"How true," Avri said, and continued, "The only sure sign I know of is her timing. The day the Meltami starts late she is sure to blow throughout the night. Also, if she erupts gusty she will stay that way for hours".
Avri was about to tell him of an encounter he had had with the mercurial lady off the coast of Crete a few years ago when the blacksmith suggested that the propeller was ready for reshaping. They both got up to watch the Greek go at it.
He used long tongs with wooden cheeks to grab the propeller out of the hearth and place it on the wooden block which a while back carried the iron anvil. He held the hot bronze with a thick piece of leather and started hammering the twisted metal using various wooden mallets: a small one for the narrow sections near the center and a wide one on the flat, peripheral surfaces. He hammered steadily and fast, pausing only to exchange mallets. After some fifteen minutes of hammering the propeller was basically in shape again. The man put it back over the coal for a while, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and downed another glass of lemonade. The man had that air of victory about him. Avri was content too.
The propeller went in and out of the hearth twice more before the Greek was fully satisfied. He placed it on top of the hearth, letting the bricks cool it off slowly. The guy really knows what he is doing, Avri thought. If the bronze cools too fast it will develop cracks and be useless.
This time the waiting was accompanied by tiny cups of black coffee and sweet Baklava. By twelve-thirty, the propeller was cool enough to handle. Avri waited patiently while the man inspected his work. He was content with the result and he handed it to Avri with the triumphant gesture of a conqueror.
It was a great piece of work, indeed. Avri checked it all around. It was flawless and he was happy.
Another fifteen minutes of filing and polishing and the two yachtsmen were on their way back to the boat.
Mounting the propeller on the shaft would still take more than an hour. There were also other matters to consider: The shaft may have been bent or the bearing could be damaged or perhaps out of balance. They just had to mount it on and hope for the best. It was close to one o'clock and Avri was determined to sail out today. The barometer inside his head was dropping, warning him of troubles ahead. ירכתיים
The Meltami was gusting and water was choppy. The Galatea was rocking violently as Oakeley and Avri dived under her transom to mount the propeller. It was only after they had entered the water that Avri realized how difficult the task would be. The boat was swinging wildly and the stern pounded heavily over their heads. It was dangerous, too, for a blow on the head from such a massive hull can kill a man. Oakeley suggested they postpone the job till the sea calmed down, but Avri was anxious to cast off and pressed to get on with it. He felt he must leave, he must get to open waters, he must get free.
They worked together under the water, sharing turns at the single tank of air. It was less than half full by now. It might not last to finish the job, Avri thought as he tightened the nut another quarter of a turn. Each turn took ages to accomplish. It was next to impossible to mount the wrench over the rocking nut while keeping his head away from the killer hull.
Avri lost two cutter pins to the bottom of the bay while trying to insert one into the locking hole in the shaft. Oakeley succeeded on the third try and the job was done. The two sailors shared a triumphant handshake as they climbed back onto the boat.
Now it was time to test the propeller. Avri started the engine and Oakeley checked the mooring lines.
"She is secured," he called to Avri, "let's try it out".
Somewhat nervously Avri pushed the throttle into Forward. The boat trembled slightly as the propeller started to churn the water. It was smooth and clean. They looked at each other in mutual approval. Avri pushed the throttle up further. The tachometer indicated 1500 RPM and still all was well. He pressed it even higher to 2000 RPM. The water was swirling around the Galatea in frenzy now, and the mooring lines squeaked under the load. At 2500 RPM the ropes transferred the full twenty horses of engine power to the steel bollards holding the Galatea down. It was still OK and smooth. No vibrations, no racket.
"No problem," Avri called to Oakeley as he throttled her back down to Idle.
Oakeley smiled in return as he climbed back on board.
The wind was blowing hard on the other side of the breakwater. It was brisk and noisy, powerful waves crashed against the rocks spraying clouds of white mist all over the dock.
