Pirate

of the sand dam that held the river back. When they reached the end of it, Stratton halted to check around once again.

‘We should move away from the beach,’ he said. ‘It’s a natural line for a patrol to follow.’ He looked towards the water as a heavy wave dropped on to the beach with a thunderous boom. Ideally, they should leave the land completely and cover the rest of the distance by swimming. ‘You up for a swim?’

‘I’d rather drown trying than stay in this land another day,’ she said.

He believed her, but he also worried that she would soon get into trouble out there and he would end up having to help her. Which would be dangerous for both of them. He set off away from the water.

She followed.

They watched the ground ahead and towards the shore constantly. The glow from the town grew brighter with every step. When it separated to become two distinct sources of light, he slowed to an easy walk. The brighter glow to the right was coming from the ships.

The hazy radiance soon became distinct lights, the town sprinkled with white and orange, the vessels a tight collection of stark lights on top of large, dark masses. Electric lights had been placed on the beach in front of the carriers, a new addition since the night before. They had probably run cables ashore from the ships’ generators. But that only worked in his favour. A well-lit beach would make it even more difficult to spot swimmers, especially beyond the ships.

Stratton kept staring at the vessels, aware of the girl’s presence only by the light crunch of her feet in the sand behind him. He was constantly gauging when they should head into the surf. He had chosen to ignore the threat that there could be a trap waiting for them if they climbed on board. He decided it was too sophisticated for the Somalis. Which was a lot to chance on the Somalis’ part because there were many places on board a ship large enough for a person to hide in.

He estimated they should begin the swim at four to five hundred metres from the ships so that they could get well out to sea. But the closer he got, the more he reduced that estimate. The lights around the bulkers would be more distracting to the guards on board and those on the beach.

As he looked at them, he saw something wrong with the picture of the vessels. From the angle of approach the ships were in a line and appeared as a single object. But as they drew closer, and the angle widened, he could pick out the individual ships. He could see three bulkers. Not four. He kept walking, his eyes fixed on the boats, hoping that one had been moved, tucked behind one of the others, or that it wasn’t the Oasis that was missing. The girl had also been staring at the ships and came alongside him, transfixed and praying that what she suspected wasn’t true.

They both slowed to a halt. Their vessel of hope had been the largest of the four and the largest of those that remained wasn’t large enough. The Dutch captain’s vessel had gone. It had sailed without them.

The girl dropped to her knees, more out of staggering dis appointment than anything else.

Stratton sat down beside her and stretched out his feet.

She looked at him, trying to see into his eyes in the darkness, wondering if she would find the same distress and frustration that she was feeling. But she could see nothing of the sort in them. She wasn’t surprised. Not any more. She found him to be a most unusual man. He got angry like normal men, showed petty frustrations and irritation at predictable times. But when most people reached the point where they were expected to lose hope, and could be forgiven for it, this one simply went cold and began to hatch an alternative plan, looking like he had missed a bus. He never seemed to tire of looking for options.

She wondered what he was thinking. Then she decided to search for an option herself. It was no surprise to her to discover the one that came to mind, something they had considered from the beginning, and probably the only other reasonable option available to them.

‘I suppose we look for a small boat now,’ she said.

‘Out of land, sea and air that remains our best option,’ he said.

He looked towards the cove in front of the first cargo carrier. She followed his gaze. Several small boats bobbed in the protected waters of the unusual loop in the beach.

He looked to the skies, the gentle breeze rustling his scraggly hair. ‘I’d say we have five or six hours of darkness,’ he said. ‘We could be miles from here by dawn even with a poor sail.’

She felt like she could have cracked up on seeing their cargo ship gone. But his sheer confidence and tenacity prevented any chance of that happening. She got to her feet, doing her best to forget the cargo vessel and focus on the next plan. ‘Let’s do it then.’

He got up and they walked down to the beach and towards the boats.

12

Stratton and the girl reached the shore and studied the boats anchored beyond the surf. Stratton’s first concern had been that a sentry might be nearby. It didn’t surprise him to see no sign of one.

He saw several kinds of boat, the majority exposed skiffs, their empty poles sticking in the air, sails stowed, or simple rowing boats. They walked along the beach to get a better look at some slightly larger craft. In the darkness it was difficult to make them out but one appeared to have a kind of cabin.

‘What do you think?’ she asked.

‘I was thinking sail earlier. But now I’m thinking motor.’

‘A motor won’t get us across the Gulf. Not without a lot of fuel.’

‘We don’t need to cross the Gulf. All we need to do is reach the transit corridor. Something like eighty ships a day use it. And then there are all the naval ships.’

‘Could we even get that far in a motor boat? The Gulf is a couple of million square miles. That’s a lot of ocean to get stranded in if we run out of fuel. At least with a sail we have power all the time.’

‘We won’t have speed though. There’s little wind right now.’

‘It’ll pick up when we’re out there.’

‘I’d rather get as far away as I could from this coastline as quickly as I could.’

She decided he showed at least one sign of stress. He had no time for anyone else’s ideas. Unless of course he was like that all the time.

‘Let’s take a look,’ he said. ‘If there’s not enough fuel, then we’ll sail.’

He walked into the surf and dived at a breaker and swam hard into the next set. She stood on the beach and prayed that once she stepped off the sand and into the water she would never have to return. She waded in until a large wave rolled in and she dived into it. The water was chilly and it felt good as she pulled hard to catch up with him.

Both were soon through the breakers and swimming over the deep swell. Stratton paused to get his bearings and find the boat he had been aiming for. He saw it and waited for her to catch up before setting off again.

The swim was further and more tiring than either of them had calculated, not that it would have made any difference. When they arrived at the boat, Stratton hauled himself on board. The girl grabbed the side and held on to catch her breath. Stratton took a firm hold of her hands and yanked her out of the water.

He surveyed the boat while he caught his breath. It was basic and untidy with all kinds of fishing equipment scattered around. It had a wheelhouse in the centre the size of a phone booth. A couple of outboard engines bolted to the transom with their props out of the water. Stratton went straight to them.

The engines were two different makes, one a one-twenty with an extra-long shaft, the other a seventy-five with a standard draught. They were an odd match but he doubted the fisherman who owned them cared for the equilibrium as long as they worked.

The girl made herself useful and checked around for fuel. The two working tanks seemed to be full, judging by the weight. She inspected the contents of a large drum lashed to the side of the wheelhouse, the fumes engulfing her. ‘This is just over half full,’ she said, closing the lid.

The engines looked well used but short of starting one up he had no way of knowing if they would work. He looked towards the only other motor boat he could see that might have been big enough for the proposed journey. But it did not appear to be as seaworthy as the one they were on.

‘Let’s take a paddle over to that one,’ he decided. ‘See what fuel it has.’

He found a couple of oars, handed one to the girl and went to the bows and untied the line attached to a