The Black Tide

‘Yes, yes.’ I think he was a little tired after his flight, his voice impatient. ‘That’s Arab territory. But the dhow was tied up alongside the tanker, and if it could be proved that the Aurora B was still a British ship, then they would have jurisdiction, the killing having occurred on British territory.’ He zipped up his trousers and reached for the drink I had poured him. ‘Personally I don’t think she’s a hope in hell of getting you arrested. So just relax and concentrate on the job in hand, which is finding that bloody tanker.’

‘But if you thought that, why did you tell Jean Kerrison to get me on the next ferry to France?’

He looked at me over his drink, the lopsided face and the china blue eyes suddenly looking a little crafty. ‘I wasn’t taking any chances, that’s all. I wanted you here.’ He raised his glass, smiling. ‘Here’s luck — to us both.’ And he added, ‘I’m not a criminal lawyer, but I do know something about the law as it applies internationally. For that girl to have you arrested, she’s either got to prove you killed her father on British territory or get whatever country it happened in — the Oman, say — to order your arrest, and since this yacht is British territory it then depends on whether we have an extradition treaty with the Oman.’

‘But when she went to the police… Jean Kerrison heard a programme on the radio, an interview with her, which ended with her saying she was going straight to the police and a warrant would be issued

for my arrest on a charge of murder. Did she go to the police?’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’

‘But presuming she did, what would happen next? What action would the police take?’

‘I think it would depend on the evidence she produced. I imagine it’s pretty thin but, if she did convince them, then her statement would be sent on to the office of the Director of Public Prosecutions with whatever comments the police felt were warranted, together with the results of any enquiries they may have instituted. It would be up to the Public Prosecutor then.’

‘And what happens when they discover I’ve fled the country?’ I was remembering the Special Branch man’s instructions to notify the nearest police station of any change of address. They would almost certainly trace me to Balkaer and question the Kerrisons. I was angry with him then, feeling he was using me. Fleeing the country was the most damning thing I could have done.

‘They may notify Interpol,’ he said. ‘But by the time they’ve traced you to Gibraltar we’ll almost certainly be at sea. Forget about it,’ he added. ‘If we find that tanker waiting for us out there by the Selvagens, then that part of your story will be confirmed. Once they believe that, they’ll believe the rest.’

I had to accept that, since it was my only hope, but I should have stayed. I should have faced her accusations, reiterating the truth of what had happened. Instead, I had run away at the instigation of this ruthless bastard who was only interested in finding

the missing tankers and saving his friend’s skin. If I’d had any guts I’d have walked off the boat then and there and taken then next plane back to London. But I didn’t. I stayed on board and each day I listened to the BBC news, waiting, always waiting to hear my name mentioned.

We sailed for the Selvagens on Saturday, February 6. It was just six days since the Kerrisons had driven me into Penzance to catch the Brittany ferry, seventeen days since the Aurora B had left her bolt-hole in the Musandam Peninsula. ‘She’ll be about halfway,’ Saltley said. ‘Just rounding the Cape probably.’ We were standing at the chart table, the boat heeled over as we ploughed our way through the Straits, thrashing to windward with the bows slamming and sheets of spray hitting the mains’l with a noise like gunshot. ‘That is, if she’s steaming at full speed. Pity we’ve lost that levanter.’ He smiled at me, looking more like a gnome than ever in his bulky oilskins. ‘Hope you’re a good sailor. It could be a hard beat.’

Only the previous day the wind had gone round to the southwest and now it was blowing force 5 to 6, a dead-noser, for it was southwest we needed to go. ‘I had reckoned on reaching the islands in less than six days, which would make it Day Twenty-two of the Aurora B’s voyage. But if it’s going to go on blowing from the southwest we’ll be increasing our miles through the water considerably. It could make a difference of two or three days.’

We had the Rock and the African shore in sight all through the daylight hours. It was wind against current

most of the time, with steep breaking waves and a movement more violent than I had ever previously experienced. It was impossible to stand without holding on to one of the hand grips all the time and in the cockpit we were all of us wearing our safety harnesses clipped to securing wires.