“On the lower deck,” answered Karen.
Kite was amused that she knew the Lieutenant’s location without looking up, but he was careful not to smile. He steadied himself on the rail and rapidly descended the stairs, seeing Blaney in the centre of the deck. “The Fortune is turn...What the devil!”
The sight greeting Kite stopped him dead. The flagpole at the stern was flying a new emblem. The badly beaten Rufus Redmond, his feet bound by rope, hung upside down from the flagpole, which bent under his weight but did not appear to be in danger of snapping. The convict’s hands were bound behind him and he wore a gag over his mouth. Facing the ship, his face was flushed with blood and to Kite he looked more frightening than ever, like some monstrous fish dragged aboard from the deep.
“This was none of my doing, Henry,” said Blaney, walking to the stairs. “Redmond would not be still, so the men strung him up.” Blaney grinned. “But between you and I, I believe they hung him the wrong way up!”
“I agree,” laughed Kite. He quickly told Blaney of the Fortune and how she had turned back into the storm.
“Good,” said Blaney, “Captain Forrest always struck me as being quick-witted.” He thought for a moment or two, casting frequent glances to the pursuing ship and the growing fleet of helicopters tracking the Newshound from above. The sea was increasingly choppy as they cleared the coast and despite the uncommonly stable cruiser, Kite found he had to be careful not to move out of range of a rail.
Blaney looked at Kite, then at the men, who had stopped abusing Redmond and were now intent on their leader. “We’re nearly home free, men,” he said jovially. The words reduced the tension a little, but Kite could still see a sea of frightened faces. Blaney rushed past him up the stairs. “Follow me, Henry.”
In the wheelhouse, Blaney crouched by Captain Cross, who was now conscious. Watkins and Karen gathered round. Kite wondered what Karen was thinking as she stared impassively at Blaney.
“I have a plan,” said Blaney, “though if anyone here has a better one, speak up.” He paused to look at the faces around him. “We cannot outrun or outfight the ship chasing us. Our only advantage is that at our present speed we will reach the Fortune first. But that is not enough. The ship will be upon us before we can safely get aboard. My plan is to bring the Newshound in close to the Fortune without stopping. At the closest point everyone will go over the side. I will then steer the cruiser at the grey ship before swimming after you. If the ship is delayed for even a few moments, we may be able to escape into the storm.”
There was silence. Kite thought the idea made sense, given the limited options available. Cross was nodding as he thought. Kite saw fear on Watkins face, no doubt because he would have to enter the water again. Why this should worry him, Kite did not know. After all, he must have swum from the burning Marlin. Karen had a puzzled look on her face as she went over the words. When she opened her mouth to speak, Kite felt his muscles tense. He we go again, he thought.
“OK, you said we should speak,” said Karen. “Your plan is a load of shit!”
There was a stunned silence followed by a burst of laughter from Cross, who immediately went into a coughing fit. Watkins gave him some water and he settled down.
“Very well,” allowed Blaney, though Kite could see he was quite put out, “why?”
“Because any delay you cause will be eaten up by your swim back to the Fortune. And the Patrol Boat will either go round the cruiser or blow it out of the water. Either way, you’re history!”
“Then what do you suggest?” asked Kite.
Karen smiled. “Give up. No one else gets killed and you all live to fight another day.”
“Absolutely not!” exclaimed Cross. “If we do not escape now there will be no going back. Ever.”
Kite gazed back to the Patrol Boat, the helicopters and the coast. The thought of staying here, probably in a prison, caused a shiver to run through his body. He longed for the world he knew. “We cannot stay,” agreed Kite, then he turned to Blaney. “Karen may be right, Kit, but I can think of no plan better than yours. We must try.”
“There is an improvement to the plan, however,” said Cross, pushing himself up, with difficulty, on one elbow. All eyes were on him. “This cruiser can delay the Patrol Boat. But only if someone stays at the wheel.”
He let the words hang and Kite slowly realised what he meant. “No!” he cried, at exactly the same time as Blaney.
