by Wilbur Smith
it was good to have a deck under his feet again, Nicholas exulted.
He felt himself coming fully alive again.
I'm a sea-creature/ he grinned to himself. And I keep forgetting it. He
looked back to the low silhouette of the Bermuda islands, the receding
arms of Hamilton Harbour and the flecking of the multi-coloured
buildings amongst the cedar trees, and then returned his attention to
the spread charts on the navigation table before him.
Warlock was still at cautionary speed Even though the the channel was
wide and clearly buoyed, yet the coral reef on each hand was sharp and
hungry, and David Allen's full attention was on the business of conning
Warlock out into the open sea. But as they passed the 100, fathom line,
he gave the order to his deck officer, Full away at 0900, hours, pilot,
and hurried across to join Nicholas.
I didn't have much of a chance to welcome you on board, sir. Thank you,
David. It's good to be back. Nicholas looked up and smiled at him.
Will you bring her round on to 240 magnetic and increase to 80% power?
Quickly David repeated his order to the helm and then shifted from one
foot to the other, beginning to flush under the salt-water tan.
Mr. Berg, my officers are driving me mad. They've been plaguing me
since we left Cape Town, - are we running on a job - or is this a
pleasure cruise? Nicholas laughed aloud then. He felt the excitement
of the hunt, a good hot scent in the nostrils, and the prospect of a fat
prize. Now he had Warlock under him, his concern for Peter's safety had
abated. Whatever happened now, he could get there very fast. No, he
felt good, very good.
We're hunting, David/ he told him. Nothing certain yet, -he paused, and
then relented, Get Beauty Baker up to my cabin, tell Angel to send up a
big pot of coffee and a mess of sandwiches - I missed breakfast - and
while we eating, I'll fill both of you in. Beauty Baker accepted one of
Nicholas cheroots.
Still smoking cheap/ he observed, and sniffed at the four-dollar cheroot
sourly, but there was a twinkle of pleasure behind the smeared lenses of
his spectacles. Then, unable to contain himself, he actually grinned.
Skipper tells me we are hunting, is that right? This is the picture -
Nicholas began to spell it out to them in detail, and while he talked,
he thought with comfortable self-indulgence, I must be getting old and
soft I didn't always talk so much. Both men listened in silence, and
only when he finished did the two of them begin bombarding him with the
perceptive penetrating questions he had expected.
Sounds like a generator armature/ Beauty Baker guessed, as he puzzled
the contents of the wooden case that had been flown out to Golden Dawn.
I cannot believe that Golden Dawn doesn't carry a full set of mechanical
spares. While Baker was fully preoccupied with the mechanics of the
situation, David Allen concentrated on the problems of seamanship. What
was the range of the helicopter? Has it returned to base yet? With her
draught, she must be heading for the Florida Straits. Our best bet
would be to shape a course for Matanilla Reef at the mouth of the
Straits. There was a peremptory knock on the door of the guest cabin,
and the Trog stuck his grey wrinkled tortoise head through. He glanced
at Nicholas, but did not greet him.
Captain, Miami is broadcasting a new hurricane alert.
"Lorna" has kicked northwards, they're predicting a track of north
north-west and a speed over the ground of twenty knots. He closed the
door and they stared at each other in silence for a moment.
Nicholas spoke at last.
It is never one single mistake that causes disaster/ he said. It is
always a series of contributory errors, most of them of small
consequence in themselves - but when taken with a little bad luck -he
was silent a moment and then, softly, Hurricane Lorna could just be that
bit of bad luck. He stood up and took one turn around the small guest
cabin, feeling caged and wishing for the space of the Master's suite
which was now David Allen's. He turned back and suddenly he realized
Beauty Baker and David Allen, that they were hoping for disaster. They
were like two old sea wolves with the scent of the prey in their
nostrils. He felt his anger rising coldly against them, they were
wishing disaster on his son.
just one thing I didn't tell you/ he said. My son is on Golden Dawn.
The immense revolving storm that was code-named Lorna was nearing full
development. Her crest was reared high above the freezing levels so she
wore a splendid mane of frosted white ice particles that streamed out
three hundred miles ahead of her on the jet stream of the upper
troposphere.
From one side to the other, she now measured one hundred and fifty miles
across, and the power unleashed within her was of unmeasurable savagery.
The winds that blew around her centre tore the surface off the sea and
bore it aloft at speeds in excess of one hundred and fifty miles an
hour, generating precipitation that was as far beyond rain as death is
beyond life. Water filled the dense cloud-banks so that there was no
clear line between sea and air.
It seemed now that madness fed upon madness, and like a blinded and
berserk monster, she blundered across the confined waters of the
Caribbean, ripping the trees and buildings, even the very earth from the
tiny islands which stood in her path.
