Risky Business

by W. Soliman

  “What’s happening?” Cleo asked.

  “Not sure.” I was even more concerned when a second shudder swayed the boat violently sideways. I slowed the engine to just above idle. In such a big sea stopping altogether would be worse than keeping a little power on.

  “Stay put, we’re quite safe.” I tried to sound calm and convincing. “I just need to take a look in the engine room.”

  “What do you need me to do?” she asked, whey-faced but gamely offering to pull her weight.

  “Just keep a lookout and shout if you see any other vessels anywhere near us.” I didn’t add that we might need their help. “There’s nothing showing on the radar so I doubt you’ll see anything.”

  “Nothing else stupid enough to be out in this sea,” she grumbled.

  “I won’t be a moment.”

  The conditions made it difficult to stand upright, and I was only able to open the hatch to the engine room after several attempts. I donned earphones, descended the ladder into my spotless shrine and groaned. Several inches of seawater had flooded the bilge and was rising fast toward the metal floor, and I didn’t have a clue where it was coming from. There was a Force Six wind whipping up the sea, and we were still miles from the Beaulieu River with no other ships currently anywhere near us.

  I waded farther into the enclosed space, crouched double since there was insufficient headroom for me to stand upright, trying to think where the water could be coming from. It didn’t take me long to figure it out.

  The stern glands kept all but a controlled drop of seawater out of the boat. If loosened, there would be some vibration but it wouldn’t be immediately noticeable at the helm if there was a big sea running, as there was right now. Had that not been the case, and had I not been concerned about Cleo’s seasickness, I’d probably have noticed the problem before it got this bad. Water had gradually flooded into the engine room, almost overwhelming the bilge pumps. That would have set off an alarm but fortunately the vibration had alerted me to the problem before it got to that stage. Even so, I couldn’t figure out how it had happened. I’m obsessively careful about things like this and check them regularly. I’d done so just before leaving for this trip.

  Or had I?

  I’d certainly intended to but I’d been preoccupied with Cleo, who’d again been grilling me about Andrea Garnet. I’d taken several calls simultaneously whilst doing the engine room checks and I suppose it could have been overlooked. I examined the bolt, which had worked loose enough on the port side to let all this water in. Cursing the oversight, I attempted to screw it back in but it fell apart in my hand.

  I was left holding one half of a bolt that had sheared completely through. This was deliberate sabotage. Who? Why? Feeling ready to commit murder, I grabbed some rags and tried to tie them in thick, tight bundles round the two parts of the shaft. It was an almost impossible feat. Crouched double, I was constantly knocked sides, cursing as I battled the elements and the confined space. Progress was abruptly halted when a particularly large wave crashed against the starboard beam, pitching me off my feet. I fell awkwardly, bashing my head against the protruding dial on a pump. The insecure rags fell away from the shaft, treating me to a shower of dirty water straight in the face.

  “Fuck it!”

  I saw stars as I knelt in the grimy water, blinking my way back into focus, and felt blood trickling down the side of my face. I ignored it and renewed my efforts, striving to remain calm and focused.

  At the third attempt I managed a rough repair. It was slipshod but would only need to hold for the next hour.

  Exhausted from fighting the conditions, the water in the engine room and the engine itself, I all but staggered back to the wheelhouse.

  “What’s happened?” Cleo asked, looking paler than ever.

  “A loose pipe, that’s all.”

  No point in us both worrying. I pushed the throttle forward and increased our speed. At least the wind appeared to have shifted direction and was now behind us, pushing us along and giving us a slightly smoother ride.

  “You’re bleeding,” she said.

  “It’s nothing. I just knocked my head on a pipe.”

  “I’ll clean it for you.”

  “It can wait.”

  “No, it can’t.”

  In spite of her seasickness she insisted on getting the first aid kit out and patching me up. I let her do it, figuring it would take her mind off her queasiness. And stop her asking questions about what was wrong with the boat.

  “There you go,” she said, slapping a plaster over the cut. “You’ll live.”

  “You have a wonderful bedside manner, Ms. Kendall.”

  “Which is more than you deserve, given what you’ve put me through.”

  I actually chuckled at that one, earning myself a light punch on the arm. Then I unfastened my sodden jeans and stepped out of them.

  “Get me a clean pair from the cabin, would you?” I asked, throwing the dirty ones at her.

  Whilst she was gone I returned my attention to our situation, wondering how best to deal with it. We were too early to get down the river safely but I couldn’t afford to wait. I had no idea how long my repair would hold. The alternative was to put out a distress call, but by the time help arrived, we could be at Hal’s. What to do?

  We’d reached the mouth of the river so it was decision time. If I stuck to the centre of the channel, I had a chance of making it. If something was coming the other way it would be another story, but there was no point in thinking about that unless it happened. I radioed the marina and told them I had problems.

  “No Comment, we’ll warn any other vessels using the river,” the marina office said, “but a lot of people don’t bother to switch their radio on. Nor are they required to.”

  As if I didn’t already know that. Still, if I got into an argument with another boat at least I’d covered my back.