“I am dying,” stated Cross, without emotion.
“Nonsense!” said Blaney. Kite had to agree. The Captain was more lucid than he had been all day.
“It is true,” said Watkins, “there is nothing I can do for him.”
Karen snorted, but remained silent. She knew there was nothing she could say that would influence matters.
“Help me up to the wheel and show me what to do,” said Cross.
Blaney hesitated and looked at Kite, who was also reluctant to do the Captain’s bidding.
“That is an order, Mr Blaney. I am still in command. For a little while, at least.”
Blaney and Kite helped him up. Cross was in great pain as he grabbed the spokes of the wheel from Morris, but the look of determination filled Kite with admiration.
“Unbelievable!” said Karen, shaking her head.
Cross turned to her. “This is our way, Karen,” he said. “I have a duty to my men. What little use I am now may be able to ensure their freedom. Would you rather we all die?”
“Of course not, but there is no reason for anyone to die. Even you.”
“Perhaps,” allowed Cross. “However, my mind is made up and that is the end of the matter.”
Kite hoped the Captain’s actions would not be in vain. The Patrol Boat was closing in and nothing was certain except for Cross’s last words. They were as final as a slammed coffin lid.
DECKER
Harry Decker could no longer see the Newshound from his office window. He could see the insect-like cluster of helicopters beyond the harbour heads and the flotilla of police boats and pleasure craft heading out to follow the action, but the cruiser, patrol boat and sailing ship were lost in the distant haze. Thank God for television!
Taking a beer from the refrigerator, Decker sat down on a couch next to Valerie. They were both enthralled by the Channel Eight footage, clear as a bell, on the giant TV screen. Generous when he won, Decker was already mentally calculating the bonuses to his staff. It had been bloody magnificent!
“I just can’t believe it!” said Valerie.
Decker ignored her, as she’d repeated the words a dozen times. Instead, he sat back and revelled in the glory. The pictures he watched were being relayed to a live audience of millions, if not billions, around the world. Channel Eight was besieged with calls for pictures, live and packaged. In the United States an army of salespeople were taking calls from sponsors begging for their ads to be included in the coverage. It was too beautiful for words. And with editing, the specials based on the coverage could be trundled out for weeks or months, that’s how good and abundant the pictures were.
The camera operators aboard the choppers were worth their weight in gold, Decker decided. They had delivered the goods marvellously. First the guy being shot dead on deck. Then the brawl where the old guy was shot, a gripping struggle. The footage was so good it was almost like being there. Viewers watched as another man crawled from the runabout at the stern, following his progress until he pulled the guy into the water. A clean death, perhaps, but quite chilling. Then the beating of the young guy with the gun, savage and bloody, and his body tossed unceremoniously over the side. A gift from ratings heaven, Decker decided. Real live entertainment that cost next to nothing to produce. It was everything the audience wanted; bloody, violent death in close-up. Decker could not show a movie on TV that was this graphic, yet broadcasting these events as news...
“Look at that!” exclaimed Valerie.
Decker looked idly at the screen, dreaming about the future of his communications e
mpire. And there was still the rendezvous with the sailing ship to come! This was better than movie of the week!
Then he saw why Valerie had cried out. The TV director ordered a close-up and the camera zoomed in on the big, ugly looking bastard hanging from the flagpole. The men milling on the Newshound’s deck were oblivious to the danger, which made the picture even better. The swinging man had freed one of his hands and was pulling on the rope binding the other. He was having considerable difficulty, as the movement of the cruiser was tossing him violently through the air, but Decker could see it was only a matter of time before he succeeded. He sank further into the couch and smiled, a warm, satisfied feeling spreading through his body. Jesus! he thought, who the hell needs sex?
KAREN
What on earth am I doing here? thought Karen as she helped Blaney prop Cross against the wheel. The Captain was as weak as a kitten, so she had sent Morris below to fetch a stool. Kite had gone to the main deck to tell the men of the plan and Watkins was nowhere to be seen, thank God! He gave Karen the creeps. He was one of those men whose eyes were all hands.
