Medusa (27 page)

When he had come round the catamaran was already under way. He could hear the winches clicking as the sails were hoisted and hardened in. Then the engines were cut and Evans whispered urgently to him to lie still. ‘I could hear voices on the deck for'ard, Irish voices, and Pat with his mouth right against my ear telling me he'd slip me into the water as close to Woodbridge Haven buoy as possible. He told me they'd tied up to it on the way in, waiting for the tide to make over the bar. The warp hadn't been double-ended, so instead of slipping it, they had cut it.'

He stopped there, apparently lost in the memory of that night and what had happened after they'd crossed the bar.

‘And that was the rope you used to lash yourself to the buoy,' I prompted.

He nodded slowly. ‘He had me flung overboard up-tide of the buoy so that I pretty well drifted down on to it. They were Irish on board, not East Coasters, and they didn't understand. They wanted me dead, but not with a bullet
in my guts. Found drowned –' He smiled wryly. ‘Nobody can ever be accused of murder if you're picked up out of the sea with your lungs full of water.'

‘But why did he do it?' I asked. The blood relationship was all very well, but the man was running arms to the IRA in England…

‘There was a condition, of course.' I hardly heard the words, they were spoken so softly.

‘But you couldn't possibly keep quiet about it,' I said. Anyway, he hadn't attempted to conceal the fact that he had seen them landing arms at the King's Fleet. ‘Or was it just his identity you promised not to reveal?'

He nodded, ‘I swore I'd never tell anyone I'd recognised him. I wouldn't have done, anyway,' he murmured. ‘He knew that. But he made me swear it all the same.'

‘Then why have you told me?' I asked him.

He got up suddenly and began pacing back and forth again, his shoulders hunched, the new cigarette burning unheeded in his hand. When I repeated the question, he said, ‘I'm not sure really.' He stopped just behind my chair. ‘To show you the sort of man Pat is. That's one reason. A warning. And at the same time …' He went over to his desk and sat down, pulling the message slip out of his pocket and going through it again. ‘God in heaven!' he murmured. ‘Why doesn't he get the hell out? Now, while nobody knows he's involved.'

And then he turned to me. ‘He's not all bad, you see. And to end up in prison. A life sentence. He's not the sort of man who could bear imprisonment. Freedom is everything to him. That's why he deserted from the Navy, why he couldn't stand any ordinary sort of job. It's against his nature, you understand.' He was pleading with me, trying to persuade me to keep quiet about where I had found that Russian gun. I remembered Soo's words then, wondering what exactly the relationship had been between this man, who was now the Captain of a Royal Navy frigate, and his half-brother, who was a gun-runner, what
they had felt for each other when they were both youngsters at
Ganges
and Pat Evans had got him down from the top of that mast.

He looked up at me suddenly. ‘How old's that catamaran you sailed to Malta?'

‘It was built six years ago,' I said.

He nodded perfunctorily as though it was what he had expected. ‘The hulls are painted white now, but underneath – any sign of black paint?'

‘You'd have to ask Carp,' I told him. But neither of us were in any doubt it was the same boat.

He didn't say anything after that, sitting hunched at the desk the way he had been when I had come down from the bridge to have a drink with him, his mind closed to everything else but the signals lying there under his hands.

The loudspeaker burst into life, a muffled announcement about the deadline for posting letters home. He listened to it briefly, then returned to the papers.

‘About tomorrow?' I reminded him.

He looked up, frowning. ‘I'll think about it. Meanwhile, if. you've finished your drink …' He returned to the papers, his withdrawn manner making it clear the period of intimacy was over. ‘See you in the morning.' But then, as I was going out, he stopped me. ‘Ever done any board-sailing?' And when I told him I had run sailboard courses when I first came to Menorca, he nodded. ‘That might help.' And he added, ‘I'll think about it. Let you know in the morning.'

