I let myself slide upright, wheezing and coughing, spitting out the water, trying to get the breath together to shout. I managed a blurry look, tried to wipe the salt from my eyes. It was another couple of seconds before I could see anything. A wave moved under me and I stared at the suddenly revealed horizon. A red and white light this time. It didn't make sense. The white disappeared and the red switched to green even while I watched. I slid back down into the trough. They were manoeuvring, that's all I needed to know. They were still looking and they were closer. I bellowed off another 'over here' and started to paddle.
My arms felt as though they had lead weights attached to them as I dragged them through the water. I seemed to be going so slowly, making so little progress. The board was so heavy. I counted to thirty strokes. It was a desperate last effort. If they couldn't hear me this time, I was finished. Twenty eight, twenty nine, at thirty I slid upright, sucked in everything I had and yelled.
‘AAAHHHH!!’
I rose up a wave and they were right there.
‘Martin?’ came a voice across the water. It was Kate.
‘Yes!’ The shape became clearer and bigger with every second. I could make out the mast and rigging now, even in the troughs, and hear the engine. I watched them turn slowly to come beam on. And suddenly it was there, the gold hull looming above me, rolling wildly as it sat across the swell.
‘We'll throw you a rope.’ That was Scott's voice. The line came flying across the water towards me. I grabbed for it and then Scott was shouting again. ‘There's a sling in the rope end, put it round your chest, then jump off the board, we'll pull you in.’
I did as I was told and was dragged the twenty yards towards the stern of the boat. Leg-rope tugging the board behind me, struggling to breathe as the line pulled me forward and under. I floundered onto the transom and eager arms grabbed and pulled me as I struggled to get a grip on the wet paint. My arms and legs were stiff and unwieldy struggling through the lifelines. And I was blind, eyes closed and stinging with salt water. I was suddenly desperate to be inside, to be safe.
Then I was there, collapsed on the hard deck. Unable to move, but happier than I had ever been. I could still feel the leg-rope tugging.
‘We'll get rid of this.’ a voice said, I felt hands on the Velcro strap.
‘No! The board, we've got to keep it.’
‘One day in the water and he's already a surf freak.’ growled another voice.
‘No. I don't want it found.’ I spluttered, still trying to clear the water out of my eyes so I could see properly. There was some crashing and banging and I felt the board beside me. I patted it. Good board, did well. A hot cup of coffee was pressed into my hands and a blanket thrown over my shoulders.
‘Are you alright?’ It was Kate's voice, full of concern.
‘You were real lucky man, we only heard you because we had the engine throttled back to pick Kate up.’ said another voice.
‘What happened to you, where did the torch go?’ It was Kate again. I couldn't speak. I just shook my head. I blinked fiercely and my eyes cleared. ‘Martin, talk to me, are you alright?’ she was beside me, arm round my shoulders.
I nodded, tried to smile, tried to speak, ‘I got caught in the break, ended up on the beach, lost the torch, lost you. I thought you'd left me.’
I glanced up. Scott was glaring at us. I started to pull away from Kate.
‘I can't believe we're doing this, Scott.’
The voice came from behind me. But Scott's attention was diverted, he looked up, ‘Shut up Duval, I'm the skipper.’
‘If I'd known this was what you were planning I'd never have allowed it. I can't believe I fell for that crappy line about picking up crew in Newcastle. These people are being hunted by the police in connection with a double murder. Killing cops for Christ’s sake! We're helping them escape. Do you realise what that means?’ it was the nasal whine again, urgent, tight, angry. I shifted round so I could see him.
Scott stood up straight and glowered at Duval, ‘I told you they didn't do it, some bent cops set them up - they can't go to the police.’
‘That's their story.’ retorted Duval quickly.
I could see Scott was getting angrier, I could imagine he wasn't happy at having to defend me. But I didn't have the strength to intervene. I sat there numbly, sipping at the coffee. Scott managed to ignore Duval, ‘Ben, help me get these two below and warmed up. Duval take the goddam wheel and steer north. We'll talk about this later.’