For a while Karen had been stewing, outraged by everything she saw and furious that anyone would put their life at risk for nothing. There was no escape for any of these men and it was stupid to pretend otherwise. Sure, they might reach the Fortune ahead of the Patrol Boat, but the cruiser could not achieve anything but a token delay. And the Fortune, even in a storm, could not escape the detection equipment aboard a modern navy vessel.
Calmed by this line of thinking, Karen was in a much better frame of mind. The killing was over and she had recovered from the initial shock – though she had a feeling she would be a basket case tomorrow – when she could relax in a prison cell – and it would all soon be over. Even Cross, a tough old guy who she had become fond of, might even survive to see the inside of a hospital. And best of all, Chris Blaney would be safe.
Karen looked at him now, as he gazed through the window at the Fortune. The ship was close enough now to see the men crowding her rails. What am I going to do about this guy, she wondered. If those helicopters had recorded everything aboard the cruiser, then he would easily be identified as the leader. And so he was in big trouble. She would do everything she could to keep him out of jail; if she managed to stay out herself. She had never met a man like him. So dangerous, yet so controlled.
“Almost there!” exclaimed Kite, bounding back up the stairs, almost beside himself with excitement. Watkins followed with some more water for the Captain. Cross was settled a little more comfortably. Blaney helped him turn the cruiser to starboard in a wide arc to swing the vessel by the Fortune’s stern. The men of the sailing vessel were yelling and waving now, though Karen could not hear them over the helicopter noise.
“You had best go below and prepare to jump, Dr Watkins,” advised Blaney.
Watkins pulled a long, surly face. “Well, see that you bring us in close. I have almost drowned twice today!”
Blaney sighed. “Get one of the men to help you, if you must, but do not plague me with your petty complaints. Now go!”
Karen grinned as Watkins scuttled away. Then the situation dawned on her and her face fell. She could not stay on the Newshound in case something did go wrong, which meant she would have to jump off with Blaney and the others. But to go aboard the Fortune did not seem a particularly good idea. What if these men were for real? God knows where I’ll end up, she thought.
Blaney came up to her and hesitated. “Will you come back with me?”
Karen looked into his eyes. It would be very easy to say yes. “No. Will you stay here?”
“You know the answer to that,” said Blaney.
Karen smiled at him. “I believe you’re staying whether you like it or not. They won’t let you escape, you know?”
“Then come with me.”
Cross interrupted them. “Almost there, Mr Blaney.”
Blaney walked to the Captain. “Then we must leave you, sir.”
“Aye.” Cross turned to him and Karen thought she saw a tear in the Captain’s eye. “Will you write to my wife and daughters?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you. Do you know, your father would be very proud of you, Kit. I wish you fair weather. You too, Mr Kite.” He turned to Karen. “We owe a very great debt to you, Karen. You have made this opportunity possible.”
Silly old fool, thought Karen affectionately, resolving to visit him in hospital.
Cross stood up, obviously in great pain. “Carry on, Mr Blaney. Mr Kite.”
“Good luck, sir,” said Blaney and turned on his heel. He ushered Karen and Kite down the stairs.
Karen grabbed Blaney’s arm to slow him down. “I’m not going on the Fortune, Chris. I don’t want to leave my home. I’ll swim back toward the coast. One of the boats will pick me up.”
Blaney was silent. There was regret in his eyes, but also understanding. They were both equally stubborn, Karen realised. “Don’t jump before I do,” he said and hurried to the men.
The deck was in chaos and Blaney had to bellow to be heard. “When I give the word all of you must go into the water. We will be close to the Fortune, so you swimmers help the others.” This resulted in a little more order and the men crowded against the aft rail.
The cruiser turned across the waves and the vessel rocked from side to side. The Fortune loomed closer and the Patrol Boat was bearing down on them less than a kilometre away. Karen swallowed hard.
“Now!” yelled Blaney as they passed behind the Fortune. Cross had slowed the Newshound to allow them time to get off. The men hesitated, but after the first one leapt into the sea, the others tumbled after him in a rush, some of them swinging a punch at Redmond, who was twisting and turning with the movement.
