Zac was wrestling with the helm when he noticed a supertanker draw alongside Serenité. Its massive bow smashed through the same seas that were tossing the sailboat around like a child’s toy. Zac stood motionless, awed by the display of raw power. Another wave exploded in front of the ship as the two forces collided. White water shot hundreds of feet to the sides. A wall of spray soared into the air. The effect was hypnotic as the giant ship moved rhythmically and soundlessly along its course.
Despite the drama of the tanker crashing through the seas, Zac realized that he hadn’t even been aware of its presence until it had been abreast Serenité. If it had approached directly behind the sailboat, Zac would be dead. He attempted to adjust the radar again, playing with the settings until most of the false contacts were eliminated. Its effective range was barely one mile, but it was better than nothing.
With the radar somewhat functional and visibility hovering around a thousand yards, Zac sailed in front of the tanker and ducked behind two other ships. He was making steady progress, but the weather continued to deteriorate as he sailed farther offshore. Even in the darkness, the surface of the sea was laced with veins of white, windswept water. Gusts over forty knots were common, sounding like low-flying jets as they blew past, yet he could reduce sail no further.
At one point Zac realized that he’d been neglecting the radar. He glanced down and discovered a large number of blips spread across the left-hand side of the screen. He stared at the monitor, thinking that the big waves were again wreaking havoc with the returns, but when he popped his head up and looked to the west, a kaleidoscope of faint lights dotted the horizon. For a moment he thought he’d spotted land, but he was still thirty-eight nautical miles from England. The lights were from a dozen large ships, all headed northeast, directly across his path. He realized that he’d been on the outskirts of the sea-lanes before. Now he was about to sail through the busiest shipping channel in the world.
FIFTY-THREE
THE THIRTY-KNOT WINDS and twenty-foot seas did not deter the professional mariners from their work, and Serenité’s radar revealed a loose flotilla of merchant ships closing in from the southwest. But as Zac looked out over the Channel at night, he could see nothing but a smattering of flickering lights. Getting safely across the sea-lanes would be like crossing a freeway on foot.
Serenité soon passed in front of a commercial fishing boat. Zac watched as its bow plunged into the heavy seas and spray cascaded over its bridge. A massive container ship, much like the M/V Castor, appeared a few moments later. It was moving faster than the fishing boat and he decided not to risk crossing in front of it. He turned northeast, heading parallel to the bigger ship. Zac stared in awe of its size while he waited for it to outrun him.
But every minute he waited was a minute spent heading in the wrong direction; another minute that he’d have to spend beating his way back to England in the horrific weather. The container ship ultimately passed without incident and Zac once again steered for Eastbourne.
The ship traffic continued to increase until a single massive radar return edged onto the radar screen. It was the biggest one he’d seen, and it was headed right for him. When it closed to within a half mile of Serenité, Zac looked up to see that the single radar blip was actually two large ships running close together. There wasn’t enough time to duck behind the first ship and he wouldn’t make it in front of the second one. He would have to thread the needle, passing in front of the first ship then behind the second. In good weather it would require seamanship and a little bit of luck. Tonight, it would require a miracle.
The distance to the first ship closed quickly. Her lights were moving erratically, not pitching up and down like the other vessels fighting the heavy seas. Zac had been managing his fear all night, focused intently on his goal of making it to England. Only when Serenité was nearly in front of the first ship did he become truly terrified. It was an enormous auto carrier and it was out of control. The top-heavy, slab-sided ship was rolling precariously from side to side. It hadn’t been designed for heavy winds and looked as if it might capsize each time it rolled.
Zac sailed past the auto carrier until he was halfway between the two ships. The second vessel was a heavily laden container ship like many others he’d seen. As he’d done before, he turned to the northeast, running parallel to the two mammoth vessels, while he waited for the container ship to pass him.
The slow-motion gyrations of the auto carrier became more extreme, with the ship veering slightly toward Serenité and the container ship each time it rolled. Zac found himself trapped between the out-of-control auto carrier on his right and the container ship on his left. If something didn’t change, there was a very real chance that the two ships might collide, and Zac would be crushed between a half-million tons of steel.
The alarming condition of the auto carrier hadn’t escaped the container ship either. Her captain was shouting over the radio and sounding her horns. The deep, brassy sound bellowed through the storm, but neither the radio nor the horns elicited a response from the auto carrier.
Zac’s only chance was to try to stop the sailboat and let the two ships sail past. He would be dead in the water, facing into the waves and wind, but it was his only option. If he didn’t act quickly, Serenité would be pulverized.
He turned toward the wind and was immediately knocked down. A wave crashed over the side, sending a flood of white water rushing across the deck. It lifted him off his feet and slammed him into the railing. He struggled to catch his breath as icy seawater covered his face. A second wave and a howling gust spun the sailboat back to the north, filling her sail with wind and pushing her to within a few hundred feet of the container ship.
Zac pulled his battered body off the rail and turned Serenité parallel to the container ship on his left. The auto carrier was less than two hundred feet to his right, and closing the gap with each gyration. The container ship had begun to slowly turn away, but it was clear that the two ships were going to collide. Zac had one last chance to avoid being crushed. He turned Serenité in a tight circle as he attempted to hold position while the monstrous vessels steamed past.