But there were still forces controlling what seemed uncontrollable,
dictating what seemed to be random, for, as she spun upon a spinning
globe, the storm showed the primary trait of gyroscopic inertia, a
rigidity in space that was constant as long as no outside force was
applied, Obeying this natural law, the entire system moved steadily
eastwards at constant speed and altitude above the surface of the earth,
until her northern edge touched the land-mass of the long ridge of land
that forms the greater Antilles.
Immediately another gyroscopic law came into force, the law of
precession. When a deflecting force is applied to the rim of a spinning
gyro, the gyro moves not away from, but directly towards that force.
Hurricane Lorna felt the land, and, like a maddened bull at the flirt of
the matador's cape, she turned and charged towards it, crossing the
narrow high strips of Haiti in an orgy of destruction and terror until
she burst out of the narrow channel of the Windward Passage into the
open beyond.
Yet still she kept on spinning and moving. Now, barely three hundred
miles ahead of her, across those shallow reefs and banks prophetically
named Hurricane Flats after the thousands of other such storms that had
followed the same route during the memory of man, lay the deeper waters
of the Florida Straits and the miinI and of the continental United
States of America.
At twenty miles an hour, the whole incredible heaven-high mass of crazed
wind and churning clouds trundled north-westwards.
Duncan Alexander stood under the bogus Degas ballet dancers in the
owner's stateroom. He balanc
ed easily on the balls of his feet and his
hands were clasped lightly behind his back, but his brow was heavily
furrowed with worry and his eyes darkly underscored with plum-coloured
swollen bags of sleeplessness.
Seated on the long couch and on the imitation Louis Quatorze chairs
flanking the fireplace, were the senior officers of Golden Dawn - her
Captain, Mate and Chief Engineer, and in the leather -studded
wing-backed chair as, the engineer from across the wide cabin sat
Charles Gr Atlantique. It seemed as though he had chosen his seat to
keep himself aloof from the owner and officers of the crippled
ultra-tanker.
He spoke now in heavily accented English, falling back on the occasional
French word which Duncan translated quickly, The four men listened to
him with complete attention, never taking their eyes from the sharp pale
Parisian features and the foxy bright eyes.
My men will have completed the re-assembly of the main bearing by noon
today. To the best of my ability, I have examined and tested the main
shaft. I can find no evidence of structural damage, but I must
emphasize that this does not mean that no damage exists. At the very
best, the repairs must be considered to be temporary. He paused and
they waited, while he turned deliberately to Captain Randle. I must
urge you to seek proper repair in the nearest port open to you, and to
proceed there at the lowest speed which will enable you efficiently to
work the ship.
Randle twisted uncomfortably in his seat, and glanced across at Duncan.
The Frenchman saw the exchange and a little steel came into his voice.
If there is structural distortion in the main shaft, operation at speeds
higher than this may result in permanent and irreversible damage and
complete breakdown. I must make this point most forcibly. Duncan
intervened smoothly. We are fully burdened and drawing twenty fathoms
of water. There are no safe harbours on the eastern seaboard of
America, that is even supposing that we could get permission to enter
territorial waters with engine trouble. The Americans aren't likely to
welcome us. Our nearest safe anchorage is Galveston roads, on the Texas
coast of the Gulf of Mexico - and then only after the tugs have taken
off our pod tanks outside the 100 --fathom line. The tanker's First
Officer was a young man, probably not over thirty years of age, but he
had so far conducted himself impeccably in the emergencies the ship had
encountered. He had a firm jaw and a clear level eye, and he had been
the first into the smoke-filled shaft tunnel.
With respect, sir/ and they all turned their heads towards him, 'Miami
has broadcast a revised hurricane alert that includes the Straits and
southern Florida. We would be on a reciprocal course to the hurricane
track, a directly converging course. Even at fifteen knots, we would be
through the Straits and into the Gulf with twenty-four hours to spare,
Duncan stated, and looked to Randle for confirmation.
At the present speed of the storm's advance - yes/ Randle qualified
carefully. But conditions may change with respect, sir. Our The Mate
persisted. Again, nearest safe anchorage is the lee of Bermuda Island
Do you have any idea of the value of this cargo? Duncan rasped. No, you
do not. Well, I will inform you. It is $85,000,000.. The interest on
that amount is in the region of $20,000 a day. His voice rose a note,
again that wild note to it. 'Bermuda does not have the facilities to
effect major repairs The door from the private accommodation opened
silently and Chantelle Alexander stepped into the stateroom.
She wore no jewellery, a plain pearl silk blouse and a simple dark
woollen skirt, but her skin had been gilded by the sun and she had
lightly touched her dark eyes with a make-up that emphasized their size
and shape. Her beauty silenced them all and she was fully aware of it
as she crossed to stand beside Duncan.
