roll unquote.
As he turned away, Nick was satisfied with his own forethought in
installing the satellite telex system which enabled him to communicate
with his agent in Bermuda, or with any other selected telex station,
without his message being broadcast over the open frequencies and
monitored by a competitor or any other interested party.
His signals were bounced through the high stratosphere where they could
not be intercepted.
While he waited, Nicholas worried. The decision to go would mean
abandoning the Esso oil-rig tow. The tow fee had been a vital
consideration in his cash flow situation.
Two hundred and twenty thousand sterling, without which he could not
meet the quarterly interest payment due in sixty days time - unless,
unless ... He juggled figures in his head, but the magnitude of the
risk involved was growing momentarily more apparent - and the figures
did not add up. He needed the Esso tow. God, how badly he neededit!
Bach Wackie are replying/ called the Trog above the chatter of the telex
receiver, and Nick spun on his heel.
He had appointed Bach Wackie as the agents for Ocean Salvage because of
their proven record of quick and aggressive efficiency. He glanced at
his Rolex Oyster and calculated that it was about two o'clock in the
morning local time in Bermuda, and yet his request for information on
the disposition of all his major competitors was now being answered
within minutes of receipt.
For Master Warlock from Bach Wackie latest reported positions. fohn
Ross dry dock Durban. Woltema Wolteraad Esso tow Torres Straits to
Alaska Shelf That took care of the two giant Safmarine tugs; half of the
top opposition was out of the race.
Wittezee Shell exploration tow Galveston to North Sea.
Grootezee lying Brest That was the two Dutchmen out of it. The names
and positions of the other big salvage tugs, each of them a direct and
dire threat to Warlock, ran swiftly from the telex and Nicholas chewed
his cheroot ragged as he watched, his eyes slitted against the
spiralling blue smoke, feeling the relief rise in him as each report put
another of his competitors in some distant waters, far beyond range of
the stricken ship.
La Mouette/ Nick's hands balled into fists as the name sprang on to the
white paper sheet, La Mouette discharged Brazgas tow Golfo San Jorge on
I4th reported enroute Buenos Aires.
Nick grunted like a boxer taking a low blow, and turned away from the
machine. He walked out on to the open wing of the bridge and the wind
tore at his hair and clothing.
La Mouette, the sea-gull, a fanciful name for that black squat hull, the
old-fashioned high box of superstructure, the traditional single stack;
Nick could see it clearly when he closed his eyes.
There was no doubt in his mind at all. Jules Levoisin was already
running hard for the south, running like a hunting dog with the scent
hot in its nostrils.
Jules had discharged in the southern Atlantic three days ago. He would
certainly have hunkered at Cornodoro. Nick knew how Jules mind worked,