I went up to the bridge then, standing inconspicuously by the radar, watching the knife-like bows rise and fall beyond the twin barrels of the 4.5-inch guns, the white glimmer of the bow wave either side, my body adapting to the pitch and roll as we drove north-westwards through breaking seas. The wind had backed into the north and was blowing about force five. Standing in the dark like that, conscious of the engines vibrating under my feet, the sound of them overlaid by the noise of the sea, and the
watch on duty still like shadows all about me, there was an extraordinary sense of isolation, of time standing still. I was thinking of
Thunderflash
and the voyage to Malta, all the other occasions when I had been alone at the helm, just the sea and my thoughts for company. But now it was different. Now I had the feeling I had reached some sort of watershed.

Tomorrow! And my life slipping through my mind. Nothing achieved, never anything solid, all I had built in Menorca breaking in my hands, Soo, the business, everything, and now that bloody catamaran … ‘Care for some coffee, sir? Or there's kai if you prefer it.' One of the leading seamen was standing at my elbow with a tin tray full of mugs. I chose the chocolate and took it over to the chart table, where the Navigating Officer was now checking our position against the plot. ‘Do you know where we'll be anchoring?' I asked him as he completed the log entry.

For answer he pulled open the topmost drawer and extracted the chart that gave plans of Mahon and Fornells harbours, as well as two in Ibiza. ‘About there, we reckon.' He indicated the Mahon plan, where he had pencilled a cross just south of Cala Llonga right opposite Villa Carlos. ‘ETA is now 09.30 approx.' He looked at me curiously. ‘You staying on board or is the Captain arranging to put you ashore?'

‘I'm not certain,' I said.

He nodded, smiling at me. He understood the problem. ‘It might interest you to know he's just rung me to say he wants one sailboard with wet suit and goggles ready on the flight deck by 09.00. I'm in charge of sailing, you see.' And he added, ‘Sorry about the board, but it's the best we can do. No dinghies, I'm afraid.'

It was probably nervous exhaustion that finally got me off to sleep that night for I was dead to the world when Petty Officer Jarvis shook me into consciousness. He was earlier than usual. ‘Lieutenant Craig would like you to
select whichever one fits best.' He dumped three wet suits on the foot of the bunk. ‘They're the only sizes we have on board.' And as he went out, he asked me to leave the two I didn't want and any borrowed clothing on the rack above my bunk.

By then the bo's'n's mate was rousing the ship, and shortly afterwards Gareth's voice announced: ‘
This is the Captain. Just to bring you up to date. We are now approaching Port Mahon, the main harbour and capital of Menorca, one of the Spanish Balearic islands. For obvious reasons we shall not be tying up alongside. Instead, I propose to anchor well clear of the town in the approaches opposite Villa Carlos. In the circumstances, I do not see any possibility of shore leave. I will let you know how long this courtesy visit is to last as soon as I can. That is all
.'

His cabin was empty by the time I arrived for breakfast. ‘Captain's on the bridge,' Petty Officer Jarvis told me. ‘And there's no choice this morning.' He placed a heaped plateful of bacon, sausages, eggs and fried bread in front of me. ‘He thought you might appreciate it. Later in the day, that is.'

I was still working through it when Gareth appeared. ‘We shall be abreast of St Carlos Point and La Mola in approximately fifteen minutes. Things will begin to hot up then. As soon as you've finished, I'd be glad if you'd return to your cabin and wait there until Petty Officer Jarvis comes to take you down to the quarterdeck. Chief Petty Officer Clark will meet you there. He will have …' The Sinbad loudspeaker interrupted him, a voice from the bridge reporting that revs were now being reduced. ‘Also, there's a small vessel lying off Lazareto. Spanish Navy by the look of her, sir. Could be coastal patrol, or one of those small minesweepers, can't tell yet.'

Gareth reached for the mike. ‘Very good, Simon. I'll be up.' He turned to me again. ‘That could complicate matters. I didn't expect an escort.'

‘You've decided have you – to get me off the ship by sailboard?'

‘Yes, didn't Peter Craig warn you last night?'

‘All he told me was that you'd ordered him to have a board ready on the flight deck by 09.00. I didn't know you'd made up your mind till your steward brought me a choice of wet suits with my tea this morning.' I hesitated, but this looked like my last chance to question him. ‘Has Wade been in touch with you?' I asked him.

‘Commander Wade?'

I nodded, watching him closely as he said he couldn't discuss official contacts with me.

‘Particularly Wade I suppose?'

