? Nothing but wait.
I shifted constantly in my efforts to sleep. And finally managed a semi-conscious daze that made it impossible to distinguish between dream and reality. Scott's calls from the chart table. The wash and bubble flowing inches past my ears on the hull outside and the occasional hiss and crackle of static on the empty radio as Scott mayday'd for help. Kate's shouted commands from on deck, the clank and whirr of the winch gearing inches away on the inside of the hull, the crack of the sails, and all the time half aware that I might be called on at any moment. Was this what it was like to race these boats? The continual tension of something happening all around you. The only buffer was the bunk and permission to go down and rest. I was almost grateful when Duval came to fetch me.
The Defector Page 24
