Dark Heart (16 page)

Changed from her formal two-piece suit into a light dress and re-accessorized from head to toe, Robin was standing in the reception of the Granville Royal Lodge an hour later when Bonnie Holliday appeared. If anything, the doctor of African Studies looked more lovely than ever. Her cinnamon skin was positively glowing. Her eyes were sparkling. She seemed to be dancing rather than walking as she swept across towards the security gate and the huge glass doors that led outside. When she saw Robin, she hesitated, then crossed towards her. ‘Hi,' she said. ‘Just off somewhere? I thought you were stuck in meetings all day with Richard.'

‘I walked out,' said Robin. ‘They don't need me. I thought I'd try some retail therapy. Sightseeing maybe.'

‘I'm off on an adventure,' Bonnie whispered as though sharing a wicked secret. ‘Want to come along for the ride?'

‘An adventure, huh?' Robin was amused. Intrigued.

‘Surely. Captain Caleb is going to give me a ride in his command. There'll be a car here in a moment. I guess he wouldn't mind if you came too.'

‘I thought Caleb's command was tied up waiting to go in for repair,' said Robin, surprised.

‘His
other
command. Not his corvette, his Kingfisher,' said Bonnie, as though this explained everything.

‘What's that?' Robin's eyebrows rose.

‘It's a fast patrol vessel. Folks have been calling it Shaldag?' Bonnie raised her intonation as though asking a question. ‘But it's also called a Kingfisher which I reckon is prettier. I don't know if that's a translation or just another designation. But it's the floating equivalent of an American Corvette. The General Motors Stingray roadster Corvette. And I for one would kill for a ride in one of those!'

Robin laughed and gave in. How could she resist? She looked across at the reception desk but it was empty. She fleetingly wondered whether she should leave a message telling Richard where she was off to, but Bonnie's ride pulled up outside and she stopped hesitating. The two girls left arm in arm, chatting excitedly, bound for the riverside docking facility where Caleb kept his other command.

Ten minutes after their car pulled away from outside the big glass double doors, another smart staff car pulled up and Colonel Laurent Kebila climbed out of it. He came in through the doors, setting off the security alarm without raising an eyebrow. Andre Wanago, the hotel manager, answered his peremptory ring on the service bell in person.

‘Captain Robin Mariner,' the Colonel rapped impatiently. ‘I understand she is here. Please inform her that I want her at once. I have orders to take her directly to the president himself.'

‘I'm sorry,' said Andre. ‘She's just gone out with Dr Holliday. I saw them leave on the security monitor but I have no idea where they were heading.'

Colonel Kebila slapped his hand on to the desk top with a sound like a pistol shot, turned on his heel and set off the security alarm once more as he strode angrily out to his car.

Bonnie's Kingfisher fast patrol boat, known to the others as the Shaldag, was considerably larger than a Corvette Stingray sports car – to begin with it was nearly thirty metres long – but it was just as sleek and pretty to look at. Maybe five metres in the beam – slim-hipped and racy. Caleb Maina did not raise an eyebrow when not one woman but two climbed out of the limo he had sent for Bonnie. His main purpose was to show off his baby, and as far as he was concerned, the bigger the audience the better. Furthermore, he thought with a secret smile, having two such lovely guests aboard would go a long way towards restoring his reputation in the place that mattered most to him – in the eyes of his crew. He met Bonnie and Robin at the head of the gangplank, therefore, and showed them up to the flying bridge at once.

Robin, a little disorientated, found herself back to within a hundred yards of the place she had left less than ninety minutes earlier. But what a difference the passage of time and the slight change in location made! The wind came fragrantly off the bay, waves chuckled and tumbled. Lines tapped in the gathering breeze. In the distance ships hooted, their motors grumbling. The sun beat down like molten copper. She stood, drinking it all in, with her back to the little helm and engine telegraph, looking up at the tall window behind which Richard was poring over the contract. In which, weirdly, was reflected the very point of the crippled corvette
Otobo
's forecastle head. She stepped back, looking across the restless water to the real thing. There was a bustle of activity all over the crippled vessel. ‘Shouldn't you be aboard her when they tow her into dry dock?' she asked without thinking.

