Missing Presumed Lost

by Fred Lockwood

‘Two of the prettiest girls in Croatia,’ he had announced as he waved his arm towards the two women.

  To Jim the introduction seemed condescending but Marija and Ivana didn’t respond, they merely raised their wine glasses as an acknowledgment. The manager had then invited them to go below so he could talk them through the boat, engine checks and navigation instruments. Jim recalled that there were charts of the whole area on the navigation table. He was glad Lawrence was sailing the boat and not him!

  In a few minutes the manager had demonstrated everything from flushing the head to checking the engine oil level, from operating the marine VHF radio to lights and navigation instruments. To Jim it had been new and confusing. Lawrence simply nodded and seemed to ask all the right questions. He seemed happy and relaxed with what he was told. It also seemed as though the manager was keen to make his exit. Within minutes of arriving Jim and Lawrence were sat in the sailboat cockpit with Marija and Ivana sipping a chilled glass of excellent white wine. The only thing that seemed odd to an observer was that the women were in holiday dress whilst Jim and Lawrence were in formal leather shoes, dark trousers, shirt and tie! After the initial surprise Jim was starting to regard sailing in a whole new light! He wasn’t sure if he had initiated the pairing with Ivana or if she had done so. The effect was the same as they started a very enjoyable and energetic relationship.

  Chapter 2

  The bora

  It was almost midday before they cast off from the pontoon and motored sedately from the confines of the marina into the channel and out into the Adriatic Sea. If anything it was the build-up of heat on board that encouraged them to leave. The weather was glorious but without a breath of wind. There was a clear blue sky with not a single cloud in sight and the temperature hovering in the mid to high twenties. Lawrence had checked the weather forecast with the marina manager and together plotted a simple route that would take them roughly north-west from the marina and through a string of islands via sheltered anchorages. Away from the confines of the marina the wind was light and Lawrence estimated it would be no more than four hours’ motoring to the anchorage. Lawrence was happy to steer and have Marija for company. He suggested that Jim might want to join Ivana in developing an all over body tan on the for’ard deck. Alternatively she could work on his Croatian in the for’ard double bed!

  The time passed pleasantly as they motored from secluded spot to secluded spot. Perhaps they shouldn’t have been surprised but Marija and Ivana were excellent company and great cooks. There were pleasant snacks, delightful meals, lovely wine, food and lots of vigorous sex. Jim quickly overcame his initial embarrassment and soon regarded Ivana as a girlfriend rather than a professional hostess. She was relaxed and natural in his company; they got on well. It was in the mid-afternoon of their second day that Lawrence steered Pharmaco through a narrow inlet and into a hidden bay. Pharmaco had a draft of 1.68 metres. Lawrence had calculated that at high tide they could just clear the shallow bar that guarded the entrance to the bay. The chart indicated that the bay, a rough oval shape, was about six hundred metres long and four hundred metres wide. There was a narrow strip of sand on the northern shore and deep water to the south-west as the rocky hills dropped into the sea. The chart indicated a sand and shingle bottom so good anchorage. Lawrence reckoned they could do some skinny dipping off the back of the boat. He even fancied some vigorous exercise with Marija on the sandy beach.

  It had been a memorable day. The weather had been glorious and they were all pleasantly tired by the afternoon exertions. The evening barbeque on the beach had been a great success even though Ivana had nearly fallen out of the dinghy as she tried to climb back on board the boat. They had all drunk slightly too much but they were all relaxed and anchored in a safe, secluded spot, or so they thought.

  ‘Jim, Jim, wake up,’ shouted Lawrence as he shook him by the shoulder.

  ‘Er, what… er,’ mumbled Jim as he struggled to wake up and concentrate. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re dragging the anchor. Get dressed, get your life jacket on and get on deck, now,’ he screamed into Jim’s face.

