hurricane hits us, said Nicholas, and David saw that it was futile to
protest. Nicholas Berg was going to fetch his son.
From the height of Golden Dawn's towering navigation bridge, they could
look directly down on to the main deck of the tug as she came alongside.
Peter Berg stood beside his mother, almost as tall as she was. He wore
a full life-jacket and a corduroy cap pulled down over his ears.
It will be all right, he comforted Chantelle. Dad is here.
It will be'just fine now. And he took her hand protectively.
Warlock staggered and reeled in the grip of wind as she came up into the
tanker's lee, rain blew over her like dense white smoke and every few
minutes she put her nose down and threw a thick green slice of sea water
back along her decks.
In comparison to the tug's wild action, Golden Dawn wallowed heavily,
held down by the oppressive weight of a million tons of crude oil, and
the seas beat upon her with increasing fury, as if affronted by her
indifference. Warlock edged in closer and still closer.
Duncan Alexander came through from the communications room at the rear
of the bridge. He balanced easily against Golden Dawn's ponderous
motion but his face was swollen and flushed with anger.
Berg is coming on board/ he burst out. He's wasting valuable time. I
warned him that we must get out into deeper water. Peter Berg
interrupted suddenly and pointed down at Warlock, Look' he cried.
Nicholas checked himself, studied him for a long moment, and then smiled
mirthlessly.
Nobody ever called you a coward/ he nodded reluctantly. Other things -
but not a coward. Stay if you will, we might need an extra hand/ Then
to Peter, Come, my boy. And he led him towards the elevator.
At the quarter-deck rail, Nicholas hugged the boy, holding him in his
arms, their cheeks pressed tightly together, and drawing out the moment
while the wind cannoned and thrummed about their heads.
I love you, Dad. And I love you, Peter, more than I can ever tell you
but you must go now. He broke the embrace and lifted the child into the
deep canvas bucket of the bosun's chair, stepped back and windmilled his
right arm. Immediately, the winch party in Warlock's upperworks swung
him swiftly out into the gap between the two ships and the nylon cable
seemed as fragile and insubstantial as a spider's thread.
As the two ships rolled and dipped, so the line tightened and sagged,
one moment dropping the white canvas bucket almost to the water level
where the hungry waves snatched at it with cold green fangs, and the
next, pulling the line up so tightly that it hummed with tension,
threatening to snap and drop the child back into the sea, but at last it
reached the tug and four pairs of strong hands lifted the boy clear.
For one moment, he waved back at Nicholas and then he was hustled away,
and the empty bosun's chair was coming back.
only then did Nicholas become aware that Chantelle was clinging to his
arm and he looked down into her face.
Her eyelashes were dewed and stuck together with the flying raindrops.
Her face ran with wetness and she seemed very small and childlike under
the bulky oilskins and life-jacket. She was as beautiful as she had