‘Apparently not,' answered Caleb shortly. ‘Minister Ngama has more competent officers available . . .'

‘His nephew, for instance,' chimed in Bonnie, her knowledge unexpectedly far-reaching; her tone tinged with contempt.

‘Besides,' added Caleb easily. ‘Mr Asov is expediting matters, supplying spares and experts – and footing the bill into the bargain. His people will almost certainly be aboard when she gets under way. And in any case, Lieutenant Jonah Ngama is quite competent, Bonnie . . . I told you . . .' Caleb's voice sank to an intimate whisper. Robin turned in time to see a look pass between them that suddenly made her feel, in the telling French phrase,
de trop.
De trop
and then some, in fact. But only for a moment. For this was a bridge, not a bedroom. Lieutenant Sanda stuck his head up from the command bridge below. ‘All in order, Captain.'

‘Thank you, Mr Sanda. Cast off fore and aft. I'll take her out. Warn the men that we'll be going to full speed as soon as we're clear.'

A moment later, Captain Caleb was steering the sleek, powerful vessel out of her berth and into the broad, brown outflow of the river. ‘Hold on tight, ladies,' he ordered, and opened the throttles full.

Robin had never come across acceleration like it in a vessel this size. Richard kept a blood-red cigarette go-faster launch called
Marilyn
down in the HM experimental shipyard near Southampton, along with the
Katapult
multihulls with which they regularly won the Fastnet yacht race – and
Marilyn
could go from idle to full ahead in a matter of minutes. But the Kingfisher simply flew. From slow ahead to fifty knots in fifty seconds, she calculated wonderingly. It was astonishing – she was glad she had taken Caleb at his word and got a firm hold of the guard rail.

Caleb took the patrol boat racing in a wide arc across the mouth of the river. ‘We'll follow a normal patrol pattern,' he shouted. ‘Don't want to be accused of joyriding . . .' Within ten minutes she was skimming beside the southern swell of the delta, then he took her on down towards the oil platforms and out towards the ocean proper, before swinging back and racing in towards the river mouth once again. The wind battered them, counteracting the fierceness of the noonday sun, but other than that it was a smooth ride. And surprisingly free of spray. The Kingfisher sat high and steady. She seemed to slide through both the outwash of the river and the waves it generated as it battled the incoming tide. Not to mention the bigger surfs that came in off the Atlantic to the south of the river, where the continental shelf placed a wall in front of the deep-ocean swells and drove them to heights that might have flattered Hawaii. The hull sat so high in the water that Caleb was also able to disregard the shallows that had proved fatal to
Otobo
yesterday, and skim across the waters that the Zubr had floated above.

Something about these thoughts made Robin turn and look back. She squinted to see more clearly as the Kingfisher flashed up into the mouth of the river. It was hard to be sure at this distance, but she was suddenly certain. In the hour or so of the voyage so far, Caleb's old command
Otobo
had started moving. That's quick, she thought, even for Max and his people. As she watched,
Otobo
limped forward and began to swing unhandily out into the bay. As the corvette's long, slim hull came round it was possible to see a couple of tugs working her head with long tow-ropes to her forecastle, and a hump of dirty white water at her stern which showed where her one propeller was churning, trying to hold her stern steady. ‘Hey, Captain,' she called without thinking. ‘Your
Otobo
's under way . . .'

Caleb reacted by bringing the Kingfisher round in a tight loop, swinging through 180 degrees in an arc of less than a hundred metres. ‘Worried?' she called.

‘Interested,' he said. ‘And this way I can get a look at what's happening.'

The Kingfisher ran back across the bay at the better part of a mile a minute. Robin walked forward to stand at Caleb's right shoulder – Bonnie had already appropriated his left. The three of them watched through the low windshield as
Otobo
continued to swing out from the dockside. Caleb spoke into a microphone stalk above the basic slave monitors beside the helm. ‘You see that, Sanda?' he asked in English.

‘I see it, Captain,' the lieutenant answered in the same language. ‘Whoever's in command is swinging her out far too tight and fast. The tide's making pretty powerfully now and it'll be pushing her back like nobody's business. They'd have been far better to leave her safe and snug in her berth. She certainly won't have liked that tight a turn from a standing start even with both shafts functioning. And God knows what the captain of that starboard tug thinks he's doing.'

