Wilbur Smith's Smashing Thrillers (10 page)

‘
They aren't reading on the VHF
,’
grunted the Trog.

Nick thought briefly of the hapless souls adrift in this cold, and
decided that they would probably not last out the day unless the
temperature rose abruptly. Then he dismissed the thought and
concentrated on the exchanges between Christy Marine and La Mouette.

The two parties had diametrically changed their bargaining standpoints.

While Golden Adventurer was adrift on the open sea, and any salvage
efforts would mean that the tug should merely put a rocket-line across
her, pass a messenger wire to carry the big steel hawser and then take
her in tow, Jules Levoisin had pressed for Lloyd's Open Form
‘
No cure no
pay
’
contract.

Since the
‘
cure
’
was almost certain,
‘
pay
’
would follow as a matter of
course. The amount of payment would be fixed by the arbitration of the
committee of Lloyd's in London under the principles of international
maritime law, and would be a percentage of the salved value of the
vessel. The percentage decided upon by the arbitrator would depend upon
the difficulties and dangers that the salvor had overcome. A clever
salvor in an arbitration court could paint a picture of such daring and
ingenuity that the award would be in millions of dollars.

Christy Marine had been desperately trying to avoid a
‘
No cure no pay
’
contract. They had been trying to wheedle Levoisin into a daily hire
and bonus contract, since this would limit the total cost of the
operation, but they had been met by a Gallic acquisitiveness - right up
to the moment when it became clear that Golden Adventurer had gone
aground.

When that happened, the roles were completely reversed. Jules Levoisin,
with a note of panic in his transmission, had immediately withdrawn his
offer to go Lloyd's Open Form. For now the cure was far from certain,
and the Adventurer might already be a total wreck, beaten to death on
the rocks of Cape Alarm, in which case there would be no pay.

Now Levoisin was desperately eager to strike a daily hire contract,
including the r
u
n from South America and the ferrying of survivors back
to civilization. He was offering his services at $10,000 a day, plus a
bonus Of 21
.5
% of any
s
alved value of the vessel. They were fair terms,
for Jules Levoisin had given up the shining dream of millions and he had
returned to reality.

However, Christy Marine, who had previously been offering a princely sum
for daily hire, had just a
s rapidly with
drawn that offer.

‘
We will accept Lloyd's Open Form, including ferrying of survivors
,’
they
declared on Channel 16.

‘
Conditions on site have changed
,’
Jules Levoisin sent back, and the Trog
got another good fix on him.

‘
We are head-reaching on him handsomely
,’
he Announced with satisfaction,
blinking his pink eyes rapidly while Nick marked the new relative
positions on the chart.

The bridge of Warlock was once again crowded with every officer who had
an excuse to be there. They were all in their working thick blue boiler
suits and heavy sea boots, bulked up with jerseys and balaclava helmets,
and they watched the plot with total fascination, arguing quietly among
themselves.

David Allen came in carrying a bundle of clothing.
‘
I've working rig for
you, sir. I borrowed it from the Chief Engineer. You are about the
same size.
’

‘
Does the Chief know?
’
Nick asked.

‘
Not exactly, I just borrowed it from his cabin
-‘

‘
Well done, David
,’
Nick
chuckled.
‘
Please put it in my day cabin.
’
He felt himself warming more
and more to the younger
man.

‘
Captain, sir
,’
the Trog sang out suddenly.
‘
I'm
getting another transmission. It's only strength one, and it's on 121,5
Mega Hertz.
’

‘
Oh, shit!
’
David Allen paused in the entrance to the
Captain's day cabin.
‘
Oh, shit!
’
he repeated, and his expression was
stricken.
‘
It's that bloody missing life-raft.
’

‘
Relative bearing!
’
snapped Nick angrily.

‘
She bears 280
^°
relative and 045
^°
magnetic
,’
the Trog answered instantly,
and Nick felt his anger flare again.

The life-raft was somewhere out on their port beam, eighty degrees off
their direct course to the Golden Adventurer.

The consternation on the bridge was carried in a babble of voices, that
Nick silenced with a single black glance and they stared at the plot in
dismayed hush.

The position of each of the tugs was flagged with a coloured pin and
there was another, a red flag, for the position of the Golden
Adventurer. It was so close ahead of them now, and their lead over La
Mouette so slender, that one of the younger officers could not remain
silent.

