Johnny had seen something on the radar screen and asked that I come down to the main cabin. I stared at the revolving beam on the oscilloscope. A bright, elongated blip emerged from the radar shadow of the headland. It had to be the ‘Moby Dick’. There were not that many big cruisers moored at Cayman Brac.
I started the engines. John Senior, who had been asleep on the bench in the cabin woke immediately, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and came over to me wanting to look at the scope.
“It’s the cruiser all right. She’s on the move. Get the anchor up,” he ordered. “Follow them, but keep a four to five mile distance - do it for a short while and see what happens. They’re bound to see us on their radar and no doubt will guess that it’s us.”
Johnny had joined us, along with Bess and Maria, all waiting their turn to stare at the scope.
Maria lifted her head from the console.
“What do you think they’re going to do?” she asked.
I shook my head; her guess was as good as mine.
“I don’t know, but if I was them I would wait until we are in international waters and then approach us,” I ventured. “Where do you think they’re heading?” I asked Johnny and his father.
John Senior rubbed his fingers over the stubble of his beard.
“It looks like Jamaica - probably Kingston.”
That certainly gave me something to reflect on. “Christ! I can’t go there, they don’t allow South Africans on the island - certainly not whites.”
Johnny chuckled. “I don’t think you need worry about that. Something tells me this will be over before we need worry where they are going. What I do think is that we don’t want to see Whittle again...” He tapped the console that housed the radarscope with his fingers. “Look at that, they’re already slowing. It seems that the moment we are in international waters they’ll make a move. They’re certainly not trying to get away from us.”
A quick glance at the revolving oscilloscope beam told me he was right. The ‘Moby Dick’ had not yet speeded up, and was doing no more than ten knots.
“Okay folks, if you want to wash or freshen up you’d better do it now,” the old man said.
The women were the first to use the cruiser’s head and small washing cubicle. Johnny senior disappeared into the engine room and emerged moments later carrying two rifles still in their rifle boots. He unbuckled the flap of one and withdrew the weapon. It was a Remington 30-06 hunting rifle but without a telescopic sight.
“We normally use these to go after shark which try and attack the hooked game fish. I mean that’s what everybody believes and this is true to an extent. However, acts of piracy still occasionally occur in the Caribbean, so we use these for protection as well. Cuba is just round the corner and occasionally you come across their gunboats.” John Senior laughed exposing his bare gums. “Of course, we don’t show them the weapons.”
He kept one rifle and handed the other to his son. He then produced one of the rocket launchers I had previously been shown.
“Peter, do you know how this works?” he asked me.
I nodded.
“Where to you learn how to handle it?” the old man asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise, not able to hide his curiosity.
“The Angolan war in South Africa. The American CIA had issued these to the UNITA rebels who were friends of South Africa. We both were fighting the MPLA and the Cubans.”
“All right - it’s all yours. Just don’t miss, we’ve only got this and one other, and with this swell running, the boat’s pitching like a bitch.” He looked towards the cruiser’s bow, which swung through an arc of six to eight feet every time the boat collided with a new wave. “Don’t fire until you’re sure. Remember, he probably has a Russian or Chinese RPG - there are quite a number of them around. You know what we’re expecting from you. I’m hoping he’ll want to shoot first and in his haste, and with the boat rolling as it is, he’ll miss.” he said with the scorn of someone who believes himself to be a sure winner.
Unfortunately, I didn’t share his sentiments and remained silent. What I did know was that our weapon was more powerful than any Russian RPG rocket launcher.
About an hour later, we were well beyond the twelve-mile limit and out of sight of land. John Senior’s prediction was correct - the ‘Moby Dick’ was now headed for Kingston, or so her current course indicated.
Maria waved me back into the cabin. She held the satellite instrument out to me. I thought I had heard it’s warbling sound.
“It’s Gavin,” she said. I took the phone.
“Peter, is that you?”
“”Yes, where are you?” I asked.
“Miami - but I’m ready to leave whenever you say so.”
“Just stay put. A great deal has happened here and some more is about to happen. What I need you to do is find somewhere in the Caribbean where South Africans are acceptable. We’re on a boat heading for Jamaica but I can’t land there with my South African passport. Once you’ve worked something out, please come back to me and tell me where you are heading.” I looked at John Senior who nodded his head. “Make sure the government accepts South African passport-holders. If so, the boat can drop me off there.”
“Okay, I’ll check around and get back to you. I see a hurricane passed through the Caymans. We got a whiff of it here. Are you guys okay?” Gavin asked.
“It was wild in more ways than one, but I’ll tell you about it later. How’s everybody?” I asked.
“Fine. Okay, I’ll check again with you later to-day.”
I thought Venezuela was the best and nearest place to head for. At least their government had not yet totally ostracized South Africa. Maybe Gavin would come up with something better, but I did not think so. The world hated South Africans.
Suddenly John Senior shouted.