  Jim was suddenly awake. He could now feel the violent movement of the boat, the rain drumming on the hatch above him and hear the wind howling through the rigging. He crabbed down the bed until he could get his feet on the deck. It was only when he tried to stand that he realised how violently the boat was moving. He was thrown backwards and forwards as he tried to step into the shorts he had worn on the beach. He braced himself against the bulkhead and pulled on the life jacket. Fortunately it was one of those that had black plastic clips and webbing that held everything in place. Once he opened the cabin door the full extent of the storm hit him. Inside the cabin, with the door closed, he had been partially sheltered from the sound. Now it was all around him. He worked his way from one handhold to another as he made his way to the steps leading up to the cockpit. He could feel the sea water and rain on the steps as he made his way topside. He couldn’t believe the transformation. A few hours ago it was a balmy evening, pleasantly warm with a starry sky. Now it was a maelstrom. There were no deck lights. Lawrence had switched them all off to help maintain his night vision. All around was blackness with rain pounding onto the spray hood, the bimini and pouring through the gap between them. A flash of lightning lit up the sky for a moment before it was plunged back into darkness.

  Jim found a handhold on the for’ard winch and turned to Lawrence. He was seeking reassurance.

  ‘It’s the bora, the wind from the north. We are dragging our anchor. The force of the wind and waves are driving us towards the steep shoreline and onto the rocks,’ he shouted directly into Jim’s face.

  It was the only way he could ensure Jim could hear. Lawrence glanced away to the navigation screen and immediately edged the helm over to port and pushed the throttle forward. The wind and waves hit the starboard side of the hull and forced the boat over before, begrudgingly, it came back.

  ‘There’s no way in this wind we can raise the anchor and try to reset it,’ shouted Lawrence. ‘I have over thirty metres of chain out. I thought that was more than enough to hold us, but we are dragging. I’ve got to get us close to the windward side of the bay and into some shelter,’ he added.

  Shielding his eyes from the saltwater spray Jim moved to the side of Lawrence and glanced at the GPS display. The trace looked like the erratic pencil scribble of a child on grey paper. It showed how Lawrence had tried to counteract the wind and waves and to position them close to the windward shore.

  ‘I need you to look out for the shoreline ahead,’ shouted Lawrence. ‘When there’s a lightning flash try to estimate how far we are off the shore. I want to keep us at least a hundred metres away,’ he shouted.

  Almost immediately there was a lightning flash but Jim was too slow to turn and focus on the shoreline. By the time he saw it they were back into the blackness. Seconds later the sky lit up again.

  ‘Eleven o’clock. At least a hundred metres,’ shouted Jim as he turned back to face Lawrence.

  ‘Get Marija and Ivana out of bed and into life jackets,’ shouted Lawrence. Tell them to sit in the saloon. I don’t want them up here,’ he added.

  If anything the movement of the boat was even greater as Jim made his way down the steps and through the saloon to the for’ard berth. He opened the door and latched it in place. Amazingly Ivana was still asleep. Her long blonde hair was partly covering her face. She had curled up on her side, hands by her face, with the cotton sheet partly wrapped around her. He could make out the shape of her hip and waist. Her exposed forearms hid her breasts. Jim sprang onto the bed and started to shake her.

  ‘Wake up, wake up,’ he shouted as he shook her shoulder.

  With a scowl Ivana started to wake up and mumbled something in Croatian. It was clear she wasn’t happy at being woken up.

  ‘Get dressed quickly, put on your life jacket, we have an emergency. Go to the saloon. I’ve got to wake Marija,’ shouted Jim directly into her fac
e.

  Jim turned to leave as Ivana threw off the sheet and started to scramble off the bed. Jim made his way to the rear berth to rouse Marija. He was amazed how anyone could sleep through this. Then he remembered that he had also been asleep before Lawrence woke him.

  Back on deck nothing had changed. Braced against the lip of the cockpit Jim was staring into the blackness when lightning lit up the sky.

  ‘Twelve o’ clock. Still within a hundred metres,’ he shouted at Lawrence.

  A glance at the trace showed that Lawrence was keeping the boat close to the windward shoreline. If they could maintain this position, and ride out the storm, they would be safe. But the wind seemed to be getting stronger and waves bigger.

  ‘Jim, in the locker above the navigation table there’s a plastic box with yellow safety lines inside. They have clips on each end; get a couple.’

  Lawrence wiped the rain water and spray from his face. In the dull light from the GPS screen he looked gaunt. In the darkness of the saloon Ivana and Marija were sitting side by side. There was a flash of lightning and Jim could just make out that they were holding hands.