‘
If we go to the raft, we'll be handing it to the bloody frog on a plate.
’
The words ended the restraint and they began to argue again, but in soft
controlled tones. Nick Berg did not look up at them, but remained bowed
over the chart, with his fist on the table-top bunched so fiercely that
the knuckles were ivory white.

‘
Christ, they have probably all had it by now. We'd be throwing it all
away for a bunch of frozen stiffs.
’

‘
There is no telling how far off
course they are, those sets have a range of a hundred miles.
’

‘
La Mouette
will waltz away with it.
’

‘
We could pick them up later - after we put a
line on Golden Adventurer.
’

Nick straightened slowly and took the
cheroot out of his mouth. He looked across at David Allen and spoke
levelly, without change of expression.

‘
Number One, will you please instruct your junior officers in the rule of
the sea.
’

David Allen was silent for a moment, then he answered softly
‘
The preservation of human life at sea takes precedent over all other
considerations.
’

‘
Very well, Mr. Allen
,’
Nick nodded.
‘
Alter 8
0
^°
to port
and maintain a homing course on the emergency transmission.
’

He turned
away to his cabin. He could control his anger until he was alone, and
then he turned and crashed his fist into the panel above his desk.

Out on the navigation bridge behind him nobody spoke nor moved for fully
thirty seconds, then the Third Officer protested weakly.

‘
But we are so close!
’

David Allen roused himself, and spoke angrily to
the helmsman.

‘
New course 045
^°
magnetic.
’

And as Warlock heeled to the change, he flung
the armful of clothing bitterly on to the chart-table and went to stand
beside the Trog.

‘
Corrections for course to intercept?
’
he asked.

‘
Bring her on to 050
^°
,’
the Trog instructed, and then cackled without
mirth.
‘
First you call him an ice-water pisser - now you squeal like a
baby because he answers a Mayday.
’

And David Allen was silent as the
Warlock turned away into the fog, every revolution of her big
variable-pitch propellers carrying her directly away from her prize, and
La Mouette's triumphant transmissions taunted them as the Frenchman
raced across the last of the open water that separated her from Cape
Alarm, bargaining furiously with the owners in London.

The fog seemed so thick that it could be chopped into chunks like
cheese. From the bridge it was not possible to see Warlock's tall bows.
Nick groped his way into it like a blind man in an unfamiliar room, and
all around him the ice pressed closely.

They were in the area of huge tabular icebergs again. The echoes of the
great ice islands flared green and malevolently on the radar screen and
the awful smell and taste of the ice was on every breath they drew.

‘
Radio Officer?
’
Nick asked tensely, without taking his eyes from the
swirling fog curtains ahead.

‘
Still no contact
,’
the Trog answered, and Nick shuffled on his feet. The
fog had mesmerized him, and he felt the shift of vertigo in his head.
For a moment he had the illusion that his ship was listing heavily to
one side, almost as though it were a space vehicle. He forcibly
rejected the hallucination and stared fixedly ahead, tensing himself for
the first green loom of ice through the fog.

‘
No contact for nearly an hour now
,’
David muttered beside him.

‘
Either the battery on the DF has run down, or they have snagged ice and
sunk
-,’
volunteered the Third Officer, raising his voice just enough for
Nick to hear.

‘-
or else their transmitter is blanketed by an iceberg
,’
Nick finished for
him, and there was silence on the bridge for another ten minutes, except
for the quietly requested changes of course that kept Warlock zigzagging
between the unseen but omnipresent icebergs.

‘
All right,
’
Nick made the decision at last.
‘
We'll have to accept that
the raft has floundered and break off the search
.’
And there was a stir
of reawakening interest and enthusiasm.
‘
Pilot, new course to Golden
Adventurer, please, and we'll increase to fifty per
cent power.
’

‘
We could
still beat the frog.
’
Again speculation and rising hope buoyed the young
officers.
‘
She could run into ice and have to reduce
–
‘
They wished
misfortune on La Mouette and her Captain, and even the ship beneath
Nick's feet seemed to regain its lightness and vibrancy as she turned
back for a last desperate run for the prize.

‘
All right, David
,’
Nick spoke quietly.
‘
One thing is certain now, we
aren't going to reach the prize ahead of Levoisin. So we are going to
play our ace now
–‘
he was about to elaborate, when the Trog's voice
squeaked with excitement.

‘
New contact, on 121
½
,’
he cried, and the dismay on the bridge was a
tangible thing.