‘You'd think the chief engineer would have something to say . . .' mused Caleb, frowning. ‘He must have pushed the engines right up into the red. Look at that mountain of foam at her stern.'

He was talking to himself, but Sanda still answered, ‘Not if Ngama's boy Jonah's on the bridge. No one'll say a word. Not after what happened to us.'

‘I agree. But even so . . .'

If Caleb had a further point to make, thought Robin, he never stated it. For just at that moment, disaster overtook the corvette. The starboard towline parted, allowing the tug to jump free. The bow swung left at once, threatening to collide with the tug on that side – perhaps even crush it between the corvette and the dock – it was hard to be certain from this angle. Whoever was on the bridge must have panicked, Robin reckoned, and pushed the engines further still into the red, trying to power his way out of disaster, while in the terrible grip of the inrushing tide. And it wasn't the shaft that gave way this time. It was the engines themselves. A jet of black smoke billowed out of the rear exhaust system, making it look for a terrible instant as though the whole of the aft section had simply blown open. Robin shouted with shock. A flat detonation like a distant bomb blast echoed across the water. Caleb spat something in Matadi. A curse of some kind. The wind snatched the smoke away, revealing that the hull was still intact – but showing a range of figures simply leaping overboard. More smoke billowed.

‘What's happening?' breathed Bonnie.

Caleb was too preoccupied to answer so Robin explained. ‘The engines are on fire. The smoke is coming out of the sides because of the ship's heat-reduction system – no more hot funnels, you see? But she's out of control. She must be badly ablaze for the crew to be jumping overboard like that. And, given what Captain Caleb and Lieutenant Sanda were saying about the tide, she's likely to drift back into the jetty pretty quickly.'

‘Which,' said Caleb, ‘could set the whole of the new wooden frontage on fire. Everywhere from the deep-water port to the new marina, in fact. Including the minister's new office and the whole of the complex it's in. Including the zoo, if the wind increases. And that's even before you start calculating what damage she could do if all of the armaments she has aboard start detonating because of the heat.' He spoke into the microphone stalk again. ‘Put me on
Otobo
's hailing frequency.' A moment later the open channel hissed. ‘
Otobo
, can you hear me? Is there anyone there? It's Captain Caleb.'

‘Captain. It's the Chief. I think I'm the only one left aboard. That puppy Jonah Ngama screwed the motors then abandoned. He ordered everyone over the side. The tide's got her and there's nothing I can do on my own. We're going to drift back on to the jetty. It'll be bad.'

‘I'm in the Shaldag, Chief. I can be there in a few minutes. What's the tug on your port side doing?'

‘Keeping us off as best he can. The starboard tug's trying to retrieve its line. If they work together they might slow the drift. But I'm not hopeful.'

‘Are the armaments at risk? Have you activated the safety equipment?'

‘I've activated everything I can. But I wouldn't rely on it. We need help.'

‘I'm on my way. Hang on. Radio Officer, I want the general frequency . . . All shipping in Granville Harbour, this is Captain Caleb Maina aboard Shaldag FPB004. Please be aware that the Corvette
Otobo
is drifting out of control, on fire and in a dangerous condition . . .'

Out of the confused babble of concern, one voice came loud and clear. ‘Captain Maina, this is Captain Zhukov aboard Zubr
Stalingrad.
We see you and we see
Otobo
. We are five minutes distant. Please advise how we can assist . . .'

‘Could we?' said Caleb. ‘Could a Shaldag and a Zubr tug her out of trouble?'

He was thinking aloud, but Robin answered. ‘All you have to do immediately is turn her head into the incoming tide. Her hull's so slim almost all the pressure would disappear at once. Then you could maybe pull her clear.'

‘It's worth a try . . . Captain Zhukov. Thank you. See you there in five.'

The Shaldag FPB004 sped across the bay like an arrow. After four minutes she was beside the starboard tug, which had retrieved the broken towline and was trying to re-secure it. ‘Think you could share that line?' asked Robin, surveying the situation, narrow-eyed as the burning corvette's forecastle head towered dangerously above them. ‘I'm not sure about the physics – you have almost no mass, but you have power. Those big motors of yours should certainly help . . .'