by Derek Fee
“For whom?” Mark smiled.
The car had reached the shore and was passing a series of boatyards where yachts sat atop wooden trestles. The area looked a little run down. Corrugated sheds had more than a light covering of rust on their sides, creating the distinct feeling that the boatbuilding era had passed Falmouth by. The Rolls eventually came to a stop before a large cast-iron gate over which hung a white sign which announced ‘Penhalion Marine, est. 1780 Prop. D. Penhalion.’ The driver got out and opened the gates wide then returned to the car and drove them into the yard.
The buildings, where they existed, looked like they had been around since 1780. The bricks of what Mark took to be the main office were so weathered that they had completely lost their colour. The outbuildings surrounding the office looked even older vintage with large stones gaping through cracked and faded plaster. Towards the end of the yard were a series of corrugated sheds which were of more recent construction. However, the edges of the corrugated sheets were rusting and holes appeared at intervals in the sheeting. Two yachts sat on a set of trestles on either side of the yard. Neither showed any sign of activity. Penhalion Marine had all the appearance of a graveyard as far as life was concerned.
“I see what you mean about business falling off,” Mark said, opening his door and exiting the car. Judging by its size, the yard could quite easily have handled twelve or more boats like the ones on the trestles. “I’m no financial genius but from what I can see around me I wouldn’t be rushing to invest a pound in this place.”
“Aye.” Bell climbed out the other side of the car. “And through no fault of David’s I should add. You’ll find that there are no flies on our David. His business may be in a slump but the firm has incredible standing in boat design and building. I’d willingly lay a wager that it’s only a matter of time before things start improving. In the meantime, there are a couple of scalpers waiting for the first chink in his armour. This might not look like much to you but if David were to go bankrupt this place would be taken over within a week and for a song at that. You’re not only talking about assets here. Penhalion is a name synonymous with quality in the boat market.”
“You sound like you’re interested,” Mark said, looking into Bell’s eyes.
Bell returned the stare. “Not a chance in hell, lad. Not my business. Know bugger all about it. But I won’t let the company go bankrupt until I’m finished with it.”
Mark wasn’t totally convinced by Bell’s brusque Yorkshire exterior. “If you ever let go of this revenge thing, I think you’ll find a pretty decent person lurking inside your body. You’re allowing the hunt for these criminals to turn you into a sociopath.”
“Tom!” The booming voice belonged to a tall well-built man exiting the main building and striding in the direction of the Rolls. He covered the distance between the building and the car with a grace that belied his bulk. “Great to see you again, old boy.” He enfolded Bell in a bear hug.
“David, it’s champion to see you too. How are things going?”
“Swimmingly.” David released Bell and stood back. He looked from the Yorkshireman to Mark and then back to Bell again.
“This is the man I told you about, my nephew Mark Kane. Mark, this is David Penhalion owner of Penhalion Marine.”
The two men stood sizing each other up. David was somewhere in his late fifties. His face was heavily tanned where not covered by a short grey beard, and a series of opulent grey curls spouted from under a black soft-peaked sailor’s hat. His lips were full and his nose was classical and straight. Kane was willing to bet that the sight of him as a younger man in dress uniform had set more than a few female hearts aflutter. Even now David would raise an eyelid or two. He guessed his height at six three and his weight at maybe two-fifty pounds with the weight evenly distributed. Despite his size, David’s face was kind and the blue eyes which stared in Kane’s direction were clear and intelligent.
“Good to meet you, David,” Mark said, sticking out his hand out.
“Only my friends call me David.” The voice was resonant and appeared to develop somewhere deep in his broad chest. He took the hand that Mark offered and gave it a firm handshake which was returned. “Until you reach that exalted status you can call me Commander.”
“In a pig’s arse,” Mark said.
David’s face reddened. “Why you impudent young pup,” he said raising himself up to his full height.