The auto carrier was rolling thirty degrees to each side. As long as a city block and twelve stories high, it blocked out the sky above Zac’s head when it rolled.
The gap between the ships shrank to less than two hundred feet. Zac aimed for a spot just behind the container ship and punched through its enormous wake. He was less than one hundred feet behind the two vessels when the auto carrier rolled again, striking the container ship and filling the air with the screech of metal scraping against metal. Dozens of containers tumbled into the water between the two ships when the auto carrier rolled away. Several seconds later it rolled into the faster-moving container ship a second time, knocking more containers overboard and tearing a hole in the auto carrier’s side. Cars plunged into the water as it rolled away, leaving a minefield of slowly sinking debris on the surface. Zac tore his gaze away from the destruction and focused on staying alive. He was still in the sea-lanes.
A few minutes later he passed behind another tanker, and a gap opened up that allowed him to turn back toward Eastbourne. Despite nearly being crushed between the two ships, Serenité had held up well, but the same could not be said for Zac. His shoulder and back were badly hurt from being slammed into the rail and he tasted blood in his mouth, though he couldn’t remember how it got there.
Chatter on the VHF radio picked up dramatically. From its U.K. base station, Her Majesty’s Coastguard was interrogating the two ships that had collided. The auto carrier was still out of control and had sustained numerous injuries among its crew, prompting her captain to issue a Mayday call. The container ship was understandably upset but positioning itself to help if necessary. They each mentioned that a sailing yacht had been in the middle of the fracas although no one knew if it had been damaged or sunk. Darkness and the weather conditions prevented anyone fr
om getting the sailboat’s name. The coastguard station hailed the anonymous vessel over the radio but Zac did not answer.
Serenité hadn’t been identified by the coastguard, but Zac knew that there were enough shore, ship, and maybe even aircraft-based radars turning to track him if they wanted to. Collisions at sea were dangerous and expensive, and there was a real risk that the authorities might intercept him for questioning. They probably wouldn’t board him in such dangerous weather, but they might send a cutter or a helicopter to identify him. Worse still, if they thought he was in danger, the coastguard might launch a search-and-rescue operation.
As he’d done so often when backed into a corner, Zac went on the offensive. Affecting a thick French accent, he shouted into the radio to be heard over the wind.
“Coastguard, coastguard, Indomptable, over.” He gave a false name in case Serenité had already been reported stolen.
“Indomptable, this is Dover coastguard. Go ahead.”
“I am the yacht that saw l’accident, over.”
“Roger, Indomptable. Are you all right? Can you describe what you saw during the collision? Over.”
“I am fine. I do NOT require assistance. The car ship was very . . . unbalanced. It crashed into the other one.”
“Indomptable, where were you when you first spotted the two vessels?”
“I was south of them . . . Une minute.” Zac clicked off the radio for a minute. He wanted to appear helpful but didn’t want to get tripped up by too many questions.
“Sorry, I am alone and must sail the boat in the violent winds. Can I telephone you when I make port?”
“Indomptable, we have no record of you registering your crossing at Cap Gris-Nez or Dover. What is your destination in the U.K.?”
“I am not making land. I am returning to Cherbourg tonight.”
The radio went quiet for a moment and Zac began to second-guess his decision to radio in.
“Indomptable. Can you put in at Dover?”
Not a chance in hell . . .
“I do not think it is safe for me to go into a strange port in this weather.”
The radio went quiet for half a minute.
“Indomptable, you may proceed on course but you are instructed to call MRCC Dover as soon as your workload permits or immediately upon making land. Do you copy? Over.”
“Oui, Coastguard, merci. Indomptable out.”
They weren’t happy, but the coastguard seemed to be placated for now.
Navigating through the ship traffic in the sea-lanes had taken Zac far off course. The wind speed had dropped into the low thirties, but his new heading had him plowing into the face of the steep waves. White water broke over the bow with every second or third wave and he was making less than two knots toward land. Zac was battered and exhausted. He stood numbly at the wheel and tried to keep Serenité under control.
Neither he nor the boat could continue like this for much longer. He’d sailed so far off course that the English town of Hastings was now half the distance to his original destination in Eastbourne. The course to Hastings would also put the wind on his beam, allowing him to sail faster. He turned north and immediately felt the boat accelerate.
Serenité closed within ten miles of shore and the wind speed dropped into the low twenties. Though the seas were still rough, the conditions had subsided enough to set the autopilot for a few minutes. He was exhausted, cold, and sore, but grateful for the dry suit. It had undoubtedly saved his life.
Scattered patches of night sky broke through the cloud cover as the storm blew itself out. Zac yawned several times as his adrenaline rush subsided. He closed his eyes for a moment and thought of Genevieve.
* * *
• • •
“INDOMITABLE, INDOMITABLE . . .”
He had a vague sense that someone was speaking. He opened his eyes and squinted at his gloves. They were stiff from gripping the cold wheel. They looked more like hooks than hands. He flexed them slowly, trying to . . .