  I slowed right down again, my eyes swivelling between the river and the echo sounder, hoping to hell that we’d touch sand and not rocks if we did hit the bottom. Cleo looked much better now that we weren’t being thrown about but had the sense to keep quiet and let me concentrate on keeping us afloat.

  Sod’s law, we’d almost made it when a sailboat came the other way, its helmsman gesticulating wildly and letting forth with a string of foul language when I didn’t give way, as I should have done. I tried him on the radio but he didn’t respond. Sailors resented motorboaters at the best of times, and when we behaved in the manner I was, it did little to restore relations. Well, they weren’t exactly perfect themselves if they didn’t turn their bloody radios on. Fortunately the yacht was able to lurk in a deep mooring until I’d passed him. I had no doubt my behaviour would be reported to the harbourmaster and was glad I’d forewarned the marina of my problems.

  We reached Hal’s house and he was standing on his dock, long salt-and-pepper hair blowing around his face like an untidy halo as he raised an arm in greeting. I acknowledged him as I fired up the wing engine, engaged the bow and stern thrusters and eased the No Comment sideways until I made soft contact with the floating pontoon. Satisfied the boat wouldn’t drift far from the dock, I disengaged the thrusters to prevent running the batteries down, left the wing station and threw the ropes to Hal.

  Now that we were safe, the gravity of my situation struck home. If I’d gone to France as planned, this incident wouldn’t have happened close to the mouth of a friendly river but in the middle of one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world. Somebody wanted me dead, or at the very least badly frightened. And given my recent activities, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who that someone had to be.

  Hal caught the lines, looped them round the bollards on the pontoon and threw them back to me so I could make them fast on the deck cleats. Once the boat was secure, I cut the engines, closed down all my naviga
tional equipment and uncoiled the shore power cable. I’d turned off the radar before negotiating the river. I could navigate by sight and couldn’t understand why people kept the old microwaves churning away unnecessarily.

  Once Hal had attached the power cable to the box on the dock, I plugged in my end and checked the gauge on the switch panel to make sure the supply was coming through. I nipped down to the engine room, relieved to see that my unsophisticated repair had held and that the water level hadn’t risen. Now that there was no water flowing over the propeller, the bilge pumps would be able to do their job. Even so, I needed to get someone to repair that stern gland pronto.

  “Ready?” I asked Cleo, emerging from the engine room.

  “As I ever will be.”

  “You look a little better.” I pinched her cheek. “You have some colour back now. Sorry you had to go through that.”

  “Not as sorry as you will be when I get you alone,” she growled.

  “Don’t make promises you have no intention of keeping, wench!”

  “Oh, I shall keep it. And, just so we’re clear, it’s not a promise. It’s a threat.”

  I winked at her. “That’s good to know.”

  She glanced ashore and gasped. Well, Hal’s house was the size of a country hotel and tended to have that effect on people. I squeezed her hand, helped her step ashore and then did so myself, Gil bounding ahead of me as I took Hal’s outstretched hand. He clasped my shoulder in the way that men do when they’re pleased to see someone but don’t want to appear effeminate.

  “This is Cleo,” I said to Hal. “Cleo, meet our host, Hal Faraday.”

  Hal offered Cleo an appreciative smile and took her hand in both of his. “Welcome, my dear.”

  “Thanks,” she said, looking slightly less apprehensive.

  Gil, not wishing to be excluded, leapt up at Hal, who admired the scruffy hound and tickled his ears. Having satisfied himself that he was welcome, he tore up the steps to the garden, lifted his leg against a plant pot and peed for an eternity.

  “Oh, by the way, I hope you don’t mind this mutt coming along.” I nodded toward Gil.

  “Not at all. We like dogs. What’s his name?”

  “Guilty but it causes less confusion when I shorten it to Gil.”

  Hal chuckled. “So I would imagine.” He glanced with amusement in Gil’s direction, apparently unconcerned by the use of his garden as a toilet. “Good trip, Charlie?”

  “A bit lumpy in places but this boat is made for those sorts of seas.”

  Cleo made a disgruntled sound at the back of her throat but remained silent.

  “Probably takes them better than my tub.”

  My lips twitched. His tub was a hundred-and-twenty-foot superyacht. “Actually, I did have a spot of bother with a stern gland coming loose. Does Mike still run that marine engineering shop in Bucklers Hard?”

  “Yes, you can ring him from the house. I’m sure he’ll be able to pop over.” Hal grabbed one of the overnight bags I’d hauled onto the dock and smiled at Cleo. “Come on, Gloria’s anxious to see you both.”

  We walked across the pristine lawn together, Gil bounding ahead of us, anxious to explore this new environment. Gloria was standing on the terrace, waving and smiling as we approached her. Dressed casually in wide leg trousers and a soft sweater that was probably cashmere, she was the epitome of country chic. No one would think she was in her fifties. I could still see why Hal had pursued her so relentlessly once he got over the death of his first wife. There was just something about her, some innate elegance and air of self-containment, that set her apart.

  “Charlie!” She had no compunction about hugging me and proceeded to do precisely that. “It’s been too long. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. And I don’t need to ask how you are. You look as lovely as ever.”