Then he was beside Kate, and leading her away, an arm round her shoulders. A hand was proffered. I looked up and recognised Ben. I accepted the help, and he pulled me heavily to my feet. I kept hold of his hand as I said, ‘Thanks. Nice job in the bar. I guess we never really got introduced. I'm Martin.’
‘Sure. I'm Ben.’ He shook with a firm grip from a gnarly hand. But there was a pleasant enough expression on the easy-going face. It didn't look like I was going to get any hassle from him.
The boat was rolling awkwardly under the swell, dead in the water. We staggered down the deck like a couple of drunks. I leaned on him heavily as I struggled down the companionway into the warmth and light below. Duval was left with no one to argue with. Moments after we got below the engine revved and the boat started to turn. Scott brushed past us and peered out the hatch. He came back inside, ‘Just checking,’ he said, ‘I wouldn't put it past that bastard to try and take us back into the harbour.’
Kate was already out of the wetsuit and tucked up in a sleeping bag. Ben led me to the next bunk and some towels. I slowly peeled off the wetsuit. He returned a few moments later with some dry clothes. ‘Here you go. There's a bag of spare stuff we pulled out for you, oilskins, clothes, on your bunk, back there.’ he said.
I looked up in time to see him indicate the bunk beside me, where Kate was sitting, ‘Thanks.’ I said, again.
‘No worries.’ Then he moved to the galley and poured two bowls of an excellent chicken soup. I sat up to eat mine, propped uncomfortably on the edge of the bunk. But there was nowhere else to sit. I looked around, in fact there wasn't much else at all. A spartan galley, lines of bunks down each side of the boat, and in the middle the companionway ladder. Scott leaned against it and watched us eat.
‘You better go on deck Ben and keep an eye on Duval. Make sure we're headed well offshore. I think oh three oh is about the bearing. I marked it on the chart back there.’ he said. Ben nodded and moved past him up onto the deck. I could feel Scott watching me. I kept my head down and kept eating.
‘You're quite a star Martin, you've been all over the media.’ he said, finally.
I looked up at that, spoon half-way to my lips. I wanted to ask him if they had got pictures of us, what was in the reports, the details. But something in his face told me this wasn't the time. And that maybe I didn't really want to know.
But Scott wanted to tell me, ‘Yeah, like Duval says, tough guy, cop killer. The story is you lost a lot of money in the city, did a runner, drifted, fell in with a bad crowd, all that shit. Failed wheeler-dealer turned drug smuggler. The perfect mix - dope and high-finance. They're really doing a number on you. They want your blood.’
Slowly I finished the spoonful. I leant forward and put the bowl down on the galley, ‘Good soup.’ I said quietly. I didn't want to know any more.
‘There was only one thing missing - sex. But they got that covered now too. They got Kate down as Bonnie to your Clyde. There've been reporters all over the yacht club, all day. I heard that some fuckwit off another boat sold a picture of Kate in a bikini to a paper.’
I felt Kate shift beside me, the clink of the soup spoon dropping. Neither of us said anything. I could see Scott's jaw grinding.
‘And when the cops turned up this morning, they wanted to know all about you - maybe even trying to find a little fact in all this fiction.’ his voice was a chain saw grinding on metal. ‘It is fiction, isn't it?’
I met his eyes. ‘Yes.’ I said, simply. I heard Kate put the bow
l down behind me, felt her curl into the bunk.
Scott watched us, unblinking, before he went on, ‘So when they turned up, I had to tell them I only met you once. All I knew was that you were an old boyfriend of Kate's. Turned up out of nowhere and whisked her away.’ His eyes shifted to Kate. He went on, ‘And then I had to tell them I didn't care where you were Kate. You were nothing to do with me any more. I did a great job too. They all believed me.’ he sounded so hurt.
‘The cops searched the boat before we left, but half-heartedly. They believed me. So did the media circus, cameramen everywhere, some arsehole in a boat even followed us a couple of miles out of the harbour taking pictures, that's why we were late. And they all believed me when I said you could go to hell Kate. They all believed me, everyone, even my mates. Fits in with their little story doesn't it?’ his voice was rising, ‘Broken hearted lover flees scene of his humiliation. Jesus, you'll be on the front page of tomorrow's tabloids half-naked, with a story telling how you've run off with this clown on a sex, drugs and killing spree, while I, the spurned lover, sail off to Hong Kong alone.’
