‘So what do we do in the meantime?’ asked Jock.
‘There’s only one thing we can do, and that’s get after them.’
‘Fifteen knots is our maximum speed,’ said Jellicoe. ‘They’re doing a lot more than that.’
‘No sir, I meant we should take one of the other boats.’
‘In the middle of the Atlantic?’
‘They did.’
‘Without a radio?’
‘Well the fact is, we’re not alone,’ explained Kate. ‘There’s a French submarine somewhere in the area. They were supposed to rendezvous with us around now. And there are two guys from the FBI and the United States Coast Guard, handcuffed in the head on my boat. As soon as you find the keys they can radio a message to the sub. There are special frequencies and code words to use. FBI stuff. Meanwhile the Duke can hold this position until we find our way back again.’
‘Supposing we do catch up with them,’ argued Jellicoe. ‘What then? They’re well armed.’
‘As I see it they have two choices,’ explained Kate. ‘They can make for the Azores and risk being found by local law-enforcement agencies. Or they can sail to a prearranged meeting point with another larger vessel. My guess is that’s what they’ll do. Transfer the cocaine on board, hide it among whatever cargo the other ship is carrying, and then sink the yacht they’re on now, to cover their tracks. If we can get into visual range when that happens, we can at least establish the identity of the other ship and have it boarded by the sub later on.’
Jellicoe nodded. ‘Right you are. Bert?’
‘9-0-2-3. Nah.’ He shook his head and sighing, looked up from the safe. ‘Yes, Jack.’
‘I want you to hand over the safe-cracking to Jock.’
‘Aye sir.’
Jock knelt down in the Juarista’s closet and began to key in the next combination of numbers. He said ‘9-0-2-4.’
‘Tell Frank to get his diving gear right away and meet us at the stern of the ship. Whatever boat is nearest the open sea, I want her unlashed in five minutes. As soon as you’ve got the keys out of the safe, you can sort out these other fellows from the FBI. And then get them on the radio.’
‘Aye aye, sir.’
Kate had already left the Juarista and climbed up onto the starboard wall of the Duke. The Britannia, carrying Dave and the drugs, was already 500 yards to starboard and disappearing fast. She turned, looking for Jellicoe.
‘Come on,’ she yelled. ‘The bastard’s getting away.’
Chapter Twenty-three
‘Would you mind telling me exactly what the fuck is going on here? Did the ship hit an iceberg? Are we the only survivors? I hope so, because I’ve got this thing about people driving my boat, which is partly to do with the small fact that it cost the best part of a million bucks. But mostly it’s to do with the fact that to handle not one, not two, but three — three Man diesel engines, each delivering 2,300 revs, and three Arneson surface drives, you generally have to know precisely what the fuck you’re doing.’
Kate turned around in the cockpit chair and seeing a red-eyed Calgary Stanford standing there, smiled her most disarming smile.
Coolly she said, ‘Nice boat, guy.’ Then checking back at the controls, she glanced at the rev counter and saw that they were doing over twenty revs as it was. The movie actor’s boat was virtually in flight.
Sitting next to her at the helm position, Jack Jellicoe nodded his nervous agreement. Smiling thinly as the boat surged forward, he said, ‘Yes, she’s a real thoroughbred. I should think this boat is capable of near competition speeds. Am I right?’
Stanford dropped heavily down in the second co-pilot seat and said, ‘Knock it off and just give me the story to date.’
Kate started to tell him about the Britannia being used to smuggle cocaine and how she and her FBI colleagues had been working undercover.
‘Cut to the chase, will you?’ insisted the actor.
‘This is it, guy,’ Kate told him. ‘The FBI has requisitioned your boat and we’re now in hot pursuit of the bad guys.’
‘No shit. The real cops n’robbers thing?’
‘The real thing.’
‘So where the hell are they?’
Jellicoe, scanning the horizon with his battered binoculars, said, ‘There’s no sign of them yet, but we’re pretty sure they’re on this general bearing.’
Stanford gave Kate an up and down look of appraisal. ‘I’ll say one thing for you, Mrs J. Edgar Hoover. You sure know how to handle a boat.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Mind if we have some sounds?’
‘Your boat. Your rules,’ said Kate.
Stanford flicked a switch on the control panel that turned on the CD player. He grinned and said, ‘Rock music for a boat chase, don’t you think?’ The next second a pair of giant speakers behind the helm position kicked in with a Guns n’ Roses track.
‘They’ll probably hear us before we can see them,’ winced Jellicoe.
‘Yeah. Sorry it’s not Wagner. If you know what I mean Captain Willard.’
‘Not really,’ admitted Jellicoe. ‘And the name’s Jellicoe actually.’
‘Film reference,’ drawled Stanford, shaking his head. ‘Scares the hell out of the gooks, n’ shit like that.’
‘Still not with you, I’m afraid.’
‘Forget it, Captain Willard.’ Stanford looked at Kate. ‘You know, I was kind of blasted last night. I have a vague recollection of a nocturnal visit by someone carrying heat? Was that you guys, or was I outta my mind?’
‘That was one of the bad guys,’ said Kate. ‘They visited all the boats and took away the radio handsets to prevent anyone from calling the Navy.’
‘Which disposes of my next question,’ said Stanford. He looked back at Jellicoe and asked, ‘How’s it comin’ there, Willard? Any sign of Mister Christian and those other mutineers?’
‘No.’
‘Like the music?’
‘Music?’ Jellicoe snorted.
‘Guns n’ Roses. How do you like them?’
‘Not much.’
‘On the subject of guns,’ said Stanford. ‘Am I going to need to be packin’ a piece, or what?’
‘Do you mean to tell me you’ve got a gun?’ asked Kate.
‘Hindsight is always twenty-twenty,’ said Stanford. ‘The Hollywood community is full of nervous people and prey to others who make them that way. Being a movie star has some significant bio-hazards. Stalkers. Shit like that. My own life has been threatened on any number of occasions. So yes ma’am, I am licenced to carry firearms. Fact is, there’s a gunsafe on this boat. If you’re short of a weapon I can probably fix you both up. Highway Patrolman. Glock. Smith & Wesson Sigma. All chambered for cartridges with gravitas. You dig? Easy Andy, I’m not. But when you’re on my boat, mi arma de fuego, su arma de fuego.’
Kate nodded enthusiastically. She said, ‘A gun would be nice.’
‘How about you, Captain Willard?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Please yourself,’ said Stanford getting up carefully from the co-pilot’s seat. The speed of the boat made the deck difficult to stand on. But clearly Stanford was used to it.
Jellicoe said nothing as the actor went below to fetch the handguns. He was still sweeping the bright blue horizon for some sign of the Britannia. From time to time he would glance down at the open-scan radar screen. It was a similar system to the ARPA on board the Duke, except that the screen had two displays: the radar image of the general vicinity, and the adjacent chart display — instant confirmation of their position and any hazards that might be in the area. Something on the small screen caught his experienced eye and he touched the instrument’s zoom button to take a closer look.