Brute Force

78

I checked my watch. With the sun rising a little after six, we needed to make landfall within the next forty minutes to make maximum use of the darkness. The spray came hard in our faces and water made its way into every orifice, but we maintained a steady lick in the direction of the main harbour. After twenty minutes two sets of navigation beacons reared up either side of its large, natural entrance.

I tapped Lynn on the shoulder and pointed to the right. Without my having to say anything, he adjusted course.

Fifteen minutes later, we were close enough to the shore for me to be able to make out the headland west of the harbour that I'd used as the marker for our run-in. The lights of the city twinkled through the salt-spray crashing up from the bow. I could make out the headlights of cars moving along the coast road.

A minute later, I spotted the big, T-shaped hotel and brought it to Lynn's attention by tapping him on the shoulder again. He gave me a thumbs-up and chopped the throttle.

As we slowed, the engine ticking over to mask our approach, I clocked the lights of a ship approaching the harbour to the east – nothing for us to worry about, but a reminder that there were vessels in the vicinity. Behind us, the horizon was black and empty. Only in front, just above the bow of the tender, was there any kind of definition – a skyline dotted with lights, rising and falling gently in the swell.

Beneath and to the right of the hotel, I could see a long dark expanse – an area devoid of lights that I knew must be the beach.

When we were around 500 metres from the shore, I told Lynn to kill the engine altogether.

There were two paddles in the side compartment of the tender. The headland masked the worst of the incoming swell, but as we came within a hundred metres of the shoreline, I could hear the steady crash of surf on shingle. I paddled from the front and Lynn from the rear. We worked hard to keep the dinghy steady as the water got choppier and the waves and the back-pull more pronounced.

A large wave hit us amidships and I thought we were going to tip over. We both leant hard to our right and the tender steadied.

A second or two later, I felt the propeller scrape some rocks. I jumped over the side, grabbed the rope and pulled us onto the shingle.