Against the Tide

by John Hanley

The exhaust coughed but Rachel’s voice – unmistakable this time – cut through my head. ‘Do it, Jack!’

  35

  I braced my shoulder, held my breath and squeezed the trigger gently. The muzzle crack was spectacular but I’d worked another round into the chamber before the little bastard reacted. The bullet smashed through the dinghy’s transom before he heard the rifle shot. He turned in surprise as my second round sliced into it again.

  The cruiser’s prow dropped, quickly followed by its occupants. Someone cut the throttle as my third bullet hit something metallic and ricocheted away. We could hear the gearbox screeching as he thrust it into reverse. He was too late. The dinghy’s stern plummeted onto the cruiser’s transom and bounced into its wake.

  The splintering crash echoed towards us as the cruiser, it’s engines screaming, smashed into the remains of the dinghy. As it turned away from us, I could read its name: Morning Mist. I scrambled back into the cockpit and handed the rifle to Alan as Saul pushed the throttles wide and the diesels hammered into life.

  Rachel’s eyes were wide with fear. Her mouth opened but nothing emerged. Malita wrapped her arm round her and shot Fred a withering look.

  Fred’s voice was strained. ‘Well that’s that then – stalemate. It’ll buy us some time but we’ll need to fox them somehow. We can’t risk them seeing who we’re meeting.’

  ‘Meeting, what meeting? What’s going on, Jack?’ Rachel sounded desperate. ‘Who told you to shoot?’

  Annoyed with her change of heart, I snapped back. ‘You did, you shouted out “ Do it!” – like you did in that match.’

  Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘No. No. I said, “ Don’t do it!” – just as I did last time. Oh, Jack, what have you done?’

  Fred filled the silence. ‘He misheard you. It’s done now. We have to accept that.’ He looked at each of us in turn. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t have – but don’t blame Jack. I could have stopped him. Look, it’s worked, they’re keeping well back. We can be sure they won’t make an official complaint. Do you want to continue, Saul?’

  He nodded his agreement. Miko seemed more enthusiastic and even smiled at me. Malita shrugged. Rachel looked across at the other boat, bit her lip then turned back and held my eyes. There was accusation but understanding. Could it be trust?

  Alan retrieved the three brass cartridge cases, slipped them into his pocket then aimed the rifle. ‘Count me in. If she gets too close, I’ll pop some more into her hull.’

  ‘No you won’t. Just look as though you might. There’ll be no more shooting. Understand?’ Fred sounded fierce.

  Alan nodded reluctantly.

  Fred grabbed my elbow and tugged me towards the cabin. ‘Jack and I have to talk. We need a plan.’

  Saul took the wheel back from Miko and steered us towards Marmotier, the middle islet where most of the cottages, including my cousin’s, were situated.

  Maître Ile was off to port and we were transiting towards the distinctive Bigorne rock before we agreed the plan. Instead of swinging through the main stream towards the lagoon, Saul would take us round to the north of the treacherous reef. Our followers had kept at least 400 yards behind and were maintaining station. We had to lead them away from the rendezvous. If they didn’t know these waters well enough with this falling tide pushing hard to the northwest, we might even be able to lure them onto the rocks.

  As we rounded the easternmost point, we were temporarily out of sight of our pursuers. Saul increased speed heading north then swung us round, mere yards from the closest rocks.

  Fred pulled his waterproof burlap sack from the cabin and I stripped off before placing my shorts, shirt and sandals into it. I waited for him to do the same but he seemed hesitant. Malita looked at him and shrugged in her expressive way.

  I’d never seen my uncle in a swimming costume before. Now I knew why. His back was as brutalised as Miko’s and his chest was pitted with black holes. I managed not to gasp but Rachel looked horrified. Miko nodded in understanding. Saul was too busy holding the boat on the throttles to notice and Alan still had the rifle trained on the point where our pursuer would appear.

  Fred wrapped the photos in his clothes and slipped the bundle into the bag. Grabbing one of Saul’s cork fenders, he jammed that in to give it some buoyancy. Before he sealed it, he fished his revolver from his canvas bag and shoved that in as well. He hefted the package towards me. God, it felt too heavy to float.