It is necessary that this ship and her cargo proceed directly to
Galveston/ she said softly.
Chantelle -'Duncan began, and she silenced him with a brusque gesture of
one hand.
There is no question about the destination and the route that is to be
taken. Charles Gras looked to Captain Randle, waiting for him to assert
the authority vested in him by law. But when the young Captain remained
silent, the Frenchman smiled sardonically and shrugged a world-weary
dismissal of further interest. Then I must ask that arrangements be
made for my two assistants and myself to leave this ship immediately we
have completed the temporary repairs. Again Gras emphasized the word
temporary'.
Duncan nodded. If we resume our sailing when you anticipate, and even
taking into consideration the low fuel of the helicopter, we will be
within easy range condition of the east coast of Florida by dawn
tomorrow., Chantelle had not taken her eyes from the Golden Dawn's
officers during this exchange, and now she went on in the same quiet
voice.
I am quite prepared to accept the resignation of any of the officers of
this ship who wish to join that flight., Duncan opened his mouth to make
some protest at her assumption of his authority, but she turned to him
with a small lift of the chin, and something in her expression and the
set of her head upon her shoulders reminded him forcibly of old Arthur
Christy. There was the same toughness and resilience there/ the same
granite determination; strange that he had not noticed it before.
Perhaps I have never looked before, he thought. Chantelle recognized
the moment of his capitulation, and calmly she turned back to face
Golden Dawn's officers.
One by one, they dropped their eyes from hers; Randle was the first to
stand up.
If you will excuse me, Mrs. Alexander, I must make preparations to get
under way again., Charles Gras paused and looked back at her, and he
smiled again, as only a Frenchman smiles at a pretty woman.
Magnifique! he murmured, and lifted one hand in a graceful salute of
admiration before he stepped out of the stateroom.
When Chantelle and Duncan were alone together, she turned to him slowly,
and she let the contempt show in her expression.
Any time you feel you have not got the guts for it, let me know, will
you? Chantelle! You have got us into this, me and Christy Marine. Now
you'll get us out of it, even if it kills you. Her lips compressed into
a thinner line and her eyes slitted vindictively.
And it would be nice if it did, she said softly.
The pilot of the Beech-craft Baron, pulled back the throttles to 2.2 of
boost on both engines, and slid the propellers into fully fine pitch,
simultaneously beginning a gentle descending turn towards the
extraordinary-looking vessel that came up swiftly out of the low early
morning haze that spilled over from the islands.
The same haze had blotted the low silhouette of the Florida coast from
the western horizon, and even the pale green water and shaded reefs of
little Bahamas Bank were washed pale by the haze, and partially
obscured
by the ittent layer of stratocumulus cloud at four thousand interm feet.
The Baron pilot selected 20 of flap to give the aircraft a nose down
attitude which would afford a better forward vision, and continued his
descent down through the cloud.
It burst in a brief grey puff across the windshield before they were out
into sunlight again.
What do you make of her? he asked his copilot.
She's a big baby! the copilot tried to steady his binoculars. 'Can't
read her name. The enormously wide low bows were pushing up a fat
sparkling pillow of churning water, and the green decks seemed to reach
back almost to the limits of visibility before rising sheer into the
stern quarters.
Son of a gun/ the pilot shook his head. She looks like the
vehicle-assembly building on Cape Kennedy. She does too/ agreed his
copilot. The same square unlovely bulk of that enormous structure was
repeated in smaller scale by the navigation bridge of the big ship.
"I'll give her a call on 16. The copilot lowered his binoculars and
thumbed the microphone as he lifted it to his lips. South-bound bulk
carrier, this is Coast Guard November Charlie One five Niner overhead.
Do you read me? There was the expected delay; even in confined and
heavily trafficked waters, these big bastards kept a sloppy watch and
the spotter fumed silently.
Coast Guard One five Niner, this is Golden Dawn.
Reading you five by five - Going up to 22. Two hundred miles away the
Trog knocked over the shell-casing, spilling damp and stinking cigar
butts over the deck, in his haste to change frequency to channel 22 as
the operator on board Golden Dawn had stipulated, at the same time
switching in both the tape recorder and the radio direction-finder
equipment.
High up in Warlock's fire-control tower, the big metal ring of the
direction-finding aerial turned slowly, lining up on the transmissions
that boomed so clearly across the ether, repeating the relative bearing
on the dial of the instrument on the Trog's cluttered bench.
Good morning to you, Golden Dawn, the lilting Southern twang of the
coastguard navigator came back. I would be mightily obliged for your
port of registry and your cargo manifest. This ship is registered
Venezuela. The Trog dexterously made the fine tuning, scribbled the
