Passage by Night (v5) (12 page)

Manning strained his eyes into the mist. They passed the fortress on the left and he could see the dark headland jutting out into the sea and suddenly a great coloured stream of tracer soared into the night from their right.

'Heavy machine gun,' Orlov cried as he rushed in. 'Keep moving. I'll handle them.'

The boat shuddered as a stream of bullets thudded into her hull and Orlov leaned out of the side window and returned the fire with his submachine gun. For a little while, the Cubans answered and then, quite suddenly, they stopped.

A few moments later, the
Cretan Lover
ran out into the open sea.

14
Exuma Sound

The water was being whipped into whitecaps by a strong east wind that blew steadily out to sea carrying the fog before it. Visibility was becoming better minute by minute and after a while, the moon moved from behind a cloud.

Manning took a quick look at the chart and altered course several points as Orlov came in.

'What's the situation below?'

'The old man's still unconscious. The girl's seeing to him now.'

'Any damage?'

'Bullet holes all over the place. Good thing she had the sense to get down on the floor.'

'She's quite a girl,' Manning said.

The Russian nodded and glanced down at the chart. 'Where are we making for?'

'Spanish Cay. I think Morrison would like to know about Kurt Viner as soon as possible.'

'Have we enough fuel?'

'We filled the tanks before leaving Harmon Springs. That gives us a range of more than seven hundred miles.'

'Good enough,' Orlov said. 'I'd appreciate a bath and about fifteen hours in a decent bed.'

Manning glanced sideways at him. 'You're not worried at all?'

'Why should I be? All the authorities in Nassau can do is pass me on to our ambassador when they hear my story.'

'Perhaps they won't want to let you go.'

The Russian grinned. 'Don't think the thought hasn't occurred to me. After all, men with my background
are
at a premium. I could probably teach the gentlemen at Canaveral a useful trick or two.'

'They wouldn't like that sort of talk in the Kremlin at all.'

Orlov smiled again. 'But I'm not in Moscow, am I? Would you like me to take the wheel for a while?'

Think you can handle her?'

'I've had experience.'

'All right. Try and get some sleep. Come back up in about three hours. We'll spell each other through the night.'

When the Russian had gone, he pulled the seat from the wall, suddenly drained of all his strength. The wheelhouse seemed unbearably warm and he opened a window and leaned out, breathing deeply on the good salt air.

The door creaked open and closed again. Without turning, he was acutely aware of her presence.

'Coffee, Harry?'

He held the mug in one hand and drank the contents down, grateful for the new life it gave him. 'How's your father?'

'He'll be all right. It's happened before.'

'Once too often can kill a man.'

'All sorts of things can do that,' she said calmly. 'Cigarette? I found a pack in the cabin.'

He took one gratefully. A match flared in her cupped hands illuminating her face as he leaned forward for a light. She had never looked more lovely and he instinctively put out a hand and touched her cheek.

And then she was tight in his arms, her face turned up to him. 'Why, Harry? Why?'

He held her close, one hand on the wheel, and explained about Maria Salas and how she had died and of the trail he had followed to Nassau that had ended with the death of Pelota.

When he had finished, she was silent for a while. 'You must have loved her a great deal.'

'I'm not even sure what the word means any more,' he said. 'I only know I was going downhill fast and she pulled me back. I owe her something for that at least.'

There was another small silence and she said, 'What happens now?'

'We make for Spanish Cay. I must tell Morrison about Viner as soon as possible.'

'And afterwards, when the whole thing's over and done with?'

'Who knows? I'll think of something.'

For a little while longer, she stayed within the circle of his arms and then she pulled herself free and crossed to the door. 'I'll see how Papa is.'

'It's no good, Anna,' Manning said quietly. 'I'm twenty years too old for you.'

'I wouldn't be too sure about that,' she said and the door closed softly behind her.

She had left the pack of cigarettes on the chart table and he lit one and sighed heavily. Life was like the circles rain made on the surface of a pond, constantly running into each other. No sooner had a man moved out of one situation than he found himself up to his neck in another. He settled back in his chair, moved course a point to the east and concentrated on his steering.

Orlov relieved him at one
A.M.
and he went below. Papa Melos was still out cold and Anna was sleeping peacefully, her head pillowed on one arm. He flopped down on the spare bunk and stared up at the bulkhead, thinking about everything, but great waves of tiredness swept over him. Within a few minutes, he was sleeping soundly.

* * *

He came awake to an insistent pressure on his shoulder and looked up into Anna's anxious face. He sat up quickly and swung his legs to the floor.

'What is it?'

'Something's wrong with the boat. She's not handling right. Sergi wants you on deck.'

It was then he noticed her father sitting huddled at the table, a mug of coffee in his hands. 'How do you feel?'

The old man's face was grey and wrinkled, the eyes like black holes, but he managed a ghastly grin. 'Better get up top and see what's wrong.'

The boat was rolling sluggishly, that much was self-evident as Manning went up the companionway, and her speed was greatly reduced. As he went out on deck, a strong east wind dashed spray in his face, but the sky was still clear and visibility good as the moon travelled towards the horizon.

The Russian turned from the wheel, an expression of relief on his face. 'I don't know what's wrong, but something is.'

Manning took over. The steering was sluggish and heavy and yet the throttle was fully open. He turned to Orlov. 'Keep her as steady as you can and I'll check the engine.'

As he went back on deck, Anna emerged from the companionway. 'Better have a look below, Harry.'

Manning followed her down to the cabin and paused in the doorway. A good inch of water slopped across the floor and Papa Melos had the hatch open.

He turned and shook his head. 'She's filling up fast, Harry. There must be a hole in her somewhere.'

