The Drift (A Hans Larsson Novel Book 1) (28 page)

W
hen
Ahmed arrived back at the boat, Mohamed had the engine started. “Did the
garbage can trick work?” he asked, handing his friend the whiskey.

“Does your mother look like a camel?”

“I don’t remember my mother.” Mohamed grinned.

Ahmed ran forward to untie the bow line from a cleat set
into the harbor wall.

“Wait!” Mohamed scurried up the ladder to grab the shotgun
and cartridges. Closing the door of the truck, he paused and let slip a
mischievous chuckle, then unbuttoned his fly and left Al Mohzerer a good-bye
present. With a grin, he flung the ignition key into the sea.

As Mohamed jumped back aboard, Ahmed levered the throttle
forward, and the boys had their first taste of freedom.

“Bring in the fenders!” Ahmed ordered, looking down at the
control panel to find the switches for the running lights.

In the warm night air, he steered the yacht out into open
water, the sea perfectly calm, the sky alive with stars, which grew brighter as
the lights of the city faded. Gripping the wheel, Ahmed leant back, laughing
into the sparkling umbrella as a lifetime of servitude flowed from his being
like the foam in their wake. Reaching for the whiskey bottle, he realized his
friend hadn’t returned from pulling in the fenders. “Fool, where are you?” he
shouted, a touch panicky because neither of them could swim.

Mohamed reappeared, his face blank. He approached the
cockpit like a zombie, clutching a foot-long nylon tube.

“Where did you get that?”

“Inside one of the fenders,” Mohamed whispered, his
expression deadpan.

“And?”

“You wanna see?”

“Of course.”

Mohamed unscrewed the lid and poured thirty thousand euros into
the cockpit.

“No!”

“And you know what else?”

While Ahmed gawped at the cash, Mohamed pulled a ziplock bag
from his pocket and waved a hundred pink Mickey Mouse–faced tablets in the air.

“
Ec-sta-seeeee
!”

“Wha—?”

“A-hah-hah-haaaaaa!”

They danced around, hugging one another.

“Want one?” Mohamed cocked an eyebrow.

“I . . .”
Ahmed always erred on the side of caution. “Are
you gonna?”

“Oh, I took two already.” The little fella grinned.

H
ans
attempted to wipe the splashes of rusty battery acid off the canopy with a damp
sponge, to no avail. In the gloomy interior, the garish sprays added a haunting
feel to the stinking cramped cave. Instead he set about putting everything in its
place and sorting out the equipment bags. However, there was a problem. No
sooner had he begun one task than his attention switched to another – checking the
fishing kit to make sure the traces of lures were not tangled and the hooks had
no rust setting in, finding himself engrossed in the survival manual, reading
half a paragraph before checking there was slack in the solar still’s leash. Unknowingly,
he was having trouble focusing, and soon the raft was in a greater mess than
before.

When the dorados returned, Hans knew he had to concentrate
on fishing. Not having caught anything for days, they had no fresh or dry-cured
rations, and starvation closed in once more. He netted a minnow and went to
work.

Jigging the line up and down, he began to daydream, musing
on the events in his life. It was as if everything – his family, the tragedy, his
tough upbringing, his military experience, the investigation agency, the
Concern, the yacht, Penny, the shipwreck, his love of opera,
everything –
had
happened for a reason . . .

Is it all a test? Is this a challenge life has set for me,
one I have to work out and come through? Are Kerry and JJ really dead? Did
Future
sink? She
was
named
Future
! Is that because coming through
this ordeal is part of my destiny? The Pilgrim Fathers sailed from Plymouth. Is
this a pilgrimage? Of course! That’s what my naval training was all about: surviving
on the sea, preparation for this moment in time.

Hans could see it as clear as day. This
was
a test!
It had
all
been a test. His
entire
life! His experiences prepared
him for the challenge of survival, the testing of his mettle to see if he truly
deserved a place on this beautiful earth.

Why did I not see it before?

He kicked himself for being so stupid, so blinkered and dumb,
for not realizing this whole damn shebang had been in play since birth, priming
him to come good on the open ocean and prove to everyone his worth
.

Jeez! I am an investigator for crying out loud!

