Jim Yell edged the boat near the growler. Kay started to shudder. I said to Jim, 'If the ship doesn't come soon, she'll die.' ‘She won't be alone, sir. The rest of us can't last very long either.'
The growler seemed almost a friend, something stable, amongst the gyrating waters. One face angled away like the shape of a radar dish. Jim threw the life-belt plus flare against its base. The unreal light made our faces look like those of sacrificial victims. Kay's was corpse-like. 'Boat flare next, sir?' 'Fire away.' This flare was blue. It blinded us. 'Careful — keep the boat off!' I warned. 'A bang against the growler and we've had it.' Two minutes. Five minutes.
I was starting to shake with the cold. Sea-water Kay had gagged inside my oilskins froze on my chest. 'Try another flare, sir?' 'Not yet. Give the first one time.'
One of the men exclaimed suddenly as the boat soared to a wave-top. 'Seems like a bit of a glow — there, astern, sir.'
'Could be another berg’ I replied cautiously. 'Keep an eye on it.5 'It is something’ the man insisted. 'There — something white-square’ Tabular berg — or top-gallant?
We strained our eyes into the murk. It was difficult to judge distances — the grim uniformity of the water offered no scale. 'Two, sir!' yelled the man excitedly. 'It's two — it's a couple of top-gallants, sir!' ' See anything, Jim?'
Yell managed to stand on the gunnel while the others supported him.
'It's them all right, sir!' he shouted. 'It's the ship! Wait — she's turning away — that growler's scared her off…' 'Fire another flare! Note the ship's position!'
The brilliant spurt of orange-yellow penetrated even my closed eyelids. When the flare had burned down, we fixed our eyes on the quarter where we had last seen the sails. There they were. 'She's answering, sir!'
A brilliant white flare rose from the still invisible hull. I saw the angle of the sails diminish — she was turning towards us!
Tideman handled the rescue like a genius. In minutes the hull appeared below the burnished, streaming yards and masts which rose up out of the murk like the bright wings of an angel of salvation. We burned our last flare. The ship neared, slowed, then turned to give us a lee under the stern to bring the boat alongside. Tideman furled all sails except one top-gallant; his judgement of the balance of forces between the amount of sail necessary to keep the ship from being swamped and overshooting the boat was masterly. One false move, and Jetwind could never have beaten back a second time. They threw ropes down to us. 'You and Kay first, sir!' Kay couldn't be swung up alone for fear of her smashing against the ship's side. Jim Yell and I roped her fast to me. We waited for the ship's roll; eager hands hauled us up and grabbed us. 'Get those men aboard — quick,' I told the group on deck. 'Then cut the boat loose. Let it go.' 'Aye, aye, sir.'
I gave rapid-fire orders for blankets, towels and hot-water bottles for Kay. Her cabin was close by, in the stern; accommodation.
One of the rescuers remarked, 'You look pretty done in yourself, sir. Let us carry her to the cabin.' 'No. Just get me some clothes. Anything warm. 'Wait — a glass of hot rum too.' 'At the double, sir.' 'I'll be in her cabin.'
I laid Kay on her bunk. I stripped the soaking, icy under-garments off her. I got to work towelling her dry and warm. Her nipples were purpled and crumpled like metal foil; an old scar near her right groin had come lividly alive from the cold. Her head still lolled; her colour was a blend of grey and blue. She breathed: I could not detect any telltale choke-gurgle which would mean her lungs were full of water.
I paused only long enough in my life-restoring massage to renew my supply of towels and hot-water bottles. The messenger thrust a pair of pants, woollen shirt and jersey at me. I whipped into the clothes; the hot rum down my throat was worth more than any of them. I turned Kay over on her face; she was still senseless.
I turned away to switch the heating to maximum. When I returned to Kay, she had managed to roll herself over. Her body was now pink from my rough massage. Her eyes were open and conscious. She extended her arms to me with a lead-like effort. 'Peter!' 'Kay!'
I took her under the armpits and held her to me. Her mouth was against mine; her lips were cold but her tongue was warm. 'My love, my love!'
I reached for the survival gear heaped on her bunk and chair. Kay smiled and shook her head. 'Not that. Just you.’ I never got to her.
From down the corridor came the rattle of automatic fire.
Chapter 22
Kay's cabin was the second down the corridor; there were four others between it and the crew's dining-saloon at the end. I yanked open the door and sprinted. Cordite smoke was wisping from the last doorway — Brockton's cabin. I rushed in.
Brockton's body had been almost cut in half at shoulder level by the blast. He lay sprawled, face down, over the black brief-case he had had at his feet on the flight from the Cape to the Falklands.
My impetus almost impaled me on two stubby barrels of skeleton-butted UZIs. I grabbed the finning under the nearest one to save myself from falling. It was hot. The man who held it swept it free savagely. I found myself looking into Grohman's face.
Before I could say anything, the muzzle of the second sub-machinegun was jammed into my ribs from the other side. The cabin was full of the bitter smell of death, cordite, and the kill-sweat of the two men. In a flash I recognized Grohman's companion as one of the men I had seen on the Falklands plane. Crew additions, Grohman had called them to Tideman.
'Back!' snarled Grohman. 'Get back! Keep away from me!'
I started towards the door; Grohman waved me against a side wall. 'No tricks! Don't try and escape!'
The shock of Brockton's murder had left me momentarily speechless. Now the sight of the bullet-ridden body with blood starting to stain the carpet loosened my tongue.
'You stinking murdering bastard, Grohman! I'll see you hang for this!'
His gun-barrel had more warmth than his laugh. 'The great Captain Rainier,' he sneered. 'The man who kicks my country's Navy up the arse!' His swarthy face contorted. 'Shut up, or I'll kill you!’
The corridor was filled with shouting men trying to see what was happening. Grohman said something in Spanish to his bully-boy. The man went at the crowd like a hooker in a rugby scrum, leading his charge with his UZI.
'Brockton!' I shouted. 'You killed Paul Brockton! What had he ever done to you!'
Grohman kicked Paul's body from where it lay across the attache case. 'A filthy American spy!' he rasped. 'Look!'
The hard-fabric case, which I had seen Paul open several times for customs inspection, obviously had a false bottom. I caught a glimpse of electronics, a mini speaker, and what could have been a tiny transmitter.
'Do you know what that is?' demanded Grohman. 'It is called a Racal Datacom Portable Cipher Terminal — special to the United States Navy. That is a pocket cipher unit — there's a fragment of the signal he was transmitting when I got him. There is also an acoustic coupler and power supply…'
The thought crashed through my mind — had Brockton revealed everything about himself to me? What else beyond what he had told me had led him to insinuate himself aboard Jetwind, Now I winced thinking of Tideman. He was in the same game as Brockton — did Grohman suspect him too? 'Grohman…'
'Captain Grohman to you now, Rainier.' His grin was a death's head. 'One false move from you and you'll join your friend. Shut up and listen. This ship is now under command of Group Condor, I am the leader. The bridge and other key points have been occupied by my men’