  ‘What is happening? Are we going to die?’ asked Ivana.

  Jim tried to laugh but it wasn’t convincing.

  ‘Nobody is going to die,’ he confided. ‘The boat is dragging its anchor and the wind is too high for anyone to go forward, which is necessary to bring it up and reset it,’ he explained. ‘Clipping oneself onto the boat is a standard precaution when you are on deck or in the cockpit. It makes sure you are attached to the boat and safe. For now you can wait here, it's drier and warmer than on deck,’ he said as reassuringly as he could.

  Jim fought his way topside and back to his position in the cockpit. He gave the two safety lines to Lawrence.

  ‘Jim, clip your safety line onto that jackstay, that line,’ pointed Lawrence. ‘I’ll clip mine on this side.’

  The throttle cable snapped within a few minutes of clipping the lifelines in place. One moment there was the drumming of the rain, the shrieking of the wind and the noise and vibration of the engine. Next the noise and vibration of the engine were gone. Lawrence frantically moved the throttle lever to neutral and then forward. There was nothing – there was no response.

  ‘Argh shit, not now,’ blurted Lawrence. ‘The throttle cable has snapped or is disconnected. Without power we will be pushed onto the far rocks. How far from the rocks are we now?’ shouted Lawrence.

  Jim tried to focus on where he thought the shoreline would be. He waited, agonisingly, for a lightning flash. When the flash came he looked astern towards the waiting rocky shoreline. They were hundreds of metres away.

  ‘Jim, hold onto the helm. Don’t let it get away from you. Try to keep us heading into the wind if you can,’ shouted Lawrence as he slid past towards the steps and down to the saloon. ‘I’ve got to see if I can get to the throttle lever in the engine compartment,’ he added.

  Water was slopping around the well of the cockpit as Lawrence stepped over the sill and made his way down the steps and into the saloon. He barely glanced at Ivana and Marija as he unlatched the steps and pushed them upwards to reveal the engine. Automatically he secured the steps. There was a torch somewhere in the engine bay but where was it? In his rush he stubbed a finger but found the torch and switched it on. The big diesel engine was idling smoothly but without an operational cable it was impotent. Lawrence shone the torch this way and that, desperately trying to locate the throttle lever. He couldn’t see it. There was so little room around the engine it was difficult to see anything. He couldn’t find the throttle lever and he was running out of time. Lawrence switched off the torch, released the steps that covered the engine bay and ran up them. He was almost in the cockpit when Pharmaco slewed violently to starboard and heeled over. The wind and waves had hit the port side and was turning them side on to the wind.

  ‘We’ve got to get some control over the boat,’ shouted Lawrence directly into Jim’s face. ‘We have to let out some of the main sail, just enough to get control. Hold the helm,’ he shouted.

  Lawrence grabbed the sheet for the main sail, wrapped it around the winch and with the winch handle started to draw out some sail.

  On another day, in a different storm and in a different sea, it may have worked. If they had managed to set a small sail and sail close hauled they may have countered the drag of the anchor and established limited control. It was too late. In the time Lawrence had tried to locate the throttle lever they had started to turn side on to the wind and were being driven towards the rocks on the southern shore. It was a catastrophic combination of events. As the wind caught the tiny tip of the sail a large swell caught the boat on the beam and seemed to lift it into the air. With huge power the wind and wave slammed Pharmaco onto partly submerged rocks. Lawrence was catapulted over the starboard side and into the water, only to be brought to a halt by the safety line. The second swell lifted the hull and crushed him against the rocks.

  Jim was thrown onto the helm. His arm and shoulder were thrust through the gap between the spokes and he was held firmly as sea water cascaded over him. Had Ivana and Marija been sitting on the other side of the boat they might have escaped serious injury. Unfortunately they were sitting on the wrong side. As the boat was lifted and smashed onto the rocks the two women were thrown from their seats and across the saloon. Marija was hurled against the table, a table that was bolted to the deck. She hit it with sickening force. Ivana was thrown head first across the saloon into the cupboards below. As she bounced off her head appeared to be at a very strange angle.