It all fell into place and made perfect sense. He knew what
to expect now
. . .

A magnificent boat! Likely a paddleboat because this is
all about letting off steam. It’s gonna appear on the horizon and make straight
for us. Lining the decks will be Mommy and JJ and Penny, my SEAL team, even old
Jake, my next-door neighbor – the one who urged me to go on the trip. Marcel will
be at the helm – the dark horse – guffawing in that endearing way of his, a huge
doobie between his lips as he hands out tray after tray of mojitos. White rum from
the White Knight. Yes!

They would
all
be on board, every person he had ever
known, laughing and smiling and congratulating him on coming through this
adventure and bringing Jessica with him. He felt deliriously happy, but as he
scanned the far distance hoping to see the approaching vessel, there was a sharp
tug, and nylon spilled into the deep.

He watched in confusion, before realizing
. . .

The final test!

He knew that when he landed this king fish his worries would
be over, his worth proved, the game in the bag –
Done. Dusted. Finito! –
the
ship appearing out of nowhere to pluck them to safety. With the time
difference, he pictured they would be in Orlando’s for 10:00 p.m., Aldo serving
Kerry a crab starter while he entertained old Jack Daniel’s and the Allagash Brewing
Company.

Hans concentrated on playing the fish, reckoning it was
Shadowboxer, the largest of the dorados, so named after the opera based on the
life of the legendary Joe Louis. It put up the biggest fight so far, wrenching
line from his grip, thrashing its head from side to side in a bid to break free.
Hans realized the giant was actually towing the raft, ironically in the
direction of the shipping lanes.

“Ha!”

There would be no need to reach the fabled seaway when he
landed this beauty. It would be the answer to all their prayers.

The dorado fought for hours, well into the dark. At one
point the powerful fish stripped all but a few inches of line from the spool,
and Hans thought he would lose it. He wondered which one of them was more
exhausted and in the most pain. Blood dripped from his skinned palms and the
deep cuts in his fingers.

Shark fins broke the black surface and began circling the
raft. He prayed the apex predators would not steal his glory in the last
seconds. The arrival of the steam ship depended on him landing the goliath.

Finally, Hans was able to draw the fish toward him,
expecting ferocious jaws to snatch his prize at any moment. He reached for the
improvised gaff and attempted to spike Shadowboxer’s powerful torso but only
managed to nick his tough skin. The fighter snapped into life and shot under
the raft. It was all Hans could do to keep hold of the gaff and prevent the
fish ripping it from his grasp.

Hans teased Shadowboxer back to the entrance, but the mighty
brute had one last trick up his sleeve. He flipped onto his back and dove with
all the strength left in him. Both the gaff and fishing hook tore loose, and as
the hunter lost his balance and toppled backwards he felt the gaff’s merciless
tip lodge in the raft’s bottom tube.

Hans collapsed, drained of all energy, the pain now too much
to bear.

His world folded in on itself.

Overcome with shock and shaking violently, he experienced a
thirst like never before. He could not believe what just happened, going from hero
to bust in a split second, not only losing the valuable catch but also destroying
their chance of rescue and the raft in the process.

M
itch
never did get to know what happened to the Hitachi 42-ES-1080, complete with
HD, surround sound and VGA connector he had ordered off the Internet. It proved
impossible to find a telephone number for Digital Direct’s customer service
department. When he finally received a reply to his emails, he learned that due
to reasons beyond the company’s control the shipment of television sets had not
arrived, and they offered him an upgrade to the Hitachi 44-ES-1080 at no extra
cost.

Mitch declined and asked for a refund.

He wasn’t bothered about a new TV anymore. Bud had called
from Portland to say sorry that their trip to Vegas on Harleys never came off,
but would he be interested a round-the-world yachting adventure? Jeanie had
filed for divorce and they had sold the house. He’d invested his share in a
secondhand cruiser and was in the process of fixing it up. He sure could do
with another pair of hands, and it wouldn’t cost Mitch a dime apart from
spending money.

Would I be interested?
Mitch thought, taking two
seconds to weigh up his options – namely, another year of twelve-hour shifts at
the call center, coming home to microwave meals and
Gulf War III
,
or
sailing with his oldest pal to all those exotic places he had seen on Discovery.