  We planned to slip over the side and swim for the rocks while Saul powered off round Les Dirouilles to the Paternosters, another four miles in the distance. We hoped Alf and his friends would chase after Jacob’s Star and not spot us hiding in a gulley. As far as plans went, it was just on the reasonable side of desperate.

  ‘Hurry up. I can’t hold her much longer.’ Saul sounded frightened.

  I started to clamber over the side but Rachel grabbed my arm. ‘Wait. I’m coming with you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s too dangerous.’

  She ignored me, slipped out of her shorts and pulled her top over her head. She was wearing that crimson swimming costume which showed her figure off to perfection. I knew she looked even better without it and hoped no one spotted the secret grin on my face.

  Fred certainly didn’t. He gripped her elbow. ‘No, Rachel. There’s no need. We can manage.’

  She looked at Fred but spoke to me. ‘Jack knows why I’m coming.’

  He turned to me, puzzled. She knew, she realised that I might panic in the deep water. I glowed in the sudden warmth of a friendship I really didn’t deserve. I felt a great relief.

  ‘Come on then – you can dive for the sack if I drop it,’ I said.

  She unsealed the sack, folded her clothes, picked up two towels and stuffed them in.

  ‘Get a bloody move on. They’ll be in sight any second now.’ Saul blipped the throttles to remind us that our plan depended on speed. We had to swim at least twenty yards before we could hide from the boat as it rounded the rocks.

  I lowered myself in and paddled off with the sack. Thankfully, it floated. Fred slid alongside me and Rachel eased past, allowing Saul to engage gear and chug away.

  The brown kelp, slithering about in the grip of the current, reached out for us as we neared the first granite outcrop. Jacob’s Star was up to full speed now, exiting stage north in a cloud of diesel.

  We slid behind the first group of rocks as the blue hull of our pursuer appeared. The stench of iodine was overpowering. I sucked in a lungful as we clung with the myriad of limpets to the craggy surface.

  I could hear the little shit swearing profusely as he saw our boat surging away. I prayed they would chase after it but they throttled back. They were suspicious. The engines burbled as they glided towards us.

  I tapped the others on their heads and pointed below. We couldn’t take the sack under but it would be camouflaged amongst the rocks. I swallowed as much air as I could hold and forced my body to sink, using my arm strength to push up against the rocks.

  Rachel and Fred were light-coloured blurs alongside me. I could hear the twin screws cavitating as the blue hull nudged closer to the rocks. Another thirty seconds and they would have us. Saul would be too far away to help.

  Suddenly, a dark shape rushed past us and, with a flick of its fin, shot to the surface. A dolphin had found us and wanted to play.

  My breath was gone but I eased myself up until my nostrils were clear. The boat was side on, only yards away. Alf was leaning over the bow, pointing at our saviour, who had broken surface and was staring at this intrusion into its territory with a pair of glassy eyes. I felt the other two alongside.

  I took in another breath and pushed myself deep again and listened. The engine exhaust note changed and the burble was replaced with a buzz, then a scream as someone cracked open the throttle.

  I waited until it was a distant wail before breaking surface again. The dolphin looked curiously at me then, with an elastic quiver, was gone.

  We waited until the boat wa
s a dot on the horizon before navigating our way through the rocky outcrops. The main cluster loomed high to the south but we had to cross a wide channel first. It narrowed at the eastern end, funnelling the water through with some speed. Even though there was no swell, small wavelets broke over the granite at its entrance.

  This was going to be tricky as the tide was ebbing rapidly. Combine that with the swirling currents, and the next fifty yards looked a very long way. I was thinking too much again.

  Fred still had one hand on the rock and reached out with the other for the sack. Once we let go, we had to hope we could swim strongly enough to make headway as the tide and current thrust us sideways. If we missed rock fall on the other side, we would have no chance of getting to Marmotier until the tide turned. That might take another three hours. The water was deep here. I wanted that sack for its buoyancy but I couldn’t fight Fred for it.

  Rachel manoeuvred around the rock and nudged into me, reading my thoughts. ‘You can do it. It’s not that far. I’ve got the strongest leg kick. Give me the sack.’

  Fred looked reluctant but shoved it towards her.