There was a terrible, anguished silence. I couldn't imagine what it had cost him to stick to his story with this storm raging round his head. But it came home to me hard that this was the perfect cover for his departure, our escape.
But now he turned to me, jabbed a short, stubby finger into my chest, pushed his face up close to mine and hissed, ‘And this is all your fucking fault. You've been nothing but bad news since we met, you've really fucked it all up. You got Kate involved in this. I don't mind for myself, I can take the shit, but you put her in danger and I can't allow that. I'd love to take you back to Sydney and give you to the cops and whoever else it is who wants you, but I can't do that now without making things worse for Kate and probably the rest of us as well. So I guess I'm going to have to take you with us. But if you lay one finger, you so much as look at her on this trip, you'll be swimming home. Get it?’
I nodded, slowly, neutrally. He stared into my eyes for another second and then he was gone. They were both gone. Kate offering no protest as she was bundled off to the other side of the boat. I was left to crawl painfully into my bunk and, for the few brief minutes allowed me before I caved in to sleep, think about the fact that now she was Scott's. And there was nothing I could do about it.
Chapter 19
I braced myself hard against the boat's motion, waiting for the pause at the top of the roll, before I continued lurching towards the companionway ladder. I could feel the storm driven chill of the night seeping through the closed hatch. The crash and howl of the southerly gale had been with us since the pick-up twenty four hours earlier. I glanced at the time, nearly two in the morning and a four hour night watch to do. It didn't get any darker or colder. I hunched deeper into the borrowed oilskins and struggled to zip them up, juggling two hands for a job that needed three or four, what with holding on to the boat and my coffee. Too hard. I gave up on the zip, I'd wait till I could put the coffee down on deck. And now the hatch cover was stuck. Cursing quietly I jammed my hand against the red glow of the night light to get some purchase against the handle and heaved. The hatch gave way with a bang, and the trickle of cold air became a flood. I shook the spilt coffee off my hand and stuck my head out.
I didn't even hear the wave. The bow must have gone in just as I pulled on the hatch and the green water came rolling back down the deck while I was worrying about my coffee. Whatever, I missed the signs and the first I knew was water cascading through the hatch, straight down the neck of my unzipped oilskins. I was soaked. A four hour watch to do and my only set of dry clothes was wringing wet. I stood there on the ladder for a second or two, cursing under my breath, then struggled through the hatch, nursing the remaining coffee.
There were no friendly greetings as I emerged on deck. Although Ben nodded, Scott merely glanced at me from his position behind the wheel. His attention switched straight back to the boat, spinning the wheel a couple of turns and forcing her down the next wave. The sudden lurch of acceleration as she started to surf nearly had me on my backside. I grabbed at the top of the mainsail winch just in time. It spun under my grip with Ben tailing the sheet to keep some pressure in the sail. Over the stern, a creaming tail of spray and phosphorescent wake was carved through the heaped up seas behind us. I moved aft more carefully, and jammed myself safely into the corner of the cockpit opposite Scott and Ben. I sipped at the mug and the odours of coffee, sodden oilskins, sweat-laced thermals and adrenalin all wafted upwards.
It had been, at best, a tense twenty four hours. It was probably only the advent of the gale, and the demands of sailing the boat in difficult conditions, that had stopped us tearing each other's throat's out. I had been woken a couple of hours into that first night by the noise of Duval and Scott, 'discussing' the situation. From what I could tell, Ben had had to intervene to stop it coming to blows. As for myself and Scott, we had simply ignored each other. What was harder was the fact that Duval was no longer talking to any of us. Which only affected me since I shared a watch with him. Four hours of stony silence on deck wasn't so much a problem when it was blowing forty knots, but it wasn't going to be much fun when the sun came out and the wind went down. But, since this was a rescue mission, not a holiday cruise, I was hardly in a position to complain. The only person on board who was talking to everybody was Ben. And it was Ben who was beside me now.
