sharp steel nose deeply into it. Gouging a fat wedge of racing green
over her head twisting violently at the jarring impact, dropping
sideways over the crest, and breaking out to fall free and repeat the
cycle again.
Nick was wedged into the canvas Master's seat in the corner of the
bridge. He swayed like a camel-driver to the thrust of the sea and
smoked his black cheroots quietly, his head turning every few minutes to
the west, as though he expected at any moment to see the black ugly hull
of La Mouette come up on top o t e next swell. But he . -mew she was a
thousand miles away still, racing down the far leg of the triangle which
had at its apex the stricken liner.
If she is running/ Nick thought, and knew that there was no doubt. La
Mouette was running as frantically as was Warlock - and as silently.
Jules Levoisin had taught Nick the trick of silence. He would not use
his radio until he had the liner on his radar scan. Then he would come
through in clear, I will be in a position to put a line aboard you in
two hours. Do you accept 'Lloyd's Open Form'?
The Master of the distressed vessel, having believed himself abandoned
without succour, would over-react to the promise of salvation, and when
La Mouette came bustling
30 up over the horizon, flying all her bunting and with every light
blazing in as theatrical a display as Jules could put up, the relieved
Master would probably leap at the offer of 'Lloyd's Open Form - a
decision that would surely be regretted by the ship's owners in the cold
and unemotional precincts of an Arbitration court.
When Nick had supervised the design of Warlock, he had insisted that she
look good as well as being able to perform. The master of a disabled
ship was usually a man in a highly emotional state. Mere physical
appearance might sway him in the choice between two salvage tugs coming
up on him. Warlock looked magnificent; even in this cold and cheerless
ocean, she looked like a warship.
The trick would be to show her to the master of Golden Adventurer before
he struck a bargain with La Mouette.
Nick could no longer sit inactive in his canvas seat. He judged the
next towering swell and, with half a dozen quick strides, crossed the
bridge deck in those fleeting moments as Warlock steadied in the trough.
He grabbed the chrome handrail above the Decca computer.
On the keyboard he typed the function code that would set the machine in
navigational mode, coordinating the transmissions she was receiving from
the circling satellite stations high above the earth. From these were
calculated Warlock's exact position over the earth's surface, accurate
to within twenty-five yards.
Nick entered the ship's position and the computer compared this with the
plot that Nick had requested four hours previously. It printed out
quickly the distance run and the ship's speed made good. Nick frowned
angrily and swung round to watch the helmsman.
In this fiercely running cross sea, a good man could hold Warlock on
course more efficiently than any automatic steering device. He could
anticipate each trough and crest and prevent the ship paying off across
