High Water

by Douglas Reeman

  'Good, let us be on our way then.' He swung his body awkwardly, as he turned towards the door. `I will join you outside.'

  Lang and Vivian crunched down the driveway, to where the car was parked.

  `Good luck, old boy,' murmured Lang. `It looks as if things will be working out all right after all.' He thrust out his hand in the dark, and Vivian saw the dull gleam of metal. `Here, stow this away somewhere.'

  Vivian's hand closed on to the butt of a heavy, automatic pistol, and he tried to push it away.

  `I don't want that, Felix. I'm not going to use a gun, whatever happens.'

  `Is your yacht insured?' asked Lang suddenly.

  `Of course, but what the hell has that got to do with it?' `How many times have you had to claim on the insurance?' persisted Lang.

  `Never. But I still don't see...'

  Lang cut him short. `No, but you keep it, just in case of accidents, don't you?'

  He thrust the gun suddenly into Vivian's coat pocket. `Well take this, old boy. Just in case of accidents,' he added meaningly.

  They both straightened up as Jensen limped out of the gloom.

  `Come, we must be off!'

  And as the car began to move, he called softly to Lang, `Stop worrying about Janice Mason, Felix, something will work out in the end.'

  Lang grunted with surprise. `No harm in hoping.' His other words were drowned by the car's powerful engine, as Vivian drove skilfully through the open gates.

  He remembered the drive long afterwards, for during the whole journey, Jensen talked tirelessly, and yet at no time did Vivian feel anything but captivated by his companion's

  quiet, gentle voice. Mostly the talk was of boats, and of Denmark before the occupation, and in his mind's eye: Vivian could clearly visualize the sort of carefree and happy life which Jensen had once led, and how the terrible bitterness and hatred, born of his suffering, had warped his mind away from his natural honesty.

  Even when he was aboard Seafox, Jensen seemed unwilling to listen to Vivian's point of view, or to ask if his reactions might have been the same. It was almost as if he was being driven by some strange, ungovernable force.

  He stood watching with interest, as Vivian spread a chart' of the Channel across the table, and switched on the small', chart-light, then, his eyes squinting, he made a small mark on the French coastline with a pencil.

  `Here it is, now let me hear what you think.'

  Vivian got busy with pencil and parallel rulers, working quickly and skilfully, stopping only to jot down notes in a small rough notebook.

  He nodded thoughtfully. `It's a beach, isn't it? And according to the chart, it's completely deserted around that part of the coast.'

  `Yes, the beach is too small for much use, only about a hundred yards long, and all the rest is rocky, and too deep for holiday-makers, and that sort of thing.'

  Vivian nodded again, his mind visualizing the scene that the chart, with its tiny figures and wavy lines, automatically formed in his brain.

  'H'm, I could anchor right in close, even at low water.'

  `Yes, now, can you be sure of being there tomorrow'; night?'

  `Well, let's see.' Vivian carefully consulted his tide', tables, and ran off a quick course on the chart, the pencil making the only sound in the wheelhouse, as Jensen watched anxiously, `Yes, that'll be all right. I shall sail tomorrow morning, about seven. That means, all being well, I shall be off Ramsgate at approximately twelve-thirty in the afternoon, or thereabouts.' He paused. `What about Cooper and the other man, how will I pick them up?'

  'That'll all be taken care of. They'll be out in a motorboat, on a fishing trip, if anyone wants to know! Go on,' he added impatiently.

  `In that case, I'll carry on round the coast, as if I was making for the Isle of Wight. Then, when I reach the Royal Sovereign Lightship,' he tapped the chart again, `that'll be about seven o'clock, and there'll be no moon, IT swing south, and straight across the Channel to this beach of yours.'

  `Very good. I see you know your stuff!'

  'I had plenty of practice during the war,' answered Vivian dryly.

  Jensen straightened. 'That's that, then. You be there at midnight, and flash a red lamp at the shore, Make the letter V. If you get the letter G back, take the stuff ashore in the dinghy,' He gave Vivian a piercing glance. 'If you get at all suspicious, then don't go ashore. Get out of it as quickly as you can,'

  Vivian grinned, inwardly excited. Just like old times, he thought. It'd have to be good navigation too. One small beach, midway between the bustling town of Dieppe and St. Valery. Even without other complications, it would be quite an effort to get to the place dead on time.