The decision made, “Permission to come aboard, Captain
Budmeister?”

“Permission granted, sir!” the skipper replied.

H
ans
dreamt water was coming into the raft, and despite his shattered mind yearning
for sleep, something told him this was more than a nightmare. He opened his
eyes to see the equipment bags afloat on the three-inch-deep pool sloshing
around them.

No!

He had a vague recollection of attempting to land a mighty
dorado the previous evening, but at the forefront of his mind was the moment
the gaff pierced the raft’s bottom tube. He looked out the door but could not
see the object in question. It must have come unplugged and floated away during
the night, resulting in even more air spilling from the damaged craft.

The raft now sat so low in the water its freeboard was only a
couple of inches. Waves lapped over the entrance, sending gallons of seawater
into the cabin. Realizing the danger, Hans zipped up the doorway and connected
the foot pump to the bottom tube’s inlet valve. He began inflating the chamber like
a man possessed, beads of sweat running down his face and dripping into the
swamped interior.

“Are we sinking again?”

“No, no, we’re not.”

“Can we go home now?”

“Soon, honey. Soon.”

It took a superhuman effort to get the raft back to its
proper shape. Hans began bailing out, his mind in overdrive as he contemplated
how to fix the leak. Finally, he was able to hang their bedding out to dry. He
dropped back inside to see how quickly the raft deflated, praying for a slow puncture,
meaning the tube only needed to be pumped up every few hours.

However, the speed with which the raft had collapsed
overnight was worrying, and besides, any amount of time it took to operate the
pump would detract from other important tasks, such as fishing and making sure
the solar still produced enough water.

Within ten minutes the tube started to sag. Half an hour
later the ocean threatened to surge on board once more. Hans began the
laborious task of pumping and then donned the diving mask to view the extent of
the problem.

What he saw terrified him. Air bubbles the size of peas spewed
from the puncture in rapid succession, growing ever bigger as they shot to the
surface. Had Hans not been so shocked and exhausted the night before, he would
have strapped the gaff’s handle to the raft, preventing it from doing further damage
while still plugging the hole. As it was the viscous instrument must have
flailed around in the waves, tearing at the rubber membrane until it finally worked
free and fell away into the wake.

If there was ever a time to give up on life, it was now. The
pain down the right-hand side of Hans’ body was almost too much to bear. His
right arm was semiparalyzed, and he had a splitting headache. The smell of
necrotic flesh permeated the already rank air in the confined cabin. They had
not eaten for two days, the chance of catching dorados thrown into jeopardy by
the loss of the gaff. Their water reserves were at an all-time low, and with
the raft sinking they had a crisis on their hands.

“Shall I read a page from the book, Papa?”

“Huh?”

“The survival book?”

“Oh, sure.”

Hans took a deep breath and drew the equipment bag toward
him. He handed the manual to Jessica and pulled out the repair kit. But before deciding
on a course of action, he needed a closer inspection of the ruptured tube to
ascertain the shape and size of the hole. He put on the diving mask, and after
a check for sharks leant out of the raft as far as he could and plunged his
head underwater.

Damn!

As Hans looked down on the damage, the bubbles interrupted
his view, and from the side presented too obtuse an angle to get a clear
picture. If he wanted to inspect the puncture properly, it meant reducing the
pressure on the tube and viewing the hole straight on. There was only one
option.

“Jessie, I need to climb in the water.”

She looked at Hans but did not reply.

“Honey, I want you to stand here, and if you see a shark you
gotta holler, okay?”

The little girl sat with her arms and legs out in front of
her like a children’s toy, the glassy look in her eyes permanent. Hans made
sure she had an arm tucked around the webbing strap for support and then pulled
the mask down over his face and eased over the side.

“Ouch!”

A stinging sensation spread across his skin like wildfire. Worried
he had landed amongst jellyfish, he was about to hop back on board when it
occurred to him it was only salt water invading the sores and boils covering
his body.

“Okay, hun. Keep an eye out.”