  “Oh, you old charmer you.” She turned toward Cleo with a smile. “But who’s this?”

  I introduced Cleo. Gloria’s welcome was as warm as her husband’s and I felt Cleo’s hand relax in mine. Gloria linked her arm through Cleo’s and led us into the house. “How’s Harry?” she asked over her shoulder. “You should have brought him along.”

  “I’ve just had him for a week but he’s back with Emily now.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  I followed them into the spacious living room that afforded an uninterrupted view over the river. Hal handed out drinks. He didn’t bother to ask us what we wanted, assuming that vintage champagne covered all the bases. It was wasted on me so I quickly drained my glass and asked which room they’d put us in.

  “I’m not fit for company right now.” I nodded toward my hands, which still bore traces of oil. “A disagreement with my engine on the trip down,” I explained. “Let me have a quick shower, if that’s okay, and then we can talk. But first I’d better walk that mutt before he completely destroys your garden.” We all looked toward Gil, who was barking frantically at the base of a tree, presumably thinking that would entice the squirrels down from their lofty vantage point.

  “Okay,” Gloria said. “You do that whilst Cleo and I get better acquainted. But don’t be long. I want to know everything that’s happened to you since we last met.”

  “She means it.” Hal rolled his eyes. “Don’t say that you haven’t been warned.”

  I left them to enjoy their drinks and rounded Gil up. We walked to Buckler’s Hard and I called at Mike’s marine engineering business. He understood my problem and promised to have it fixed first thing in the morning.

  When I rejoined Hal and Gloria I felt cleaner and more respectable. Cleo was on her second glass of champagne and appeared more relaxed. I sat down beside her and took her hand.

  “Ready for a proper drink now, Charlie?” Hal asked.

  “Yeah, whisky would be good.”

  “Coming up.”

  We chatted about inconsequential matters for a while but I could see that my scintillating small talk wasn’t exactly holding their attention.

  “How’s it going with the team?” I asked. His powerboat racing team was Hal’s abiding passion. He’d pulled back a bit on his commitments in order to follow the team around Europe. Canny businessman that he is, he set the team up with his own funds but then had his company act as its sponsor, taking advantage of the tax breaks that afforded him and providing himself with a glamorous stage upon which to entertain his corporate clients. “When does the season start?”

  “Next month. The first Grand Prix is in Malta.” Hal exchanged a look with Gloria. “If we make it, that is.”

  “Any reason why you shouldn’t? I thought you did okay last season, for a new team with money to burn, that is.”

  Hal managed a weak smile that didn’t come close to troubling his eyes. “It was a steep learning curve. We ought to do better this season.”

  “Do I sense a but in there somewhere?”

  “Well, we’ve had a few problems with our preparations.”

  “In what respect?”

  “Oh, just trivial things at first,” Hal said, “and we hardly gave them a thought. Dirty fuel made the engines misbehave, but we put that down to bad luck.” He shrugged. “It happens. Then spares didn’t arrive when they should have because someone forgot to pay for them, that sort of stuff. Lots of little niggles. I figured at first that the team was being lazy so I gave them a rollicking, warned them to get their act together and thought no more about it.”

  “Until the drivers missed their annual medicals and the team almost got disqualified as a consequence,” Gloria said.

  “How the hell did that happen?”

  “They weren’t informed of the date, apparently.”

  “Who, your crew or the team manager?”

  “Oh, Josh Harling knew. He’s team manager and swears he sent emails to Simon
, Dave and Paul confirming the date. And I know he did because he showed me them in his sent file. Trouble is, Simon and Dave didn’t confirm they’d received them and Josh forgot to chase them up. Paul was the only one who turned up at the appointed time.”

  “Paul?” I already had a nasty feeling about this. “He drives for you?” I elevated a brow, trying to keep my tone casual. “I didn’t know that.”

  “He’s our reserve. Every team has to have a least three licenced pilots to comply with the rules.”

  “So how come Paul received his email and the other two didn’t?”

  “I’ve no idea frankly but they say they didn’t and I believe them. They know how important the medicals are and wouldn’t risk disqualification by missing them.” Hal frowned. “But I don’t understand how they went astray. One disappearing into cyberspace I can accept, but two…”

  I didn’t say anything for a moment but was put in mind of Kara Webb’s sister, whose husband had turned his nefarious talents to cybercrime. After that particular skirmish I knew only too well that anyone who knows what they’re doing can infiltrate someone else’s computer system with ease. I immediately suspected Paul. Deflecting emails from a given server ought to be child’s play but that might not have been necessary. Not if he knew the other two pilots’ passwords. People were incredibly lax about that sort of thing, often keying them in when others were watching. Paul would have been able to access their email, delete the incoming messages before they had a chance to read them, and no one would be any the wiser. And it was just the sort of thing he wouldn’t have any scruples about doing.

  Paul had always been a snoop. Just after Mum died, I’d found him in my room on a couple of occasions. He said he was looking for something to read but I knew that was bullshit. What he was actually doing was going through my stuff, looking for chinks in my armour so he could use them against me to ingratiate himself with Dad. Knowledge had always represented power to Paul and I doubted whether that situation had changed.