  Jim was terrified. He knew they had hit the rocks and that it was just a matter of time before the sea overwhelmed the boat and everyone on it. The briefcase, he must get the briefcase. The documents inside, he must get them. With shivering fingers Jim unclipped his safety line from the jackstay and started to haul himself across the cockpit to the stairs. There was water everywhere. It was pouring over the hull of the boat and down the main hatch. With strength he didn’t believe he had Jim clawed his way down the steps and for’ard to his berth. It was pitch black in the saloon as he groped his way forward. He found the door; it was still latched in place. He couldn’t see anything but could feel the sodden edge of the bed and wet cotton sheet. A few hours ago he had been safe and warm next to Ivana. He was disorientated in the dark with the boat heeled over. He had to think. Where was the locker? Top right, that meant it was now side right. Jim ran his hands over the locker until he found the hole that led to the retaining clip. He stuck his finger inside and clicked it free. The solid aluminium briefcase fell against him. Yes, he had it. Holding the case firmly he started to make his return to the deck.

  Sea water continued to pour down the main hatchway and forced Jim backwards towards the for’ard berth. He had to scramble over debris and haul himself forwards with only one hand. He lost his footing and fell into the rising water. As he tried to stand he realised he was caught. In the cold, wet darkness he screamed and thrashed around to free himself. Jim took his first gulp of sea water. A flailing arm caught his safety line. In an instant he realised the tether was caught somewhere. He had to unclip it and get out before the boat went down. Another huge swell picked up the boat and slammed it against the rocks again. One moment Jim was in mid-air, then he crashed his head against the table. Stunned and under water he embraced Ivana for the last time. The shock was to cause Jim to take his second and last gulp of sea water. They seemed intertwined as the hull slid under the water. The aluminium briefcase was released from his hand and floated upwards.

  Chapter 3

  Caught in a financial storm

  Alfredo, the young Italian financier had been on a high. The mathematical model he had formulated was working perfectly. In continuous monitoring his computer programme tracked the rhythmic rise and fall of specific stocks as they responded to market forces. It wasn’t a simple up or down movement in the price but a stuttering rise and fall as the price altered. Whilst he was obvi
ously interested in the actual direction the stocks were taking, up or down, he was more interested in the changing patterns that the fluctuating price charted. In steady trading he could monitor the rate of the small rises and falls and estimate the peaks and troughs of the next fluctuation. It was simply a question of buying at the trough and selling at the peak. The profits were small but they were cumulative. In recent months everything he touched, everything he speculated upon, came up trumps. At the touch of a button, buying and selling stock, he was making thousands or tens of thousands of euros over each transaction. At the beginning of that fateful week he had made over two hundred thousand euros on oil stocks. An oil spillage in Alaska had caused a temporary dip in the oil price for Exxon Mobile. His programme had been automatically tracking the stock for months before he bought low, near the bottom of that temporary dip, and sold seven points higher three weeks later at the peak of that movement. A second carefully designed software programme diverted percentages of profits into various funds. One of these was his property portfolio and another was his personal project fund. The bulk of his capital was returned to his main trading account.

  He knew that his property fund was approaching the magical €2.5 million figure. At this point he would commit it to the purchase of another property. It would be part of his retirement fund. He had already decided that with a budget of that size he could afford a splendid, but dilapidated, property on the Sicilian coast that he had already identified. He would need to spend another €2.5 million on it but the result would be magnificent. It would be the ideal place to base his growing passion, ocean cruising on the classic boat he was having refurbished in Croatia.

  It had taken him months of searching before he had found the MV Sultano, an old Italian patrol boat. He fell in love with the boat the first time he saw it. He could see beyond the peeling paint work, streaks of rust and battered rails. To him the boat looked beautiful. The lines were sleek and majestic. Even today the forty-year-old design looked elegant. He could visualise the boat rejuvenated. The keel would be cherry-red with the paint extending just above the water-line. The hull and superstructure would be pristine white, portholes and windows would be tinted. He would dismantle the flybridge and extend the all-round visibility from the main bridge. The interior designer he had commissioned would transform the austere, heavy construction designed for nineteen sailors into luxurious and spacious accommodation. He could imagine creamy-coloured hardwood lining the walls and floors, rich-coloured carpets complementing soft leather furniture and modern glass and stone fittings.