“All right everybody - this is it! The ‘Moby Dick’ has changed course and is now running a track to intercept us. She probably wants to have a look-see. They’re about eight miles from us and have speeded up. They’ll be here within thirty minutes, if not less so you better prepare yourselves.”
I heard the anxiety in his voice and wondered whether Trichardt was aboard. Or had he flown out on his Learjet?
Fifteen minutes after we saw her turn slightly to intercept us, the ‘Moby Dick” appeared on the horizon. As she neared us, she veered away in order to put some distance between the two boats. I took the binoculars and climbed the steps to the flying bridge, and tried to focus the glasses onto the other boat. The flying bridge swung wildly from side to side as the cruiser rolled in the swells but I did manage to get a brief look at those standing on the deck. Carruthers and Trichardt stood next to each other, Trichardt with a pair of binoculars, staring at us.
The bastard! I thought. I had to restrain myself from giving him the “fuck you” sign. I felt the anger and hate physically well up inside me.
No doubt, he felt the same.
I saw that the two rifles we had were now being openly brandished on our deck. It was obvious that these could be seen from the ‘Moby Dick’. Cleary, John Senior wanted to send Carruthers a warning message - don’t come any nearer.
“Peter!” John Senior shouted. “Keep an eye on her. The moment you see a rocket launcher, shout!”
I noticed that the old man was trying to prevent the other boat from approaching us on a parallel course; instead, he tried to force it to either approach from the stern or bow in order that we presented a smaller and narrower target.
The two boats maintained a separating distance of about three hundred yards. Two shots rang out, the bullets whizzing past our boat, they yards off target, the roll of the craft just too much to enable them to fire with any degree of accuracy.
“It seems he’s getting ready to take another few shots at us. Peter, get down from there and take up po
sition in the bow with that RPG launcher,” John Senior yelled, spinning the wheel to prevent a parallel approach by the ‘Moby Dick”.
I came smartly down the steps, sliding down the rails with my palms and shins. Johnny handed me the launcher and I scuttled around to the side of the cabin, which was hidden from the ‘Moby Dick’. I hunkered down in the bow trying to make myself inconspicuous behind the gunwales.
The forward windows of the cabin could swing upwards and John Senior opened one of these so that he could communicate with me. I felt the boat engines’ revolutions increase as he opened the throttles; this lifted the bow of the boat.
“Dad! Watch out! They’ve brought a RPG out onto the deck,” Johnny shouted to his father.
Again, John Senior spun the wheel; the cruiser keeled over towards the right as the old man took evasive action.
“Get ready!” he shouted to me.
I flipped the switch that activated the sighting mechanism, armed the launcher, and lifted my head and shoulders so that I could aim the launcher over the gunwale. I hefted it onto my shoulder trying to align the sight up with the other boat. The ‘Moby Dick’ approached from the front but at an angle, which slowly widened as the boats neared each other. The range was now about one hundred and fifty yards. The bridge on the ‘Moby Dick’ presented the biggest target. I battle to keep the cross hairs on the row of forward-facing storm windows in the superstructure.
I hoped that my hostile counterpart was unable to draw a bead on us, because he was on the rear deck of the ‘Moby Dick’ with its cabin still restricting his vision. I realized that was why their helmsman was angling away trying to get broadside, trying to give his man a shot.
For a second the launcher’s sight wavered over the target.
I pulled the trigger.
There was a loud whoosh and for a split second, acrid grey-black smoke enveloped me, which the wind immediately whipped away.
I heard John shout. “Fuck, it’s a miss.”
God, I watched its departing fiery tail in despair. It’s going to miss, I thought. Damn! But then it struck the bow about a foot from the foremost point, just catching the top of the gunwale. There was a flash and smoke, which immediately cleared.
The explosion had blown part of the upper bow away, shards of fibreglass, stanchions, and other debris scattering over the sea. I could see through the hull into the anchor locker; about ten feet of the hull side had disappeared but this was well above the waterline.
Their engines emerged unscathed, and the boat was moving across the sea at a good clip. As she drew abreast, I saw the man with the RPG and knew that he would fire within the next second or so. I actually saw the missile leave the launcher tube, spouting a four or five feet of flame. It streaked across the water trailing white smoke, impacting above the main cabin taking the flying bridge and outriggers with it. Pieces of pipe and stairs crashed to the deck, other pieces trailing alongside the boat still attached by cable, banging against the hull. Something had caught a light on the aft deck.
Rifle shots erupted, both Maria and Johnny firing at the cabin cruiser, which swung away trying to put some distance between us. Bess had a fire extinguisher in her hands and soon doused the small fire.
Johnny put down his rifle and started to cut the cables still attached to the pieces trailing in the water with cable-cutters while John Senior cursed, voicing his concern that the cables could snarl up in the propellers. Maria brought up the second rocket launcher and handed it to me.
“Remember, this is the last,” she said. I was amazed how this woman handled the fear and tension of the conflict now waging.
The ‘Moby Dick’ had drawn away, no doubt to lick her wounds as we were doing.
John Senior beckoned me into the cabin. I took position next to him where I could keep an eye on the other boat.