“Don’t be such a pompous oaf, David,” a female voice said from behind them. Both men had been so engrossed in their stand-off that they had failed to notice the second person advancing from the brick building. A striking middle-aged blonde lady joined them.
“Get off your high horse, David,” she said. “You’re no longer the captain of a ship of the line. There’s a distinct smell of testosterone in the air, don’t you find, Tom?”
“Thank God you’ve arrived, Amanda,” Bell said, immediately planting a kiss on the new arrival’s cheek. “I was about to send for the Marines. They’re staring each other down like a pair of pit bull terriers. Mark, meet Amanda, the woman who’s been keeping David in check for the past thirty years or so.”
Amanda examined the young man standing beside Bell. “This is the famous nephew you’ve been telling us about. I don’t see a family resemblance.”
“My sister’s boy,” Bell said. “He favours his father.”
Amanda looked Kane up and down. “I wouldn’t bet my life savings on David in a contest with young Mark. He has what Mr Shakespeare would call a lean and hungry look. I agree with the Bard that such men are dangerous. Are you dangerous, Mark?”
“Only when provoked.” Kane offered her his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
She smiled as she took his hand. “You’re welcome to Cornwall and our little boatyard. You can call me Amanda. I’m afraid David has forgotten his Cornish good manners. You’ve had a long drive down from London. I’m sure you’re gasping for a cup of tea.’”
“That would be great.” Kane cast a sly grin in David’s direction. He had slipped easily into his bastard role. It would be easy to yank the old man’s chain. He wasn’t quite so sure about his ability to wind-up his wife. Amanda was the kind of woman who would turn heads when she entered a room. He guessed her age at forty-five but knew that he was probably wrong on the low side. Although she was tanned, her skin was still perfectly smooth. Amanda would remain a good-looking woman well into old age. Her blonde hair was cut short and her face had an impish look. She was about five foot six and her body hadn’t headed as far south as many of her contemporaries. Mark could only guess what effect she’d had on men twenty years earlier but behind the beauty, there was a strength and resilience which showed in her clear blue eyes. She looked like the kind of Englishwoman who had helped create an empire where the sun never set. He could imagine the impact the couple would have had as they entered the Admiral’s Ball – envying glances all round from both men and women.
“There’s nothing like getting off on the right foot,” David said. “I once had an executive officer that I took a distinct dislike to at first sight. We had to put the poor bugger ashore in Gibraltar. Couldn’t take the pace.”
“Please ignore David.” Amanda linked Mark’s arm. “His bark is much worse than his bite. All the men in his command loved him.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at her husband whose face was still red with anger. “Soft as putty they used to say.”
“Rubbish.” David ignored his wife’s admonishing look and stared directly at Kane. “I always believed in shooting from the hip, Mr Kane. I’m damned grateful to Tom for the much-needed cash injection to get our powerboat venture off the ground but it stands to reason that we would have considerably more chance of making the grade with our boat if we had an experienced driver in the cockpit. That’s my opinion for what it’s worth and I’m not about to change my mind on it. I’m still hoping that Tom will come to his senses and agree to me engaging a professional driver who will make the most of the beautif
ul boat my boys have constructed.” David glanced at Bell. “Well, I can see from Tom’s face that if we want his money, we’re stuck with Mr Kane. Remember that story about the executive officer, won’t you, Mr Kane. If you fail to make the grade then you’ll be out on your ear.”
“I’m quaking in my boots, David, sorry, Commander,” Kane said.
“Darling,” Amanda said. “Let’s have our tea and sandwiches. Then you could give Mark and Tom a tour of the yard. I’m sure they’d love to see the progress that you’ve made on the boat.”
“If I must,” David said.
Half an hour later the three men exited from the office. “How do you think it’s going?” Kane asked Bell as they prepared to follow the bulky figure striding away from them.
“Aye, it’s a pity I have to go back to Leeds tomorrow. All the fun will be here.”
“I wouldn’t exactly describe what I have in mind for Mr Kane over the next few weeks as fun,” David said looking back.