  ‘You two follow.’ She pushed the sack in front of her like a cork training float and kicked off. I waited to see how the cross current would affect her but she was making forward progress.

  Fred pushed off and quickly caught her up. He had a strong stroke, which shouldn’t have surprised me as he had played water polo in his youth.

  I waited until he was alongside Rachel. I needed to sprint the distance, to fill my brain with speed to prevent myself thinking dark thoughts about the depth of the water and the lack of support if I got cramp or panicked. I curled my legs up and sprang off the rock.

  I passed them within a few strokes and was into mid-stream within seconds. The push on my breathing side was getting stronger and I knew I was only making crab-like progress. I broke my stroke to look up.

  My body convulsed with shock. I rationalised that it was a delay from the shooting but I couldn’t control it. A small wavelet, teased by an eddy of wind, broke over my face and I panicked. I swallowed desperately, helpless in the grip of a blind terror. I could only escape by sprinting but my body was frozen. The current pushed me westwards. I was going to drown.

  36

  ‘Jack! Get your feet up. Lie on your back.’ I could hear Rachel but I couldn’t obey.

  Fred grabbed my chin from behind and tried to pull it into his shoulder. Panicked by his grip, I fought free. All my training was boiling away in my fevered brain.

  I felt a whipping sting across my left cheek. Startled, I turned towards the pain.

  Rachel’s face was close to mine. She slapped me again. ‘Stop it. Calm down.’ As her arm swung round to deliver another blow, I ducked. I could tread water. I was back in control.

  Her eyes pierced mine. ‘Jack Renouf, if you only knew how much I’ve wanted to do that.’

  I glared back at her. She’d certainly woken me and, despite the slap, I wanted to hug her.

  Fred had other ideas. ‘Come on, you two. We’re drifting. Let’s pull the sack together.’

  What had Miko said? If you think, you sink. I had misapplied his advice. It was right for a race, when I over-think everything. But this wasn’t a race. It was because I had tried to avoid thinking about my fear that I’d panicked. Rachel’s slap had kick-started my rational brain, made me face the reality. The depth of water was immaterial. I might be skinny but I could float, hold my breath, swim underwater and sprint faster than anyone else I knew apart from that bastard Kohler. I was certainly far stronger than Uncle Fred and Rachel so I grabbed the sack and used my power to drag them along. For once, it felt good to be swimming against the tide.

  Soon we reached the main outcrop and scrambled ashore. We dried ourselves, slipped on our sandals and clambered up the steep rock face of Marmotier before heading towards the houses.

  The lagoon held two sailing yachts and two motorboats captive. The yachts were flying the Red Ensign, the two boats, the Tricolour. All of them must have been there for some hours as the entrance was only passable for a couple of hours either side of high tide.

  There were two families camped out on the white sand enjoying a picnic. We could hear the screech of young children from further away. I was comfortable enough in my wet costume and the other two seemed content to stay in theirs so I led the way and pointed to my cousin’s cottage.

  Fred stopped me as we neared the first family. ‘Don’t get into a conversation. Just smile and wave.’

  ‘Is Hélène here?’ I asked.

  He looked around. ‘We’re an hour late but I expect she’ll have moored in the channel anyway. Wouldn’t want to risk getting trapped in the lagoon. There’s probably a tender tied up somewhere. She won’t know which house.’ He pointed up the pathway. ‘You two go up. I’ll look for her.’

  At last, I was going to be alone with Rachel. Her shoulder touched mine. There was so much I wanted to say to her. I reached for her hand but as we rounded the bend we almost bumped into an elegant woman wearing a yellow frock.

  She smiled. ‘Bonjour.’

  I smiled back. No conversation, Fred had said. We passed her, aware that she probably thought us very rude.

  I heard Fred’s voice and looked back. The woman was grinning in quiet amusement at us as Fred strode up the path.

  ‘Hélène – ça vas?’

  I gulped. She certainly didn’t fit my preconception of a Communist agent. I looked more closely. She was blonde, green-eyed, slender and beautiful in the way only Frenchwomen could manage. She got up and kissed Fred on both cheeks then looked curiously at us.