"No, I do not intend to sail out in this weather," Avri said in reply to Jim's unasked question. "I'll leave early in the morning, before the wind picks up. By noon I'll be sailing fairly south so I will enjoy the tailwind and fly away".
"Yeah mate. Sounds right. So now allow me to fix us some tucker over at the Jay Bee ".
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Vidas was still working on his boat when the old Greek called from the taverna. "Hey young man, I think the phone is working," he yelled, miming a telephone call with his hand. The young fisherman hurried to the taverna, trying to conceal his impatience.
"It's my friend from Patmos. He may be coming over with his sister," he explained.
The old man smiled with nostalgia and moved away from the phone as Vidas dialed.
"Kondos, is that you"?
-
"Listen, I think she may be here".
-
"No, no hole in the hull".
-
"Well, she is white, about 12 meters, she is foreign".
-
"No, I don't know what flag she is flying. No. Is it important"?
-
"Yes, maybe hold her here for another day. Maybe. But sure not more".
-
"Good, I'll wait for your call. Bye".
So, Kondos may or may not be coming, but Vidas had done his job. If he comes there may be more excitement to follow. If not, then it was back to a mundane, though undemanding, life.
Well, what now, Kondos contemplated as he hung up the phone. A white 12 meter, that's not uncommon. As a matter of fact – it is very not uncommon.
But it is the only one any of us have found so far.
Kondos himself had now been to three islands and looked at five harbors and found nothing. There was only the island of Arki left on his list. I think I'll skip that one and take a fast trawler to Samos and take a look at this white sailboat Vidas is talking about.
He was on the phone again and Vidas was there for his call.
"Vidas, I am taking a trawler over to you. I'll put out to sea in a few hours and I should be there by tomorrow morning. Before noon for sure".
Vidas hung up, relieved. He was sure the steel cable he had laid over the anchors would detain the boat until Kondos arrived to take charge. At this time he permitted himself a few afternoon Ouzos with the other fishermen at the taverna.
* * * * *
The wind in the bay was blowing at 12 to 15 knots. It was quite a gust outside, in the open sea. The hour was getting late and Avri was having dinner with Oakeley conceding another lost sailing day. It is very common amongst cruising sailors to form close bonds in a short period of time.
The storm blew throughout most of the night. Heavy waves pounded the breakwater sending salvos of spray over the dock. The wind was howling and the boats tugged hard on their moorings. Halyards played a discordant concert beating the masts. At times the wind screamed through the rig. It was a good weather to sleep through.
Avri woke up very early, disturbed by the silence. The storm had died out and the sleepy harbor was peaceful under the moonlight. It was quiet outside the harbor too so he prepared to sail out soon. He didn't even bother with a cup of coffee. I'll have one once I'm out at sea, he mumbled as he started the engine.
He was about to release the stern lines when he noticed Oakeley up on the Jay Bee deck. He waved, smiling in return. Avri coiled the lines into the locker and eased the throttle into forward gear. She slid smoothly off the dock and he started hoisting the anchor. He was half
way into the bay when the boat started slowing down. All the other boats shook violently as the Galatea came to a halt. The anchor was jammed, snagged on something on the bottom of the bay. It seemed as if it had somehow caught every other anchor along the wharf. All the boats were rocking and pitching. Shortly all the sailors were on decks pulling chains and anchors and yelling advices to each other. Avri didn't know how he got there, but Oakeley was soon with him. In his business-like manner he called instructions and orders to the other yachtsmen, his air of understated confidence assured they were listening. The Galatea swung back a bit and settled between the neighboring boats.
"I gather we got everybody tangled together like a pack of bloody octopuses," the Aussie chuckled.
Every skipper on the west dock of Samos bay was trying to free themselves from the mass of chains and cables that bound them all in a Gordian knot. Some dived in just to confirm what they all knew – the anchors were a tangled mass. A few tried to pull their hooks up, only to increase the chaos in the water.
