A Ravel of Waters

Kay broke in. 'Get this clear -1 will not cooperate under duress or any other way. I go along with Peter and John -whatever.' 'Those are very big words,' sneered Grohman. 'We shall See – at Molot.' We knew what had been in his mind regarding the search for Jetwind when we heard the lunch-time news bulletin. 'There is news at last of the sea drama being enacted in the Southern Ocean around the space-age windjammer Jetwind. Naval Headquarters at Silvermine, Cape Town, reports that a faint, garbled radio message was picked up this morning from the ship. It appears that she has been partially dismasted and that there have been casualties as a result of the accident…' 'Casualties – accident!' expostulated Kay. 'The signal stated that the ship was in no immediate need of assistance and gave her position as fifty-two degrees south, thirty-nine degrees west, near the island of South Georgia…' 'South Georgia!' exclaimed Tideman. 'The island of South Georgia is approximately seven hundred miles eastsoutheast of Jetwind's starting-point in the Falkland Islands, which means that the ship must have been driven considerably off-course by the hurricane which damaged her. At this stage no further details are available.' 'What is Grohman up to?' Kay asked. 'It's a red herring to stave off a possible search,' I said. 'He hopes it'll give him the breathing-space he needs to reach Molot.'

'The experts won't be put off by a fake distress signal like that, surely? Won't they smell a rat?' asked Kay.

'In the light of his assurance that Jetwind is in no immediate danger, no one is going to mount an expensive, dangerous search far away from the main shipping lanes,' I said.

'Peter, John! We must do something! We can't just let the situation slide! We can't go on like this, waiting, just waiting!'

'Keep calm, Kay,' said Tideman gently. 'The guy who wins in a hijacking is the one who can keep his nerve the longest.'

Just how corrosive that tension could be, we discovered throughout the interminable afternoon. There was nothing to do, nothing to read. We played what Tideman called 'silly-buggers card games' – inconsequential time-wasting which we tried to enliven by wagering impossible sums. The attempt was not a success. The nightmare of Molot overshadowed everything.

We could not wait for the main dinner-time news bulletin from Cape Town: 'No further messages have been received from the missing sailing ship Jetwind making for South Georgia,' it reported. 'Shipping experts believe that the vessel may try and reach the sheltered harbour of King Edward Cove where the old Grytviken whaling station is situated. This is now occupied by the British Antarctic Survey. So far all attempts by the Survey's radio ZBH to contact the damaged vessel have failed. Until some positive information is received, the survey replenishment ship Agulhas will continue to Gough Island as scheduled without mounting a special search as was originally planned.' 'Grohman pulled it off!' I exclaimed. 'There goes our last outside chance!' The bulletin continued: 'Mr Axel Thomsen, Jetwind’s owner, was interviewed today on the fate of his unique attempt to reinstate the sailing ship as an ocean cargo carrier. "This is the second mishap which has hit Jetwind" he said. "I think the ship must be jinxed." Mr Thomsen added that he would remain in Cape Town until specific news had been received about the ship and would then return overseas. He added that he was bitterly disappointed at the failure of Jetwind. If the ship could be repaired, he added, he would decide whether or not to sell it. "That is, if there is anyone left who is still interested in sailing ships," Mr Thomsen said.'

High overhead, the towering aerodynamics of Thomsen's space-age marvel thrust her along at seventeen knots through a Force Eight gale and dark confused sea towards her goal. Fate-or Molot?

Chapter 25

It was Molot. It was the most colossal spectacle I have ever seen.

Grohman's arrival on schedule was a tribute to the magnificent way the automatics had handled Jetwind, although he had been lucky with the wind. It was the afternoon of the third day of our captivity.