  As if reading his mind again, Jensen laid a hand on his arm. 'Don't forget, no risks, if you can help it,'

  Together they looked at the bulky suitcase which Jensen had brought i q the car.

  Where shall I stow the money, I wonder?' said Vivia a p .led frown on his features,

  Jensen opened the case, revealing the contents, which to Vivian looked like an oilskin bag, about the size of la pillow. When he lifted it from the case, he marvelled at its weight. A great deal of money had been forced into this packet, he thought.

  The other man was watching him, the hooded eyes bright, like a cat's.

  `Can we get down into the engine room?'

  As they scrambled down into the neat but cramped space below the wheelhouse, Jensen nodded approvingly at the twin engines, which lay inert, as if sleeping, and filling most of the space. Kneeling carefully and painfully on the deck, he peered down at the port engine, and eventually he pointed at the giant flywheel at the forward end, its sharp teeth shining with grease.

  `Under there, that is the place!'

  Vivian understood in a. flash. Between the flywheel and the bottom of the hull was about eight inches of hidden space, well sheltered by a maze of pipes and wires. While the boat was under way, no searcher, should there be one, would dare to thrust his arm anywhere near that spinning wheel, when, at an unexpected lurch of the boat, or an error of judgement, his arm would be torn from its socket by the cruel teeth.

  He whistled. `Quite an idea!'

  `Have you a couple of small pieces of ballast? I can put the packet down here, and the weights will keep it in place.'

  Vivian hurried aft, and returned shortly with two small but extremely weighty pieces of iron from the after bilges.

  The preparations complete, Vivian rowed Jensen ashore to his car,

  He watched the car's lights fading into the darkness. He and I are very much alike, he mused. It was a frightening thought.

  4

  AN EARLY morning tug chugged downstream, two of her crew standing with huge mugs of tea, throwing pieces of bread to a wheeling flock of screaming gulls.

  A feeling of urgency transmitted itself to Vivian, and he glanced at his watch. Six-thirty, and the uncertain ripple of the river was beginning to change, the waves slapping against the piles around the pier, as the tide started to turn.

  He stepped into the wheelhouse, and slipped into his waterproof jacket, and zipped it up to his neck. He jammed on his cap, and at that moment his eye fell on his reefer hanging on the saloon door, and with a frown he pulled out the pistol, and stood looking at it in the growing light.

  He jerked out the magazine from the butt. Fully loaded. He snapped it back, and put on the safety catch. For a brief second he was tempted to throw it overboard. But, as Lang had said, it might be useful. He grinned ruefully, it might even be the thing for dealing with Cooper, as he seemed to love drama so much. He looked about him thoughtfully. The First. Aid box, that was it. He lifted up the tray of bandages and bottles, and slid the gun underneath. He smiled, as he noticed the directions on the top of the box: `Be prepared for anything!'

  He squared his shoulders, and prep ed to cast off. With a cough and a roar, the two engines came to life as he pressed the starters, then, as they settled down to a steady rumble, he went on deck and cast off from the buoy. Seafox s
tarted to drift away on the tide, but as he stepped behind the wheel, and pushed the gear levers forward, the screws dug into the murky water, causing the boat to nose steadily forward.

  Throttles half open, and wheel to port, he felt a thrill of excitement run through him, as the yacht swung in a tight semi-circle, and headed downstream.

  He fell into procession with an old timber ship, flying the German flag, and a smart, Swedish cargo ship, and as the grey banks slid past, with their gaunt warehouses and loading jetties, he knew that the moment for turning back, or changing his mind, had gone.

  Tower Bridge loomed aheadg her twin arms raised in salute, and he caught a brief glimpse of the scarlet buses, and packed ranks of cars and lorries, waiting to continue their ordered and relentless journeys.

  He knew that many eyes were watching his boat with envy, and he wondered what they would think if they knew his purpose that morning.

  On, on down the river, twisting and turning through the shining strip of busy waterway, through the dock area, until at last the banks grew wider apart, and the jetties and wharves gave way to mud flats, and ocean-going ships.