“I see the order book hasn’t exactly picked up.” Bell accelerated his pace so that he walked beside David.
“Not yet,” David sighed. “This was once one of the premier boatyards on the South Coast,” he emphasised the past tense. “Had you come here two years ago, this yard would have been full of hustle and bustle. Now it’s only a pale ghost of its former self. I’ve been forced to let nearly twenty trained Cornish craftsmen go in the last twelve months.” His brow furrowed. “Nobody wants good quality boats anymore. A lot of plastic junk flooding the market. Our boats have always been associated with quality. The buggers will soon come to their senses and the yard will pick up. The red brick building we’ve left is our main office. It’s set on the exact spot where my ancestor Richard Penhalion laid the first brick over two hundred years ago.” They walked on down the centre of the open yard. “This is the finishing area. The two boats that you see here represent the current order book of new boats. When we wheel them out, we’ll be left with refurbishment jobs and that won’t be enough to keep us afloat. I don’t suppose you know anything about boatbuilding, Mr Kane?”
“Not my game,” Kane answered. He could see that the eclipse of Penhalion Marine was a source of intense pain to its owner. Sometimes it was a blessing not to be the upholder of a family tradition.
“Have you ever driven a motorboat?” David asked, maintaining his gaze on Bell.
“No,” Kane replied quickly. “I was into stock car racing when I was younger. Some people thought that I was quite handy at it.”
David smiled. “There’s a big difference between a two-thousand-horsepower powerboat and a stock car I’m afraid. You’ll come to recognise that over the next week. This isn’t a business for the faint-hearted. Some people are all piss and wind until they’re put to the test.” He turned to Bell. “What in heaven’s name were you thinking when you insisted on your nephew as the pilot of this boat? By his own admission, he knows nothing about the sea or about powerboat racing.”
“You don’t know him as I do,’ Bell said.
“Live with it,’ Kane said. “If I’m out of here by the end of the week, Uncle Tom will have been proved wrong and you’ll be justified in packing my arse down the road. Let’s wait until then and in the meantime, you can continue the tour.”
David bridled. “You’re right, of course. Tom is entitled to his opinion and you’ll get your shot at the job.” He continued marching through the yard. “The craft begins its life in our design room which is in that small building on the left.” He pointed to a grey portacabin in the corner of the yard. “Designing the type of boats we build has become a high-tech operation. My ancestors are probably turning in their graves at the level of computerisation in the process. We’ve built our reputation on a hand-crafted product. But nobody seems to want a hand-crafted product these days. Our chief designer is as much a computer expert as he is a marine architect. After the design has been completed, we begin building the hull in the fabrication sheds.” David strode across the yard in the direction of the sea with Kane and Bell in tow. “That’s those buildings there.” He pointed at a series of buildings constructed of galvanised sheeting which reminded Kane of small hay barns. “We’ll visit that last because that is where our powerboat is presently being fitted out.”
“I thought you said that you did most of your finishing in the yard,” Kane said.
Penhalion stopped. “Normally that’s the case,” he warmed to his subject. “But Kernow, as we call it, has some unique design features that we don’t want our competitors to find out about until the first race.”
“What does Kernow mean?” Bell asked.
“It’s Cornwall in Cornish,” David said.
“What kind of design features?” Kane asked.
“There are two basic designs of powerboat.” David stopped before one of the sheds. “Ever heard of a catamaran.”
Kane nodded. “It’s a boat with two hulls joined together.”
“Bravo. Most of the powerboats on the circuit are catamarans simply because of the speed element. The second type of construction is called the deep-V which consists of a single hull shaped like the letter V. The deep-V is slower than the normal catamaran design but it’s a hell of a lot more stable. All the fatal accidents to date have taken place with catamarans. Offshore racing is where Formula One was ten years ago. Everybody wants to race but nobody wants to put the effort into researching the relationship between speed and stability. That’s the way we approached it. Thanks to the money Tom has ploughed into this project we’ve been able to design a boat which incorporates the speed of a catamaran and the stability of a deep-V. You’ll see what I mean in a few minutes.” He strode past the fabrication sheds and into an open area which contained a slipway. “When our boats are finished, we test them fully in the challenging waters of Falmouth Bay. Now, let’s go and look at our toy.” David climbed back up the hill which led down to the slipway and directed them to the door of the fabrication shed.