Hans dropped below the surface, pleased to see that without
his weight in the raft the flow of bubbles reduced significantly. Further
rewarding, he found the hole was nowhere near as big as he first thought. In
fact, it was surprising how much air could pour out of such a tiny aperture. It
was not much bigger than a pinprick but likely to expand threefold with
pressure on the tube.

Hans was about to clamber back inside but instead decided to
inspect the bottom of their home. The transformation amazed him. A mass of
barnacles, large and small, covered the underneath, the black and white
contrast giving the impression of a patch of whale’s skin. Seaweed tendrils
dangled up to five feet in length, in amongst them minnows of varying size and
color and an abundance of krill-like creatures.

What part do these shrimpettes play in the Grand Old Opry?
Or is it
Ben-Hur
?

Skirting the underwater jungle were the two pilot fish, the
talent scouts, resplendent in their shiny blue-and-turquoise-striped regalia,
tails gently swaying, completely at ease as they scoured the performance for up-and-coming
stars.

Where are your shark bosses?

Hans reckoned the cutthroat controllers with their sleek gray
suits and pointed white handkerchiefs to be the record executives.

The thought of sharks opened a window on reality. Hans felt
a pang of fear as he remembered the danger lurking below. Wrapping his
less-painful arm around the top tube, he tried to haul himself on board, but it
was no good. He simply did not have enough strength, and slipped back underwater.

His anxiety increased. He grabbed hold of the raft with both
arms and, despite the immense agony tearing through him, tried again. Still it
was useless. Clinging to the deflating pod, he forced himself to take deep
breaths, shaking out an arm at a time to relieve the fatigue.

Remember your training!

Kicking himself, Hans recalled the hundreds of times he had
clambered into Zodiac speedboats following scuba dives in the SEALs. The
easiest way was to bob up and down three times and then pull with all your might
on the handline whilst finning hard. Steadying himself for the maneuver, Hans
felt a bump against his leg and the rasp of sandpaper-like skin against his
own.

Fear turned into panic.

He looked up but could not see his daughter.

Wasting no more time – “One . . . two . . . three . . . huht!”
– he wrenched the raft downwards, kicking like a demon, amazed with the ease with
which he reentered the flimsy craft.

Jessica lay star-shaped on the floor, completely uninterested.
Hans let her be and sipped water from the gas can while gathering his thoughts.

Inside the repair kit were patches of varying sizes and a
tube of adhesive. Fixing the puncture would be no different to mending a bicycle
inner tube, only this tube was a foot underwater and surrounded by killer fish.
A further challenge would be emptying all the air from the tube and drying it sufficiently
to apply the rubber glue and patch. Hans doubted it was possible but had no choice
but to try, because the alternative did not bear thinking about.

He briefly considered the screw-in aluminum plugs but then
dismissed the idea. As with repairing the floor, it would mean widening the
hole, and if the plug blew out it would spell certain death. The same went for
using another cut-down Biro lid.

Once again Hans found himself systematically searching through
their equipment, racking his exhausted brain for an answer.

The dividing compass!

Similar to the instrument kids draw circles with at school, the
dividing compass had a second sharp point instead of a pencil holder. Hans had
used it to work out their predicted arrival at the shipping lanes. However, it
was by no means an essential piece of kit. Hans reckoned that if he removed one
of the inch-long stainless-steel points from its wheeled clamp, he might be
able to insert it into the hole and seal a good part, if not all, of the leak.

Leaning over the side, wearing the diving mask, Hans was
acutely aware he only had two chances at this. With his body seizing up and
cramps setting in, it was vital he did not drop the slippery little spike – all
the more difficult as his wet and painful hands trembled. Holding the point between
his thumb and forefinger, Hans drew it around the spot the bubbles spewed from,
until finally he located the tiny indentation and eased the stopper home. The
flow of air decreased immediately, reducing to a barely visible trickle.

Yes!

He made sure to leave a quarter of an inch standing proud in
case he had to remove it for any reason.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Hans giggled like a lunatic and thrust his fists in the air.
Fingers crossed, he hoped the rubber tube would clamp the compass point in
place, but as a precaution he smothered it with duct tape. With great care he
began pumping, experiencing an immense sense of relief when the tube fattened
to normal size.

Yes!

Now life could return to normal – whatever “normal” was atop
this crazy fish tank.