He peeled away the layers of clothing from his face and, shouting to make himself heard, said, ‘This looks like it's in for a while. It's good, we'll get some miles done before it blows out.’
‘How far have we come?’ I yelled back.
‘About two hundred and fifty miles.’
I glanced at the rig, three reefs in the main and the storm jib up, and we'd averaged just over ten knots for the last twenty four hours, ‘Not bad.’ I shouted into his ear - small talk, there had been precious little of that recently.
‘Yeah, the faster we do the run up to the corner of Papua New Guinea the better, then we can back off as we go through the reefs and islands up there, do a bit of fishing, some snorkelling maybe.’ The boat slowed as it came off another wave and the sudden increase in apparent wind whipped the last few words from his mouth and carried them away down the boat. I settled for a smile and a nod by way of reply. I nestled the coffee cup in my hands and let the steam warm my face. That was the problem with a southerly, it might be blowing us the right way, but by god it was cold.
I felt a tap on my shoulder, it was Ben again.
‘Where's Duval? We're off watch here in five. Skipper wants him up on time.’ He jerked his head at the bulky figure, ‘Four hours at the wheel and ready to hit the sack. Better deal with it pronto.’
I flicked the remaining coffee into the ocean and climbed back down the hatch without a word, turning onto the port side where I knew I would find Duval. Second bunk along, there he was, only a thatch of hair appearing from the sleeping bag. I shook his shoulder through the damp cloth. No movement.
‘Duval! You're on deck. Scott wants to get off watch.’
Then I turned and shouted forward, ‘Hey Kate, you got any more of that coffee.’ She stuck her head round the corner. Backlit by the red night lights I couldn't see her face, only the mane of tousled hair, silhouetted and glowing.
‘Sure,’ she disappeared, to emerge a moment later with another steaming mug. She moved towards me, one hand on the bunks to keep her balance and the other holding the coffee. The headroom was so tight, because of the flush decks, that even she had to crouch and duck her way past the hardware bolted onto the deckhead. It was a new experience for me, this boat. The ones I'd sailed on previously had all this junk hidden behind panelling. But not a race boat, too much extra weight apparently. The result was I went everywhere doubled up and still cracked my skull all the time.
‘Here you go.’ she said, offering the cup.
‘Thanks.’ I replied, reaching out to take the mug. The boat rolled and pitched her
towards me, she grabbed for the passage wall to brace herself as I took the coffee, but she was very close to me now. My heart thumped a little, we'd hardly spoken since we came on board.
‘You ok?’ she asked, in a concerned tone.
‘Fine, I don't get sick. Well, I never have done so far anyway.’
‘No, I didn't mean...’ her voice tailed off, she glanced at the hatch, ‘You know what I mean, how's Scott treating you?’
‘Ignoring me.’
‘This isn't going to be a fun trip, we just have to deal with it the best we can.’ she forced a weak smile, that didn't reach the blue eyes.
I nodded, ‘It's ok.’
‘Scott's really wound up about all that newspaper stuff. I keep telling him it's rubbish, that it covers our escape, helps keep me safe.’ she paused, ‘He knows that's true, but it made him look a fool in front of everybody and coming so soon after losing that sponsorship deal... it's really got him down. I don't think he realised how much he wanted that till he'd lost it.’ She glanced down at the recumbent figure of Duval, ‘He said anything?’ she asked.
I shrugged, with an ironic half-smile, ‘He's not spoken to me either.’
She leaned closer, whispered in my ear, watching Duval, ‘He's a shit, keep your eye on him, I wouldn't put anything past him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just watch out for him.’
I nodded, and she squeezed my arm gently, then slid past me through to the navigation station. Duval still hadn't moved. I was about to shake him when a voice came down the companionway.
‘Duval, get your arse out of bed. You're on watch.’ I looked up, it was Scott, peering down the hatch and more than a little miffed, ‘Wake him up.’ he said, brusquely. Duval still hadn't moved. I shook his shoulder, and kept shaking, finally there was a response.
The Defector Page 19