  A police boat turned lazily away from a cluster of barges, and his heart quickened as it steered towards him. But it cruised past, the blue-clad occupants hardly giving him a glance.

  All at once it was different again. A sharp tang of salt replaced that of smoke and dirt, and the yacht seemed to feel, and welcome it, as she dipped happily into the choppy waters of the Estuary. He breathed deeply, and stretched his arms, and as the long, spider-like line of Southend Pier appeared faintly through the fine, morning mist, he began to hum to himself.

  It was lucky that the weather was so good, he mused, for had it turned against him, it would have been asking for trouble, No doubt the police boat would have shown some interest at a lone yacht proceeding to sea in the middle of a raging storm.

  The hours slid rapidly by, and the motion of the short, steep wavelets became more pronounced, as Vivian altered course to turn round the North Foreland, making Seafox roll more heavily in the beam sea. He cursed silently, wishing that he could push on without his unwelcome passengers, and for a moment he toyed with the idea of leaving them behind in Ramsgate. No doubt Cooper would take a poor view of that, he chuckled.

  Lifting his glasses, he examined the sun-swept coastline, letting his glance linger on the tiny catwalk around the top of the lofty North Foreland lighthouse, and he wondered if he too was under their scrutiny.

  He checked the compass, and altered course again, to pass closer inshore, it was getting near time for the rendezvous, and a feeling of tension held him in its grip,

  The grey breakwater of Ramsgate harbour loomed ahead, and he began to think that the arrangements had gone astray, when all of a sudden he saw two small fishing dories wallowing and pitching about half a mile away on the port bow. There were no other vessels in sight, so with the engines at dead slow, he headed towards theta.

  When he drew near, he quickly recognized, with a feeling of repugnance, the rakish panama hat that perched on one of the occupants of the nearest boat.

  As he let the yacht idle alongside, Cooper grinned up at him, and raised a hand in mocking salute, showing his teeth in an insincere smile.

  'Hiya there, Captain, right on the button, I see!' And he reached up awkwardly for the rail.

  The man in the bows of the dory turned his face towards € ivian, and he saw again the dull, impassive manservant from Mason's flat, Morrie. He merely nodded, and began to wind up a fishing line.

  With a scornful laugh, Cooper turned, and kicked the winder from the big man's grasp, sending it spinning into the sea, Morrie stared at the water impassively, as if he couldn't understand what had happened, and then with a heavy shrug, clambered up on to the yacht's deck.

  Cooper joined him, and waved to the small, dark man in the other dory. `Okay, pal, go on hack now, we're going on to Cornwall, to do a bit of real fishing. I'm fed up with this rod-and'-line racket, it's kid's stuff!'

  `What's the idea of the two boats?' queried Vivian, as he joined the other two,

  `If we'd just sat around in one boat after planning a day fit:::, g, it would have looked as if we had been waiting to hitch a ride, You've gotta do these things right,' added Oooper importantly.

  Vivian smiled to himself, it was as Lang had predicted, Cooper had to dramatize everything,

  They waited until the boatman had taken the other boat in tow, and then Vivian got under way once more, steering parallel with the shore. Destination Cornwall, if anyone's wat0-?ng, he thought wryly.

  Through narrowed eyes, he watched Morrie, as he m - ved heavily about the deck, his broad shoulders bent, as if with the weight of his huge frame. A nasty customer in a fight, he decided.

  After a while, the big man entered the wheelhouse, and stood silently watching Vivian's actions.

  `Here, take a trick at the wheel,' said Vivian suddenly. `Ever done any before?'

  Cooper's laugh drifted up from the saloon. `Sure, let him steer, the big dope'll go to sleep otherwise!'

  Vivian darted a glance at Morrie, but the dull, brooding expression was unaltered, until, as he took the spokes in his square hands, a brief glimmer of pleasure crossed his face. He gripped the wheel with confidence, making it look like a toy, and said softly: `Yes, I've done this before. Many times,' and he nodded his bullet head slowly.

  He didn't elaborate, so Vivian left him to it, and joined Cooper, who lay back on the settee in the saloon, humming a dance tune, and beating time with one of his pointed shoes.

  `All set?' he cocked a sharp eye in Vivian's direction. `Got the stuff all right?'