"You know, Jim" Avri murmured. "It's almost as if someone is trying to keep me from sailing out".
Oakeley looked at him surprised, astounded.
"Yep, it might be," he said thoughtfully. "This does seem like one foul-up too many".
"Hold on," he said, walking to the bow. He bent down on his knees and with an expert hand released the anchor chain, which then dropped to the bottom of the bay. The Galatea was free.
"Wait a minute, Avri," he called as he hopped over to his Jay Bee. He was back in a minute, holding a nice Danforth anchor in his hand.
"Let's get the chain, Avri," he called as he returned to his boat.
"Now you have my anchor and chain! I'll get yours from the bottom of the bay, no worries. You go ahead and sail out. Now we each have a souvenir".
They both laughed aloud as Avri and the Galatea sailed happily out of Samos bay.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SPARTACUS was a sturdy 25-meter steel trawler, boasting a 300 horsepower diesel and a high and pointed bow to match any sea. The day developed into a cloudy afternoon. A brisk wind picked up from the north, heralding an oncoming Meltami. As evening approached it was obvious that a storm is on its way. Kondos surveyed the Spartacus as she bobbed on her mooring lines. She was ready for sea and so was he.
The waves were high and layers of water washed her foredeck as they cleared the entrance. The engine roared steadily and the rotary wiper cleared off the spray that was pounding the windshield. He sailed toward the northern end of the island. The Russian submarine was supposed to be there on the hour and he wanted to advise them of his plan.
He reached the rendezvous point fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. He slowed down, causing the craft to bob violently in the rough sea. He pitied the poor Russians who would have to brave this sea in a rubber dinghy. It definitely wasn’t the right weather for that kind of craft.
But they did, and right on schedule too. Three men climbed out of the small tower that rose up from within the waves. Their rubber dinghy disappeared in the troughs only to reappear again on the crests, steadily approaching the Spartacus. They came up below the wind and one young and brave sailor jumped onto deck. Kondos told him of his plan and they set a new meeting point at 37º54' N 26º58' E, off the north shores of Samos. Again, rendezvous time was set on the hour, every six hours.
Kondos was hard at the helm. There were a few sandwiches packed beside him and strong black coffee in a Thermos bottle. This was all he would need to accomplish the twenty hour sail to Samos. That is, if everything goes well and the storm stays reasonable. The evening sun approached the horizon to his Port side as Patmos faded into a faint blur over the Spartacus' stern. Kondos felt at peace with the boat, in harmony with the sea and the waves, approaching the big waves at a comfortable angle and effortlessly mounting the easy ones.
He had plenty of time to plan his next move as the boat powered its way through the stormy sea.
Now, what do I do once I get to that yacht? Do I search her for the Russian electronics? How? And what about her skipper?
It's not easy to find things on a boat, especially if it's not meant to be found. It will definitely take time, a lot of time.
The more he pondered about the situation, the more he realized that the skipper, being there, would be his greatest problem. How on earth could he deal with the skipper? He needed him off the boat long enough for a thorough search, but without drawing attention to himself in the process. Rummaging through the many lockers and searching all possible hiding spaces may take a few hours. He would obviously need the boat all to himself during that period. Maybe he could have the authorities detain the skipper on a tip-off from him or from one of his cronies. He could probably have arranged for it to happen in Patmos, where he knew almost everybody. But he had no worthwhile connections on Samos, and doubted the young Vidas would have that type of connections.
And I am not sure they have any police over there anyhow.
I need to be in that boat for at least two hours. Maybe four. This is not going to be easy.
Perhaps the best course may simply be to steal the boat out to the sea. There weren’t, after all, any police to stop him, and he could then search her unhurried.
But how the hell do I sail her out. What about the skipper?
Actually, he thought, if I sail her out I might as well deliver her to the Russians.
He liked that idea best. Let them bother rummaging around for whatever it is while he would wander off to the nearest taverna with the reward money in his pocket.