'Probably that blasted machine gun when we were running out of San Juan,' Manning said. 'Where's the pump?'

'In the stern, Anna told him. 'I'll show you. I'm afraid it's only hand-operated.'

He groaned. 'That's all we needed.'

He crouched in the stern while Anna held a flashlight and primed the pump and then got to work, swinging the lever vigorously until a stream of discoloured water gushed across the deck and over the side.

He changed hands frequently and, after half an hour, there was a noticeable change in the way the boat was behaving. He handed over to Anna and went into the wheelhouse.

'Keep her moving at full speed,' he told Orlov. 'It looks as if we sustained some damage below the waterline running out of San Juan. I'm going to take a look.'

When he went below, Papa Melos had the hatch cover off again and was peering into the scuppers. He turned and nodded.

'Still plenty there, but nothing like as bad.'

'I'll go in and take a look,' Manning said.

He had perhaps three feet in which to move and there was a good eighteen inches of water slopping over the ribs. He went in feet first, the flashlight between his teeth, acutely aware of the stench that is always to be found in any ship's bilge. He moved forward on his hands and knees holding the flashlight above his head.

As the boat lifted over the waves, the level of the water rose and fell, slapping across his face, on one occasion passing right over his head, soaking him to the skin.

There were several ragged bullet holes in the bows and water oozed in constantly. He examined them for a moment and then moved back and pulled himself through the hatch into the cabin.

'How bad is it?' the old man said.

'Could be worse. After all, it's almost seven hours since we left San Juan so it took its time to get as bad as it did. Another three hours and we'll be in Spanish Cay. We'll get her fixed up there. You've nothing to worry about.'

The old man was still pretty groggy. He sat down and reached for the coffee pot and Manning went back up on deck. The wind had freshened considerably and clouds scudded across the face of the moon. As he went into the wheelhouse, rain spattered against the glass.

'How bad is it?' Orlov said.

'It's coming in pretty slowly at the moment. That's why it took so long to show.'

'How long till we reach Spanish Cay?'

'Three hours.'

'Then we've no worries.'

'I wouldn't be too sure. The side of the cabin's like a sieve, remember. If we run into dirty weather, we won't stay afloat for long.'

Orlov looked anxiously out through the window at the rain. 'What do you think?'

'Let's say it doesn't look too promising,' Manning told him. 'I'd better take over here. You give Anna a spell on that pump and keep it working.'

During the next half hour the weather deteriorated rapidly and visibility was considerably reduced. The
Cretan Lover
lurched over the waves, spray scattering the length of her deck, and after a while, she started to ship water.

The door opened and Papa Melos came in and slammed it shut. In the light from the binnacle, he looked much more his old self.

'How's she handling?'

'Not too well,' Manning said. 'I think she's filling up again.'

'I'll take over. You go and check.'

Manning went outside and moved along the deck. In the weird glow of the green and red navigation lights, he could see Orlov crouched by the pump in the cabin, working rhythmically.

When he went down into the cabin, he found Anna on one of the bunks, desperately trying to plug the bullet holes with pieces of rag. Each time a wave dashed against the hull, great fingers of water syphoned into the cabin. There was already at least six inches on the floor.

'Do what you can,' he said. 'I'll be back in a little while.'

He went and crouched beside Orlov, the wind carrying away his voice so that he had to shout into the Russian's ear.

'Can you keep it up?'

'I think so. How are we doing?'

'Not so good. I'm going to check on our position.'

As he moved along the deck, a great sea passed over the rail, knocking him onto his back and he slid against the engine-room hatch and bruised his shoulder. He scrambled to his feet and staggered towards the wheelhouse, using the rail to force his way along.

When he went in, the old man turned, his face grim. 'It's taking her all her time to breast these waves.'

'There's water pouring in all over the place down below,' Manning told him. 'Anna's doing what she can to stop it. See if you can help her. I'll take over here for a while.'

The old man nodded, relinquishing the wheel. When he had gone, Manning slumped into the seat and leaned his forehead on the window pane. He was tired and scared and very cold. Beyond the navigation lights there was nothing, only the darkness and the wind which moaned around the wheelhouse, filling him with foreboding.

He was tired. Too tired to think straight and yet he had to. He flicked on the light above the chart table and holding the wheel with one hand, tried to work out their position.

By now they were well in Exuma Sound and north of Eleuthera, but how far north? He didn't have much to go on and worked out a dead reckoning based on their speed and approximate mileage. The result seemed to indicate that he should alter course to northwest for Spanish Cay, but north of Exuma there were hundreds of rocks and cays. In weather like this, they wouldn't stand a chance.

He compromised and altered course half a point. Gradually, a faint pearly luminosity appeared and he was able to distinguish the dark, silver lances of the rain. Half an hour later, dawn came and he opened the window and looked out at leaden clouds hurrying across the sky.

The wind was fading and already the waves were calmer, but the
Cretan Lover
was moving at no more than a couple of knots. Each time she dipped into a trough, Manning thought she would never lift again.

The door opened and Papa Melos entered. He was soaked to the skin and looked on the point of collapse. 'No good, Harry. We aren't getting anywhere.'

'If my calculations are correct, we can't be far from one of the cays north of Exuma,' Manning said. 'Take over and keep her on the same course.'

Orlov still crouched by the pump, arms moving monotonously, but he looked as if he couldn't last out much longer. Manning started down the companionway and stepped into water that immediately rose to the level of his thighs.

Anna was in the act of sliding from a bunk and she lurched towards him. 'It's no good, Harry. She's going to go down.'

Her face was drawn and she was bitterly cold. He took a reefer jacket from behind the door, slipped it over her shoulders and they went up the companionway together.