Kane noticed that a series of relatively new locks had been added to the old shed but it was amateur night as far as security was concerned. Any self-respecting crook could open the locks in a matter of seconds.
David slid the door open and held it wide enough to allow the other two to pass.
As Kane squeezed through the gap, he thought that perhaps the old boy had been reading too much Le Carré. The interior of the shed was brilliantly lit by a series of floodlights mounted on the walls. In the centre of the field of the lights stood a huge sleek black powerboat.
“That’s Kernow,” David said proudly.
“Good God!” The words were out of Kane’s mouth before he could stop them. “She’s beautiful.” Sitting on a series of trestles which ran the length of the shed was the most awe-inspiring sight he had ever seen. The twin hulls of the huge fifty-foot powerboat were directly above his head and the sleek body of the craft was tapered towards the stern where the engine canopies were open, revealing twin gleaming engine blocks and the associated pipework for two superbly engineered motors. Kane had never seen anything quite so beautiful in all his life. He had driven Ferraris and Maseratis but they were nothing compared to Penhalion’s boat.
“Quite,” David said, delighted at the effect his boat was having on Kane. “A thing of rare beauty, Mr Kane. Impressed, are we?”
“We certainly are,” Kane said moving along the side of the boat. The fibreglass body gleamed under its coat of black paint. It looked like a panther about to strike. He could well imagine the peckers of the super-rich stiffening at the thought of getting behind the wheel of such a boat. It was the perfect penile extension.
“Four point five tons of first-class engineering. Capable of one hundred and forty knots on an uneven surface. One million pounds has gone into the design and construction of that beauty.” David ran his hand along the hull.
“She’s beautiful.” Bell clapped David on the shoulder. “Congratulations.”
David smiled at Bell and bowed his head slightly in recogni
tion of the compliment.
“Not bad,” Kane added. Not bad my arse. It was bloody incredible and he would get the opportunity to drive the damn thing. For the first time since he’d sat in the conference room at Europol, Kane felt his pulse quicken. This would be the ultimate thrill. The adrenaline rose in him simply by looking at the boat and the buzz became a hum in his body.
“Not bad! Not bad!” David’s Cornish temper flared. “That shows the level of your ignorance. You may not realise it but you are looking at one of the finest boats ever constructed.” He rapped his knuckles against the exterior. “The hull is made from a unique mixture of fibreglass and Kevlar. It has been designed to withstand any battering that man or the elements can give it. The drives were designed and constructed specially in the Bell Engineering Works in Leeds.” David’s pride in the boat was beginning to dissipate his anger. “If this beauty races the way we know it can, then both Tom and I will be entering the powerboat business in a big way. Nothing succeeds like success in the boat business. And how Kernow succeeds is ultimately up to you. I don’t suppose that my boat has much in common with your stock cars.”
They reached the stern where two boiler-suited mechanics worked under the open canopies.
“Lads,” David called.
The two mechanics lifted their heads from the engine housing.
“Let me introduce you to our technical team,” he said. “That rather large chap on the left is Reg Williams, our chief mechanic. Reg, this is the gentleman that Tom wishes to become our driver, Mark Kane.” The mechanic had a physique which would rival that of Pavarotti.
“Welcome on board, Mark,” Reg said in a magnificent Welsh brogue.
“Good to meet you, Reg.”
“Bill Thompson is Reg’s second-in-command,” David said continuing the introductions.
Thompson gave Kane a cursory nod before disappearing beneath the engine canopy. “We have a third mechanic who joined us recently, John Watson. He’s away but will be joining us later today.”