“You’ve got to make your next shot count,” he said tersely. I was offended; I felt he implied that my first shot was not so good. Christ! I wanted to say that he should try hitting the boat when it’s a hundred and fifty yards off and the deck is pitching wildly. He seemed to read my mind.
“I know that firing from this boat is not easy, but Peter... we’ve only got one more chance.”
Hell! Was it up to me again?
I knew he was right. This wasn’t about who could do it better - it was about not failing. We simply had to do it and they had chosen me to handle the launcher.
“Just know something,” I said. “If I’m going to hit that boat a fatal shot first and only time, you need to get me nearer.”
“There was nothing wrong with your shot,” John Senior said. Probably trying to mollify me, I thought. I had hit the boat but it was not fatal - the missing part of the bow was well above the waterline and insignificant. But neither had their shot done any noteworthy damage. The odds were still even, I thought.
“You know, I never worry about myself - just others, and in particular my children and grandchildren. But I promise, I’ll get you nearer,” he said, through a clenched jaw.
I took the binoculars from Johnny and studied the other boat. It had to be three to four hundred yards away. What was surprising was that while we had initiated the pursuit operation, it was they who had turned to attack us.
Their boat was nearly stationary. No doubt, they were making a careful inspection of the damage to the bow. I saw Carruthers and Trichardt on deck - they appeared to be having a heated discussion. Again, I could feel the anger and frustration that constantly simmered just below the surface.
It was unreal; in Angola, opportunity had presented us with a once in a lifetime chance to enrich ourselves beyond our wildest dreams. To crown it all, it hadn’t even been illegal! When does that ever happen? You could look at it anyway you liked; there was no doubt that we had stolen a fortune in money and diamonds, but this was only a moral transgression. At least, I was able to console myself with that thought, and the fact that Trichardt had no more right to this ill-gotten horde than I did. No matter how you looked at it, it had originally been stolen.
I knew this was blood money, even though neither Maria nor I had been directly involved in the human suffering associated with the amassing of it. The slave labour, worked from dawn to dusk, standing in the knee-deep water of the alluvial riverbeds in the northern provinces of Angola, they always at gunpoint. These slaves sifted gravel hour after hour with guards watching their every move. Those who complained or shirked their duties were summarily executed. Umpteen lives must have paid for these diamonds - these were truly blood diamonds. In Trichardt’s control, they would have been used to spill even more blood - used for the purchase of weapons.
Chapter Forty
For a while, both cruisers kept beyond rocket range of each other.
I knew that if we ran from this engagement, at some later stage, Trichardt would return to continue whatever he had set out to do. I could not run and hide indefinitely - there were too many things that required my attention in South Africa and I was not prepared to forfeit these interests. Anyway, he was not going to leave this unresolved; it wasn’t in his nature. Yes, he might decide to postpone his witch-hunt, but he would pursue us again merely to satisfy his desire for revenge. People of his stature and position don’t accept defeat from those they considered beneath them, especially when they felt they had been tricked and wronged. We would be marked, never sure when we would be fighting for our lives again.
The sun broke through the scattered cloud, the sea a patchwork of brightly lit areas, which revealed the true deep blue of the Caribbean Sea.
Somebody needed to make a suggestion, we couldn’t just wait; we had to do something.
“Johnny, why don’t we resume our course for Venezuela and see what they do?” I suggested.
He silently pondered my proposal, his mouth turned down.
“It’s worth a try,” He final
ly said, slowly opening the throttles so that the boat surged ahead until it was cruising at fifteen knots. Fortunately, all the controls in the cabin were still operative - it was only the flying bridge that had been wiped out. The grenade had exploded at least fifteen feet above the cabin leaving most of the cabin unscathed except for a few shrapnel holes, shattered plastic windows and a few black smoke and scorch marks.
I kept an eye on the ‘Moby Dick’. As I thought, she also increased her speed and took up position behind us following the same course.
I addressed my companions. “I’m afraid we’ve got company again. John, this boat’s both your and your father’s responsibility. What do you want us to do?” I asked.
His reply was immediate.
“After what’s happened, Carruthers will never leave us alone. It’s only a matter of time before he tries to kill both my father and me.” He stared at Christopher looking for approval and then spat vehemently. ”I say attack.”
”Bess and I agree. We’re God-fearing people but those men burnt down our hotel and like Johnny and his father, they will keep on trying to kill us,” Christopher said. Bess nodded her agreement.
I looked at the two men.
“You better go and tell the old man how you feel and see what he thinks. He may not agree. Tell him that Maria and I are behind you.”
Johnny spent five minutes in the cabin talking to John Senior and then returned to the rear deck.
“The old man wants to speak to you,” he said.
I entered the cabin and leant with my back against the instrument panel that stretched over three-quarters of the width of the cabin, the rounded contour nestling in the hollow of my lower back; I looked rearwards keeping an eye on the ‘Moby Dick’, which trailed us by about a mile.
Diamonds Are But Stone Page 29
