A Ravel of Waters

Chapter 24

'We've got to retake the ship!'

I was saying next morning to Tideman what I seemed to have repeated a hundred times since the evening before. Tideman's revelations about Jetwind's value as a space-age weapon had left me with a feeling of bewilderment. I had slept badly. It was before breakfast in the sick-bay, and we were waiting for an early Cape news bulletin. Radio reception on Kay's little set was improving. The deduction was that we were shortening the distance to Cape Town. There was no way of establishing our position, even roughly. Tideman and I had speculated about it as frequently as I had reiterated my determination to recapture the ship. We were aware that Jetwind hadn't altered course and was still following my planned route to Gough. We were also able to estimate her speed to within a couple of knots; Grohman kept her going like a train.

The strain of his long vigil was telling on our guard. He would fidget in his seat, then take a pace or two up and down the outer glass-partitioned office, keeping himself alert until his relief arrived.

Tideman nodded in his direction. ‘To get at him, we have somehow to get past that glass partition. As things stand, we have no hope of a surprise.' 'They hold all the trumps,' I agreed.

'All but one,' he answered. He thrust his hand into his 'slide-rule' pocket. 'This.'

'Keep that hidden, for Pete's sake!' I said. 'We've got to find or create the opportunity to use it. It's not only our lives that are at stake. There are all the other consequences. I'm also desperately worried what they'll do to Kay.'

'I don't like the sound of Kyyiv either,' he replied. 'If they got their hands on her at Molot, I fear she's done for.' 'Meaning?'

He side-stepped a direct answer. 'It was better she should know Jetwind’s secret. If the pressure becomes too great, she could always break down and confess. Not knowing and playing the genuine innocent might only lead to something worse.'

I got up and made for the partition like a lion trapped in a cage. Up came the sentry's automatic. 'Peter! Leave it! Here comes the Cape news!' It took a great effort to pull myself away. 'There is concern in Cape Town shipping circles regarding the whereabouts of the missing sailing ship Jetwind, which began an attempt on the Falklands-Cape record some days ago’ said the suave tones of the woman newsreader. 'All attempts to establish communication with the ship have failed. The owner, Mr Axel Thomsen, told our news staff this morning that he is worried about the safety of the ship, which encountered a storm of hurricane proportions shortly after leaving Port Stanley. Weather satellite photographs confirm that a storm of unusual intensity is still raging along the route Captain Rainier decided to take to Gough Island. Captain Rainier had been warned by weather experts not to follow this course…'

'I can't stand this holier-than-thou, I-told-you-so crap!' I exclaimed angrily. 'If they only guessed what was going on!' 'No one could guess, Peter,' replied Tideman. I tried to defuse my frustration. 'This amounts to the fact that Grohman is keeping radio silence, doesn't it?' 'Wouldn't you, in his shoes, with the stakes involved?' The bulletin went on: — 'Mr Thomsen adds that South African Naval Headquarters has informed him that the area where Jetwind was last reported is well outside the range of long-range maritime reconnaissance aircraft. Nevertheless, if nothing is heard today from the missing ship, the South African research vessel Agulhas, which is now on a routine replenishment voyage to our weather station on Gough Island, may be diverted to search for Jetwind. The Agulhas is equipped with two helicopters, which would enable a wide area of ocean to be covered…'

There was an interruption. Grohman had arrived in the outside office. With him was the guard's relief, looking the freshest of the three.

Grohman, carrying his automatic, unlocked the door. He was strained and unshaven. If I was short on sleep, he was shorter. Kay emerged from her cubicle. I said, 'You just missed an interesting news bulletin, Grohman. Everyone is getting pretty worried about Jetwind’ 'The people who matter aren't worried’ he retorted.

I went on, trying to needle him. 'Your radio silence is proving counter-productive. You didn't hear what the radio had to say.'

'Don't play games!' he snarled. 'Landajo tapes all the main news bulletins. I can hear them at my leisure.'

I kept silent. His nerves were too ragged to take it. Finally he snapped. 'Out with it — what did the news say?'

'If nothing is heard today from Jetwind, the Agulhas will divert from Gough and search the Southern Ocean — with helicopters.' 'You lie!' he exploded. 'You are making this up!'