He kept brooding over the problem as the Spartacus churned the heavy sea, mile after mile, hour after hour. It was past midnight and the sea was pitch black. There was absolutely nothing to see on the outside and he had to navigate by the glowing compass. He had eaten one of the sandwiches and downed a couple of coffees. He was getting tired and his vigor was wearing off.
By two o'clock the weather had developed into a Mediterranean gale. The waves were twelve feet high, short and aggressive. The trawler pounced into the waves, burying its bow in the water. Her structure shook violently at every plunge, the engine revving up as the screw was out of the water and treading air. Kondos held the wheel with his left hand and braced himself to the chair with the other. It was impossible to keep from being knocked onto the cabin walls. It was hard and tiring. At times he engaged the autopilot and went down to the head, bouncing wall to wall as the boat rocked fiercely. He was getting bruised and achy on all sides, agitated and irritable. He fervently hoped the sea would have calmed down by the time he reached Samos.
And then there was that skipper. The quandary kept reappearing amid the waves and the gusts. He was riding a storm to a destination with an unknown outcome. He was eager to reach Samos, but didn't know what to do once he got there.
He engaged the autopilot and went down to check the engine. The noise was horrifying and the smell strong enough to knock down even the saltiest of sailors. The heat was nauseating. He stood there for a short while scanning the machinery. Everything seemed OK. That diesel was built for the sea and so was the boat. His eyes swept the room once more, and he knew he will finish this job, and successfully.
Kill the skipper, the thought hit him as he was leaving the engine room. Kill him and sail the boat out to the Russians. Yes, this is the solution, this is the way.
It seemed to be a good way out. A quick way out.
Or better yet, let the Russians do the killing. I will meet them, have them sail into Samos harbor, kill the skipper and take the boat. After all, they are much better at killing then me.
All at once the storm seemed easier to ride. The waves seemed friendlier, if not lesser, the wind an ally rather than a foe. He had a mission and a plan and he felt the Gods were with him.
A bright sun rose from the east wresting dominion over the land from the lords of the night. The wind was falling steadily as if bowing down the new master of the skies. The waves stretched longer and lower as the world r
esumed its normal subtlety.
Kondos had his last sandwich and the remaining coffee from the Thermos.
* * * * *
The rising sun greeted Avri some fifteen miles out of Samos, sailing west. His destination was a tiny nameless island which lay a few miles south of the island of Fourni. It was only two miles wide and not more in length and offered a well-protected little bay.
An old couple, the Papatonios, lived peacefully in a little house on that island. They had been there for years. The man was a talented fisherman who used to vend his abundant catch at Samos. Each morning he would return to his beloved wife, bringing back groceries and fresh produce. Whenever Avri's sails took him to that area he always made sure to pay them a visit. He especially needed a quiet evening now and the Papatonios' was the ideal place for it. In this weather he expected to reach them late in the afternoon. The sea was gentle, the breeze smooth and Avri yearned to clear his thoughts of Russians and submarines.
* * * * *
The Samos bay was lazy and quiet as the Spartacus glided in under the clear morning sun. Most of the fishing boats were on their way out for the daily catch and the dock was bare. The trawler approached an empty mooring spot and Kondos tied her to a free bollard. The old taverna keeper was arranging tiny stools on the sidewalk, readying his taverna for a new day. In answer to Kondos' inquiry he pointed to a turquoise painted boat bobbing gently some fifty yards away. Vidas was lying on the deck, sleeping off last night's heavy drinking bout. He was hard to wake up.
"It must be the Ouzo. I must have had the better half of that bottle last night. I knew you were coming and the yacht was snared like a rabbit, so I joined the fishermen," he explained apologetically.
"O.K." said Kondos, "wash yourself up and let's go and visit that skipper. We still have some work to do."
The Chase: One Courageous Skipper Battling The Perilous Evil Out To Destroy Him. (Sea Action & Adventure) Page 11