Ropes cascaded from the stern of the Fortune while other crew members unfurled netting over the side of the ship.
Kite waved to Karen before jumping and then she found herself in Blaney’s arms, his lips crushing hers. They pulled away from each other. “Go safely,” said Blaney.
Karen nodded and climbed the rail, not trusting herself to speak. I’ll see you soon, she said to herself. Then she jumped and plunged into the cold water. Kicking to the surface, the world was a kaleidoscope of boats and helicopters. The Newshound was turning, having delivered its human cargo, to intercept the Patrol Boat. Blaney stood at the rail, making sure Karen was all right before he jumped. He waved when he saw her and prepared to jump. But a wave threw him off balance and he jumped backwards to the deck and mounted the rail again, but Karen watched in horror as Rufus Redmond’s body swung with the wave, bringing him on a collision course with Blaney.
“No!” exclaimed Karen, swallowing a mouthful of seawater. The huge convict had both hands free.
EVANS
“They’re going over the side, sir,” said George Evans, watching the Newshound and the sailing ship through his binoculars. The Patrol Boat was barely minutes away from the two vessels. The storm was very close now and mist reached out to them across the water.
“Cut the speed,” ordered the skipper. “Bring us in slow.”
Evans was tempted to argue, but a look from the skipper stopped any protest. He was astounded by the order. “Should we at least fire a warning shot, sir? It will be more difficult if they disappear into the mist.”
The skipper did not respond. He stared at the Newshound for a moment, then turned back to Evans. “That won’t be necessary, George. We’re not going to lose them. Once they all transfer to the sailing ship, the surviving group will be together.”
The words sounded odd to Evans, as though the skipper knew more than anyone else? But he had certainly not received any new orders since they sailed. What the hell was he up to?
If Evans had his way, he would lob a shell ahead of the ship and scare the shit out of them. But then again the skipper was right. The Patrol Boat had their measure.
BLANEY
Blaney ensured Karen surfaced before climbing the rail of th
e Newshound. She was right, he thought, the plan may not work. Perhaps they were trapped here forever. In which case, knowing Karen would certainly make life easier. He knew she could not go back with him any more than he could stay with her. He doubted either of them would really find happiness in the other’s environment. Still, he was filled with a sense of loss over what might have been. He would never meet anyone like her again.
Blaney was half over the rail when the cruiser rolled over a large wave and he stumbled back to the deck, cursing his lack of concentration. He launched himself again, glancing at Karen’s bobbing head. She was waving and yelling something, but the surrounding noise made it impossible to hear. He smiled and waved back and was hit with stunning force from behind. Too late, he realised Rufus Redmond had swung aboard with the wave. Two long, powerful arms wrapped themselves around the Lieutenant’s body and the convict’s head thumped against the back of his thighs. Blaney was filled with horror as he realised he was trapped and saw the Fortune drifting further away into the mist.
Redmond’s arms began to crush Blaney’s chest. The Lieutenant thought he could hear his own ribs creak and his eyes bulged painfully. Redmond was cursing roundly, the words muffled under his gag. Several Marines had pushed to the front of the Fortune’s rail and had their muskets aimed at Redmond, but he knew it was too much of a risk for them to fire.
All of Blaney’s breath was gone and his vision began to blur, illuminated only by thousands of tiny, flashing stars. His legs were losing strength and began to buckle. He saw the flagpole bend under the weight of the two men and cursed it for being so strong. Blackness fell across his vision like a curtain. This was death and he found himself drawn to it. Karen’s face drifted into his mind, a warm and comforting image. Goodbye, my love, he thought.
A loud cracking noise snapped him awake. The pain of his fractured rib struck his body like a lighting bolt. He felt like his heart was in his head, but he could see clearly, the sea, the Fortune, the helicopters. He could taste the salt in the spray. He could feel Redmond’s body flattened against his own. But most of all, he knew he had regained the will to live.
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