'You can check — it's on tape, you said so yourself.' I pushed home my verbal attack. 'That means that they'll locate Molot, Grohman. What will your bosses in the Soviet Fleet say when they find out you've blown their cover? The eyes of the world are already focused on this section of the Southern Ocean because of Jetwind. You haven't been nearly clever enough!' 'I should shoot you!' he snarled.

'It's too late,' I replied with more bravado than I felt. 'You've started something you can't reverse. Searchers will be here soon like a swarm of bees.'

I felt Grohman was against the ropes, psychologically speaking.

He said defensively, 'If I had sent a Mayday, they would have been here in any event.'

'You should simply have carried on as if nothing had happened,' I persisted. 'Just pretended you were me. I doubt whether if you'd tried it Thomsen would have fallen for a yarn about a second Jetwind skipper having died by accident.'

'Don't mock me, you bastard! There is still time to put the search off the scent.' 'Go ahead,' I said. 'You're the skipper.'

'Rainier,' he said in a way which was more sinister than his histrionics, 'Molot Command has instructed me to deliver you — unharmed. It might be a lot easier for you if I could tell them you had been cooperative. As it is…'He shrugged.

Kay broke in. 'Get this clear -1 will not cooperate under duress or any other way. I go along with Peter and John — whatever.' 'Those are very big words,' sneered Grohman. 'We shall See — at Molot.' We knew what had been in his mind regarding the search for Jetwind when we heard the lunch-time news bulletin. 'There is news at last of the sea drama being enacted in the Southern Ocean around the space-age windjammer Jetwind. Naval Headquarters at Silvermine, Cape Town, reports that a faint, garbled radio message was picked up this morning from the ship. It appears that she has been partially dismasted and that there have been casualties as a result of the accident…' 'Casualties — accident!' expostulated Kay. 'The signal stated that the ship was in no immediate need of assistance and gave her position as fifty-two degrees south, thirty-nine degrees west, near the island of South Georgia…' 'South Georgia!' exclaimed Tideman. 'The island of South Georgia is approximately seven hundred miles eastsoutheast of Jetwind's starting-point in the Falkland Islands, which means that the ship must have been driven considerably off-course by the hurricane which damaged her. At this stage no further details are available.' 'What is Grohman up to?' Kay asked. 'It's a red herring to stave off a possible search,' I said. 'He hopes it'll give him the breathing-space he needs to reach Molot.'

'The experts won't be put off by a fake distress signal like that, surely? Won't they smell a rat?' asked Kay.

'In the light of his assurance that Jetwind is in no immediate danger, no one is going to mount an expensive, dangerous search far away from the main shipping lanes,' I said.

'Peter, John! We must do something! We can't just let the situation slide! We can't go on like this, waiting, just waiting!'

'Keep calm, Kay,' said Tideman gently. 'The guy who wins in a hijacking is the one who can keep his nerve the longest.'

Just how corrosive that tension could be, we discovered throughout the interminable afternoon. There was nothing to do, nothing to read. We played what Tideman called 'silly-buggers card games' — inconsequential time-wasting which we tried to enliven by wagering impossible sums. The attempt was not a success. The nightmare of Molot overshadowed everything.

We could not wait for the main dinner-time news bulletin from Cape Town: 'No further messages have been received from the missing sailing ship Jetwind making for South Georgia,' it reported. 'Shipping experts believe that the vessel may try and reach the sheltered harbour of King Edward Cove where the old Grytviken whaling station is situated. This is now occupied by the British Antarctic Survey. So far all attempts by the Survey's radio ZBH to contact the damaged vessel have failed. Until some positive information is received, the survey replenishment ship Agulhas will continue to Gough Island as scheduled without mounting a special search as was originally planned.' 'Grohman pulled it off!' I exclaimed. 'There goes our last outside chance!' The bulletin continued: 'Mr Axel Thomsen, Jetwind’s owner, was interviewed today on the fate of his unique attempt to reinstate the sailing ship as an ocean cargo carrier. "This is the second mishap which has hit Jetwind" he said. "I think the ship must be jinxed." Mr Thomsen added that he would remain in Cape Town until specific news had been received about the ship and would then return overseas. He added that he was bitterly disappointed at the failure of Jetwind. If the ship could be repaired, he added, he would decide whether or not to sell it. "That is, if there is anyone left who is still interested in sailing ships," Mr Thomsen said.'

High overhead, the towering aerodynamics of Thomsen's space-age marvel thrust her along at seventeen knots through a Force Eight gale and dark confused sea towards her goal. Fate-or Molot?