“Indomitable, Indomitable, this is HMS Raider, over.”
There was that voice again. If he could just sleep for a few minutes more . . .
The glare of a searchlight became visible. It swept the surface and found Serenité after a few seconds. Zac snapped out of his stupor.
“Indomitable, Indomitable, this is HMS Raider. Do you copy? Over.”
In his sleepy trance, Zac had forgotten that he’d told the coastguard that the boat’s name was Indomptable. The Brits had simply anglicized it. They’d been calling on the radio and now there was a damned Royal Navy ship a quarter mile off his port beam.
“Raider, this is Indomptable, over,” Zac said.
“Indomitable, is it your intention to make port in the United Kingdom? Over.”
“Negatif, Raider. I am sailing close to shore only for the calmer waters, over.”
“And then?”
“Home to Calais.”
The radio went quiet for several seconds.
“Stand by, Indomitable . . .”
Zac could see the navy ship begin to turn toward him, the searchlight never leaving the sailboat.
“Indomitable, repeat your final destination.”
“Calais . . .” Even as he spoke the word, his exhausted mind knew something wasn’t right.
“Indomitable, we understood you to be sailing on to Cherbourg. Have you changed your plan? Over.”
“Non, Raider. Sorry, I am very tired. I am heading back to Cherbourg. I am going to sail along the shore for a break from the big winds, and then I go home.”
Zac watched HMS Raider approach. The navy ship turned out to be a large patrol boat. Apropos of nothing, he thought whoever was on the searchlight was doing a hell of a good job keeping Serenité in the beam as the two vessels pitched and rolled in the weather. Zac also needed to keep Raider away from his stern. The wrong home port had landed him in jail in Dubai and he didn’t need the Brits reading Serenité from Dieppe where it should have said Indomptable from Cherbourg.
Raider pulled abreast Serenité, fifty yards off her port side. Zac was again grateful for the miserable weather conditions. On a calm night the navy vessel probably would have tied up alongside. Raider doused her searchlight and matched the sailboat’s speed and course. The patrol boat was made of steel, and a little over sixty feet in length. A .50-caliber machine gun was mounted on her bow and a nest of electronics sat atop her deckhouse. For several minutes the two vessels sailed on parallel courses. Zac guessed there were night-vision binoculars and maybe even a thermal scope watching him in addition to radar. He went on with his normal routine, trimming the sail, manning the wheel, and trying his hardest to look too busy to talk.
Raider confirmed one more time that Zac would not be making landfall in the U.K. then slowly motored away, repeating the coastguard’s instructions to call in ASAP regarding the collision. Zac cursed as he studied the GPS. He suddenly had a new and very serious problem. He couldn’t dock the boat in England.
He switched on the autopilot and went below.
Zac hauled himself back on deck ten minutes later. HMS Raider was nowhere to be seen. He turned Serenité hard and headed straight for the English coastline. Each yard, each foot closer, could mean the difference between life and death. The radio chirped after just a few minutes.
“Indomitable, Indomitable. This is HMS Raider, over.”
“Go ahead, Raider, this is Indomptable,” Zac said.
“Indomitable, please put in at the marina that is two miles north-northwest of your position, and we will follow you to shore. We will take your statement there.”
“Ahh, oui, Raider. I am still returning to Cherbourg. I turn north just now only to make the better tack for home. Over.”
“Indomitable, please change course immediately or your vessel will be subject to search and seizure.”
&nb
sp; “Roger. I am turning now and then going below to make some dinner. Désolé, mes amis. Indomptable out.”
He hoped the charming Frenchman routine would keep the Royal Navy off his case for a while.
The trip across the Channel had been brutal and now he was barely two miles from the English coast and forbidden to put ashore. He set course for Cherbourg. With the autopilot engaged and the wind from the southwest, the sailboat could sail straight to France on a single tack. Zac shook his head as he watched the English coastline recede slowly in his wake.
He looked over Serenité. She’d held up well and kept him safe during the worst storm he’d ever experienced. He owed her his life. So it was with distinctly mixed emotions that he trimmed the mainsail, stepped to the rail, and plunged into the sea.
FIFTY-FOUR
THE FORTY-THREE-DEGREE WATER enveloped Zac’s body as he sank into the night sea. He struggled to orient himself in the black water, to distinguish the surface from the deep. The only sensations were the sounds of the splash and the feel of cold water on the exposed skin of his face. Slowly he floated upward. His head poked above the waves. Zac rose and fell with the sea, riding awkwardly atop the large swells. He watched as Serenité sailed on under autopilot, already thirty yards distant and moving quickly. He couldn’t catch her if he tried, but he wasn’t planning on swimming back to the boat anyway.
When he’d seen the dry suit back in Dieppe, its value had been obvious. Warm clothing had been the reason for his foray into the shop. The scuba gear he’d taken merely as an afterthought, an insurance policy against perils unknown, and now he’d bet his life on it. He looked over the waves toward a sandy beach and oriented himself with the compass that was a part of his dive instruments. He needed to swim due north to reach the English coast.
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