  Vivian nodded. `It's stowed away below,' he answered briefly, a new pang of irritation making him want to turn back and drop this odious little man ashore.

  Cooper sat up, and yawned, scratching his stomach absently.

  `Don't take any notice of old Morrie. Used to be a sailor during the war. Bit bomb .happy, but a useful sort of guy to have in a scrap.

  'Ah well,' he pouted like a child. `Guess I'll take a little nap. Give us a call when we get near something.' And with that, he leaned back in a corner, the panama tugged down over his eyes.

  Not another word was spoken, although several times he tried to draw out the strange Morrie, only to be met with an almost dumb barrier. So he gave it up, and concentrated on the business of navigation.

  When the first streaks of evening crossed the clear sky, he saw the steady eye of the Royal Sovereign Lightship,

  with the dark mass of Eastbourne spread across the coast behind it, and in the far distance he could just see the pale blob of Beachy Head reflecting the last of the fading light.

  Humming softly, he altered course, and gently the Se¢fox turned her trim stern towards England and, like a pale ghost, headed for the open sea, and for France.

  Vivian switched on the small light over the chart table, and glanced briefly at the thin pencilled line, then, he snapped the switch, and once more the wheelhouse was in pitch darkness, but for the soft glow from the binnacle. He eased the spokes carefully, his eyes watching the swinging compass card. It was getting close, he thought, he'd soon know if he- had lost his touch.

  A match flared suddenly behind him., and he felt Cooper peering over his shoulder.

  `How close?' his voice was hard.

  `If I've done this correctly, we should be about five miles off the headland.'

  He nodded towards a pale glare, which encircled the land like a halo. `That's Dieppe over there. It won't be long now.'

  `Good. Now what about the dinghy?'

  `I've sent Morrie to loosen that. But we won't bring up the money until we're sure everything's all right.' A tingle of excitement ran through him.

  `You're obviously born for this caper!' Cooper laughed in the darkness.

  Vivian felt in control of the situation, and now that the operation had started, he was eager to get things moving.

  `Look,' he said suddenly, `if
we're challenged, I'll switch on the navigation lights again, and we'll have to say we were making for Dieppe. We might be able to bluff it out.'

  `And if not?'

  `We'll make a run for it,' said Vivian grimly.

  The little yacht crept forward, towards the darkening mass of the land.

  Here and there, a buoy flashed its warning to the unwary, and overhead, a brightly lit airliner droned noisily towards Paris. Vivian tensed, as an unwinking, green light appeared in the far distance. But after a few breathless moments, it vanished round the headland. No doubt another yacht heading for home.

  The boat's speed slackened, and as if she was feeling her way, she ploughed forward towards the hardening line of the shore.

  'Right!' snapped Vivian, and deftly he eased the levers into neutral.

  'The pulsating roar of the engines died to an even growl, and the boat roiled uneasily in the swell.

  With his flashlight in his hand, he groped his way on deck. Silhouetted against the white hull of the dinghy, MMorrie's dark shape loomed like a rock. He too was waiting for something to happen. With a quick intake of breath, he pointed the torch, and pressed the button. Three shorts and a long. In the darkness, the beam seemed like a searchlight, and he found his heart pounding, as he strained his eyes towards the shore.

  Then, as he raised the torch again, he saw it, a brief pinpoint of light, stabbing out towards him. Two long flashes, and then a short one.

  He stepped back to the wheelhouse, and in a second the engines rumbled into life, as they pushed the boat ahead, but so slowly, that the bow wave hardly made a ripple. It was rather like driving a car without lights into a forest, he thought. The black arms of the shore seemed suddenly to leap out, as if to encircle him, while from the corner of his eye he saw a thin, white line, where the surf beat steadily against a line of savage rocks. It had been a good landfall, he decided. Then, having taken a quick bearing from the buoy on the headland, he stopped the engines, and in the silence which followed, the gentle slap of the waves against the hull sounded loud enough to be heard a mile away.

  He knew the depth of the water, the figures from the chart had imprinted themselves on his brain, and he had greased and marked the anchor cable in readiness for this moment, so without waiting further, he went forward and began to veer out the cable. After what seemed like an age, the white painted mark on the chain appeared from the chain-locker, and Seafox swung more easily, secure to her anchor.