A Ravel of Waters

Fatigue, they say, gives an extra dimension to perception. It was not only the challenge which influenced my decision. Jetwind would, I told myself, give me the vehicle to prove whether the awesome thing I had sighted among the wild waters of the Southern Ocean was real, or the substance of shadows, a lone sailor's hallucination. 'I'll do it,'I said.

Chapter6

Dinner began with champagne and ended with a telephone call.

Whether or not Sheila had anticipated that there would be something to celebrate as a result of Thomsen's meeting with me, I am not sure, but certainly the meal was a treat I might have dreamed about when chewing ship's biscuits and raisins in Albatros's cockpit. Thomsen made handsome amends to Sheila for his earlier unsociableness towards her, blaming it on his anxiety to sign me up for Jetwind. I was reminded of my earlier impression of people being drawn to him like filings to a magnet. Certainly Sheila warmed under his charisma. We drank to Jetwind's success; in our euphoria we toasted the new golden age of sail. Suddenly Thomsen put down his glass and eyed me. ‘Peter’ he said. 'You've overlooked a most important aspect-pay.' 'Frankly,1 never thought of it.'

'I believe money is important. What do you expect to be paid?' 'I've no idea. I don't know what the job's worth.' 'There is no real yardstick for this. It's a one-off job -special.'

'Short-term, too – you want me at Gough in a week, then another week or so after that to Cape Town.'

He shed his affability like a shirt. 'Don't think that if you reach Gough on schedule you can coast home to the Cape. The last leg is shorter. Your service speed is to be twelve knots – that means under a week from Gough.' 'The shorter the time, the shorter my pay, it seems.'

'On the contrary, the quicker you make it, the more I pay.' 'What do you suggest?'

'I will pay you five thousand dollars a day to flog the hide off Jetwind. For every day under a week you reach Gough, there'll be a bonus often thousand dollars. For every day less than a week you take from Gough to Cape Town, you earn another five thousand dollars.' 'Either you're very reckless or very desperate.'

'I have already gambled twenty million on Jetwind. Fm staking everything on you to put the project back into orbit. It's as simple as that. What are a few thousand dollars more?'

We drank to it. Looking back on the occasion, I am inclined to think it was tension rather than alcohol which made Thomsen loquacious. He talked volubly all through the meal about the velocities, angles and forces acting on a sailing ship; the equilibrium of those forces; the aerodynamic performance of Jetwind's rig and the hydro-dynamic performance of her hull. He dilated on side forces and thrust components; the damping effect of the sea-way motions of a sailing ship compared to power. He even got to sketching rough graphs and jotting down constellations of algebraic symbols. It was all too esoterically technical for me; Don looked owlish; Sheila smiled a fixed hostess smile.

As Thomsen brought his dissertation to an end, he began a barrage of phone calls to London, New York, Buenos Aires, Cape Town. He seemed to be issuing orders in every direction concerning Jetwind. Finally, he became flushed and angry at not being able to raise Port Stanley.

All I craved was sleep. I said my farewells. Don motored me to the jetty where I had moored Albatros's dinghy. He and Sheila had tried to persuade me to stay overnight with them. Finally Thomsen accepted the guest room which had been prepared for me. He and Don were to call for me early and Thomsen and I would fly to Cape Town.

I rowed out to Albatros. As I reached the yacht, my hackles rose. One does not spend a month alone in a boat, listening to every creak of its structure, without being able to sense a change on board. In a flash I knew I was not alone.

The intruder was hidden by the cockpit overhang on the starboard side, which housed Albatros's rather elementary instrument panel. I took a heavy pin from the rail and vaulted inboard. The man spun round and faced the improvised weapon.

'If you've any ideas of souvenir hunting, forget it’ I rapped out. 'Get below! I mean to have a look at you!'

The first thing I was aware of was the American accent. 'These instruments are Rube Goldberg stuff. What about critical sailing angles, optimum course, speed made good?' 'What's that to you?'

'I would have expected that sort of thing, after this boat's track record.'

'Half of those instruments don't work any more. They drank too much Southern Ocean.'

My eyes were adapting to the darkness. My visitor was shorter than me, but square and stocky. His dark hair, cut unfashionably short, was brushed back from the temples, his chin was as square as his powerful shoulders, and heavy brows completed the impression of determination and strength. He wore a dark, tight-fitting sweat-shirt and sneakers.