‘Nearly six inches of rain fell in the area over a twenty-four-hour period that ended at midday yesterday. But the governor’s office has informed KTLA5 that the worst of the weather is over. NOAA scientists have confirmed that, according to the latest data from their satellites, the ARkStorm may in fact move south. The governors of the districts along the Pacific coast of Mexico from Sonora to Jalisco, including Baja California Norte and Sud, are all preparing to declare states of emergency, and our President has promised the presidente of Mexico all the assistance at our disposal should the need arise.’
‘Looks like Richard called it right,’ said Nic. ‘I think that guy is psychic.’
Before Robin could come up with a suitable riposte, she was distracted by the continuing new briefing. The footage of the Los Angeles River was replaced by a serious-faced blonde newsreader. ‘The scientists from the United States Geological Survey confirmed within the last hour that the storm they predicted would deposit millions of tons of water on California will certainly now do the same along the west coast of Mexico.’
‘It’s currently doing so on top of us,’ said Robin. ‘In spades! In fact, now I come to think of it …’
Nic never found out what Robin thought because the ship’s tannoy interrupted her. ‘This is the captain. Would Señor Greenbaum come to the bridge at once, please?’
Nic grunted as he rose. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’
‘Me neither,’ said Robin, standing at his shoulder with a worried frown.
TWENTY-THREE
Pilar was a long liner. The paperwork in her log book was quite specific as to what she was licensed to do as well as where and when she was allowed to do it — far to the south and west of here. Long lining was what she was designed and fitted to do, so it was going to require all of her desperate crew’s ingenuity to deal with the better part of a kilometre of fish-laden net which she had never handled before and which she was in no way designed to control. Miguel-Angel had never been on a trawler, never seen a drift net like the illegal net they had put out come aboard. He was at once, therefore, completely ignorant about what ought to be happening and only imperfectly aware of what was actually happening. But he found the whole adventure absolutely fascinating. To begin with, at least.
As Capitan Carlos brought Pilar gingerly up to the flashing red of the beacon, Hernan advised and guided him on the one portable two-way that the battered old boat had aboard. And the instant they were close enough to that light for Hernan to use the long boathook to snag it, he told his captain to stop engines before the propellers became enmeshed in the nets floating all too close behind them. Before he did anything else, however, as Pilar idled with her stern to that one lone dot of red brightness in the huge, shadowy storm-bound noon, he and one of the others went to the low transom at the back, loosened a series of safety clips and lifted the removable section free once more. The open section comprised about a third of the boat’s rear wall, immediately aft of the main winch on the starboard side and the length of the after deck away from it. Much of the knee-deep water trapped in the well of the deck immediately began to cascade out through the opening, so that even Hernan, who was big and very powerful, had a problem standing beside it as he wielded the three-metre boathook with its strong wooden shaft. It took several tries before he snagged the beacon and dragged it aboard. This was not too difficult to do because it was attached to a long section of the float line, and he did not have to deal with the weight of the net itself to begin with.
Hernan pulled the beacon and the first float aboard, dextrously freed the beacon and switched it off before throwing it to Miguel-Angel. ‘Stow that safely away,’ he shouted over the rumble of falling water. ‘If this keeps on we’ll need all the emergency gear we can get. When you’ve done that, make yourself useful by checking all the scuppers are clear and stay clear no matter what comes aboard with the net in the way of weed and rubbish. Pilar’s scuppers were designed to keep a long liner’s decks clear, remember, not a trawler’s. They will clog up very quickly if we aren’t careful, especially the starboard side ones, for that is the side the nets come on to. I want this water off the deck as fast as it comes aboard, because once the net comes in it will block up the opening in the transom as well as bringing in a great deal more water, along with the fish we want and the rubbish we do not want. And, boy!’ he called as Miguel-Angel turned to go, ‘get yourself some heavy-duty gloves. And a jacket. Jeans and a T-shirt will not be anywhere near enough protection.’
Then he and one of the others staggered up to the winch and wound the float line round it while Miguel-Angel ran obediently below, thinking in his innocence that Hernan just wanted him protected against the freezing downpour and the icy outwash from the nets. In the meantime, Hernan took charge of the winch, though Captain Carlos came and stood on the top step, nominally in charge of the deck now that he could no longer risk using the propellers, and therefore had nothing immediate to do on the bridge, which was, for the moment, unmanned. Hernan engaged the mechanism. The barrel spun wildly for a moment, then the rope caught. Pilar eased backwards as more line came aboard. ‘Go!’ shouted Hernan, and the others went to the opening on the transom. One of them took the long boathook and two others took the shorter two-metre ones with strong metal shafts. Together the three of them manoeuvred the first section of the net aboard, snagging the weighted footrope and pulling that on to the deck. The crewman with the long boathook ran it back towards the winch, then stowed his hook and opened the hatch cover, which tilted up to an angle of forty-five degrees, leaving space for the crew to throw fish in from the starboard side while still covering the hatchway itself and letting the rainwater run down on to the port side of the well deck and out through the scuppers there.
Down below, Miguel-Angel discovered Pablo the engineer and his team waiting to pack the fish in the freezer compartments now that the propellers had stopped and the motor was only running to power the winch. Pablo told him where there was a spare jacket and some gloves — both of which were far too big for him — and hurried him back aloft, knowing that Hernan was likely to need him as soon as the haul started coming aboard. Halfway back, he realized he was still holding the emergency beacon. In his excitement he had forgotten to stow it. He put it in the inside pocket of the jacket and ran on aloft, forgetting all about it.
As the net began to come in through the open transom, Miguel-Angel arrived back on deck, fully dressed and breathless. As he watched from the top of the steps beside his capitan, Pilar’s stern sank until the lip of the deck was almost level with the fizzing sea surface and the battered little vessel settled further backwards as the winch took the first section of the net itself and began to haul the rest aboard. The crewmen with the short boathooks stood either side of the transom’s open section, heaving the net slowly upwards and inboard. The rest of the crew formed a long line along the starboard gunwale and fell to work as though they had been trawlermen all their lives. And they were soon hard at it, for, after a short length of empty net, there were suddenly plenty of fish. Most of them were tuna, as compact and heavy as cannon shells. Most of them were alive and flapping. Blue-fin, yellowfish, albacore and bonita — they all went into the hold. As did anything else of commercial value — dolphin fish, tilapia, snappers. But the commercially valuable fish were by no means everything that came aboard. There were barracuda and sharks — thankfully small at first. Then, after a while, there were suddenly more dangerous fish coming through the open transom in among the treasure trove of tuna: sailfish, marlin, the first of several turtles, the first big bull shark.