  ‘This is my nephew, Jack Renouf.’

  I offered my hand. ‘Je suis heureux de vous rencontrer.’

  She shook it firmly then looked me up and down carefully. ‘Very polite. Your uncle has told me much about you. And who is this pretty girl?’

  ‘My name is Rachel Vibert. Fortunately, I am not related to either of these two but I do love your dress, it’s beautifully fitted.’

  Hélène laughed. ‘Of course, Malita has spoken about you. She seems to think you are very sensible. Your arrival with these two might seem to suggest otherwise.’ She took her hands and kissed both cheeks. ‘Now, perhaps it is time to talk.’

  I led us on to the house and retrieved the key from its hiding place. It was cool inside. There was a propane stove and cylinders outside but we had no time for food.

  Hélène scrutinised the photographs in silence and compared them to some she extracted from her bag. I wondered if she had a gun in there as well.

  She only had a slight accent when she spoke English. ‘This tall one is Doctor Ferdinand Kempler, chief counsellor to Emil Puhl, Director of the Reichsbank. The other, sickly-looking one is Hans Schmitz.’ She read a note on the back her photograph. ‘He is one of Hitler’s circle, won the Iron Cross in the trenches, collected some shrapnel and now has a pronounced limp. He is a director of I.G.Farben, the Nazi’s largest manufacturing firm. I have no idea why these two might be in Jersey. Perhaps they are –’

  Fred interrupted. ‘When we last met, I told you about the two men who were observing my house.’

  ‘Yes, I thought they might be from the British security service.’

  ‘Well they attacked Jack two days ago but ran off when a member of the public appeared. They mentioned something about Lawrence.’

  She shrugged. ‘I told you they hadn’t given up.’

  ‘There’s more. Another two men with foreign accents assaulted Jack yesterday and really tried to frighten him. They warned him to keep his nose out of other people’s business. They also mentioned Lawrence. He has the marks of the attack if you wish to look.’

  ‘There is no need. I have already seen the bruise. I thought that he might have a violent girlfriend.’ She gave Rachel a half-smile.

  Rachel blushed but said nothing.

  I also felt my cheeks warm up with the realisation that my uncle had told her about my relatio
nship with Caroline. I wondered what else he might have revealed about me and my family.

  ‘Fred, do you have any explanation for these two?’ Hélène’s query was brusque.

  ‘Not really but Jack has an idea. Go on, share it.’

  Even though she was a Communist agent and probably a lot more dangerous than she looked, there was something comforting about her presence. I felt she was a person of action rather than words, that she might actually do something, so I decided to tell her everything.

  ‘I believe that these Germans, Kempler and Schmitz, have conspired with Hayden-Brown to defeat the embargo on industrial diamonds and supply Germany’s needs for the immediate future.’

  She stared at me. ‘That sounds rather dramatic, and a trifle over-rehearsed if I may say. I have heard about your acting skills but –’

  ‘Let him finish, Hélène. Best to hear the whole story. He might even provide some details.’

  They both sounded so patronising that I stormed on. ‘If it’s details you want, the SS Espírito Livre left the Belgian Congo about two weeks ago, loaded with about a ton of industrial diamonds from the Forminiére mines and steamed 5,500 miles. She met Hayden-Brown’s cruiser, Lorelei, unloaded four crates, each weighing over sixty pounds. These were taken to Les Routeurs, his house in Jersey.’

  I picked up the photograph showing the group. ‘This is Georges Sleeman, a Belgian diamond merchant, and this is Sir Edward Fairfield, a well-known English fascist. Both of these were verified by your comrade Eric.’

  She shot my uncle a pained look.

  ‘The other one is Rudi Kohler, Kempler’s nephew, who is apparently a student and assisting because he has no choice.’ I snorted at Caroline’s flimsy excuse. ‘During a dinner meeting on Sunday evening, Sleeman succeeded in persuading Kempler, Schmitz and Fairfield that these diamonds were of the quality needed. The Germans are paying thirty-seven point five Reichsmarks per carat which works out at 112 million for the shipment. In sterling, that’s nine million pounds or nearly two billion francs.’

  She looked stunned. My uncle whistled and Rachel continued to look puzzled.