He didn't answer. I think he had intended having a cup of coffee with me, but now he put his hat back on his head. ‘I'll try and arrange it so that
Medusa
is between you and the escort when we drop you off. The engines will be stopped for that moment and I'll get as much of the way off the ship as I can. You've got a good breeze, so with luck you'll be on the board and sailing fast enough to remain hidden from the escort vessel as we gather way again. Okay?' He smiled then and held out his hand. ‘Good luck, Mike!' And as we shook hands he had the gall to add. ‘If you make it to Bloody Island you'll be able to hide up with that archaeological Amazon of yours.'

There is something about a Navy ship that instils a sense of something akin to discipline even in a civilian visitor like myself. I could have turned left, gone up to the bridge and watched our approach to Mahon. Nobody would have stopped me. I could have got my things, found my way aft down to the flight deck and waited there. Instead, I did what Gareth had told me and went straight to my cabin. I wished I hadn't. Sitting on the bunk, staring at nothing except the opposite berth and the cabin fittings, time passed slowly. There was no porthole and even if I had had something to read, the ceiling light was too dim, so
that I would have had to stretch out on the bunk with the little bulkhead light on.

Shortly after 08.40 I felt the engines slow, then Mault's voice called for the watch on deck to muster and put fenders out on the starb'd side. Somebody was coming aboard, presumably from the patrol boat. The engines stopped, feet pounding on the deck and orders shouted, then a slight bump as the other vessel came alongside. This was the moment they should have dropped me over the side, but nobody came and the beat of the engines started up again.

It was 08.55 when Petty Officer Jarvis knocked at the cabin door. ‘Everything's ready, sir, if you'll bring the wet suit with you. And the Captain asked me to give you this.'

‘What is it?' I asked as he handed me a nasty-looking bit of black fur in a plastic bag.

‘A beard, sir. Compliments of our entertainments officer. The Captain thought it might help if somebody had their glasses on you.'

There was a CPO waiting for us on the flight deck. The sailboard was propped against the hangar doors, mast and sail rigged, and a thin line attached to the bows was coiled ready. To starb'd the cliffs of La Mola and the brown of the military casements came into view. ‘We'll be approaching the narrows at the southern end of Lazareto Island in a few minutes,' the CPO said. ‘Lieutenant Craig estimates the distance from the buoys marking the narrows to the spot where we'll be anchoring as roughly nine cables. He'll stop engines when we come abreast of the little island immediately beyond Lazareto. That will be the signal for you to go.'

I stripped off my clothes and he helped me into the wet suit, zipping me up and slipping a bum-bolster round my buttocks. ‘'Fraid the harness isn't exactly a speed seat. You'll have to adjust it as you go. And the board's just an ordinary production job for funboard sailing, so if you want air, you won't find it.' Looking at it, I could see it
was no jump board, more a beginner's board, which suited me in the circumstances. ‘Got any goggles?' I asked.

He reached into his pocket and produced a narrow, almost slit-eyed pair with black surround. I put them on and adjusted them to fit my head. ‘Don't forget the beard, sir.' He was grinning. ‘You look like you could play Mephistopheles in that. Nobody could possibly recognise you.'

By then the conical buoy with its flashing light marking the channel on the starb'd side was already bobbing in our wash, the sharp southern point of Lazareto, Punta de San Felipet, appearing at the same instant. The engines were slowing now, the speed dropping off. ‘How long do you reckon?' I asked the CPO.

‘Seven, eight minutes.'

The beard was close-fitting and warm, the sea goggles on the tight side. They wrapped up my clothes and taped them into a plastic bag, which they tied firmly to the base of the sailboard's mast in such a way that it did not restrict its pintle fitting. Petty Officer Jarvis excused himself. He had to attend to the needs of the Captain and his visitor, who was the Spanish Navy's
Jefe
, Capitán Perez. The long brown line of Lazareto went slowly by. Peering out to port, I could see the buildings of Villa Carlos coming closer. Soon now, and I was wondering whether Petra would be back from burying her father, whether she would be on the island, and how the hell I was going to live with the police watching for me and no money. All I had in the pocket of my trousers, now screwed up in a plastic ball, was £235 in traveller's cheques which I couldn't cash because it meant going to a bank or a hotel.