by Mark Stewart
“DARRYL I have spotted a vessel on the edge of the radar.”
The man speaking wore a white sailor’s uniform. He hunched, his shoulders as stared at the round glass indicator under his nose.
Darryl sprinted across the large bridge of his ship, sweeping one of his sons from his path. He leaned closer to the radar, slapping the man on the shoulder. “Good work. Change course ten degrees to intercept. It must be Anneli.”
“The blip could be any number of ships,” reported the young man. “If you study the radar there are two blips on the same wave. If they didn’t collide, they were close enough to hand each other the daily mail.”
“You could be right. I’m a betting man. The odds are in my favour one of those blips holds my daughter. The quicker we intercept, the sooner I will know.”
Watching the blip for three hours took a strain on Darryl’s nerves. He retired to the lounge area deep inside the belly of the super yacht.
One of his crew came looking for him. He found Darryl staring out of the porthole scanning the calm ocean. A pod of dolphins was the only thing he’d seen in over an hour.
“Excuse me, Sir I have an urgent message from the Captain.”
Darryl faced the man. “Don’t stand before me like a statue, spit out the message.”
“The Captain has asked me to escort you to the bridge.”
“Why? have we intercepted the yacht where my daughter is on?”
“Not yet.”
“Go away. Call me when we arrive.” He faced the window before swallowing the red liquid in the wine glass he’d been holding.
“Sir, the Captain insists on talking to you.”
Darryl clicked his tongue at the young man before climbing the stairs to the bridge. The moment he spied the Captain he blurted. “This needs to be good news.”
“We have to cut the engine or call into port for more fuel.”
Darryl slammed the wine glass onto the chart table spilling the red liquid.
“We’re not stopping. How close are we to the yacht?”
“If the blip on the radar is the yacht your daughter is on she’s about one hour from our present location.”
“Order my ship to move faster,” spat Darryl.
“We don’t have enough fuel. If we’re lucky, we might just make it to the blip we’re chasing. Once the tanks are dry, we’ll be adrift and at the full mercy of the wind not to mention the currents.”
Darryl threw his wine glass at the wall before pacing the bridge.
“Why didn’t you inform me of this predicament before we got underway?”
“I did try to tell you.”
The four-man-crew looked up from their assigned duties. Each man stared straight at Darryl wearing a questionable expression.
“What do you propose?”
“Cut the engine to preserve what little fuel we have left; Raise the sails. By doing so, the maintenance men might have the second engine fully operational by the time we arrive at the yacht. If we sail into rough weather, we might have to make a dash for land. At any rate, we can buy diesel in Sydney. Two engines running at one-hundred percent will help us to easily catch the yacht.”
Darryl rubbed the stubble on his chin. “The sails have never been raised on this ship.”
“There’s always a first time.”
Darryl eventually lifted his head, staring the Captain in the eyes. “Raise the sails. I want to arrive at the yacht before nightfall.”
The Captain started barking orders. In minutes the speed of the luxurious yacht fell dramatically. The moment the massive sails were hoisted their speed gradually increased. Eventually, their speed plateaued at a fraction less than fifteen knots.
“If our speed remains constant we’ll be at the blip this afternoon,” reported the Captain.
“Good, call me when we have arrived,” grumbled Darryl. Marching towards the door, he looked over his shoulder at the Captain sitting on a high-backed chair staring out over the calm sea. Darryl snorted before disappearing down the stairs.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN