preliminary reefing and sail-setting tests under every simulated condition of wind. Mr Grohman brought Captain Mortensen here to demonstrate a fault to him…'
My mind leapt ahead to my coming interview with the chief magistrate. 'You don't believe the account of the tragedy?'
'I didn't say that. All I do say is that, I can't understand how it could have happened. The ship was making time in a rising sea and gale and we were all thrilled with the way she was performing. Then this!' She jumped off her perch and came close to me. She indicated a switch on the mast wall. 'Apart from the bridge consoles, there's a fail-safe control right here. All Mr Grohman had to do was to press this button and the rollers would have stopped. And…' she indicated levers on the rollers themselves '… here are hand cranks as another emergency measure. They operate the travelling runners manually in case of power failure. There was no power fault! What happened?'
'That's what Mr Thomsen keeps asking. Why did Grohman make for the Falklands when he could have carried on to the Cape?'
'God, oh God!' she exclaimed savagely. 'It was awful. Jetwind was like a funeral ship. He abandoned the record attempt and headed into the gale. Day after day! Forcing Jetwind to go that way! Into that same godawful gale which would have blown us all the way to the Cape!'
'I wish Mr Thomsen could hear you now,' I said. And I gave her the gist of Thomsen's plans to try and recoup Jetwind’s prestige.
She plucked at a loose thread at the bottom of the sail roller. Her big eyes were full of controlled fury.
'Fine, fine!' she exclaimed. 'But when are we sailing? Every time I ask you when, you dodge the question! What sort of jinx is bugging Jetwind!'
I lit a cigarette after offering her one, which she refused. I had decided to treat her as an ally; as an ally, she had to know what was in my mind.
'There is no jinx, Kay, but there's something equally serious,' I said. Then I outlined Grohman's remarks that Jetwind would be detained, the imminent arrival of the Almirante Storni, the bureaucratic stalling port, and finally my forthcoming interview with the chief magistrate in half an hour or so.
When I had finished, she remained silent. Then she burst out, 'What has Jetwind to do with some obscure squabble between Argentina and Britain over the Falklands? She's a ship, not a pawn in a petty political game, She's my ship!' 'Mine too, Kay.'
'You're not going to let them do it, are you, skipper? Keep her boxed up here to rot! Why don't you up-anchor now – right now – and get the hell out of here before the destroyer can catch us…'
'The Almirante Storni is capable of thirty-five knots,' I answered. 'She'd come after Jetwind if I did. She'd catch us before we'd gone a hundred miles.' 'What do you mean to do about it?' she demanded.
'I'll plan my strategy after I've seen the chief magistrate. Meanwhile, what I've told you is between the two of us.'
'Of course,' she said. 'There's something important I failed to mention, though – there's an important failsafe system built into the masts for the ultimate emergency.' 'The ultimate emergency?' I echoed.
She gestured upwards. 'Yes. In the unlikely event of Jetwind being knocked down on her beam-ends by a squall, self-destructing explosive ring charges are built into the junction of the top and top-gallant masts. The charges are designed to blast away the top-gallant masts, either individually or together, to enable the ship to right herself again.' 'That seems very drastic to me.'
'The masts can't be cut away because there's no rigging,' she went on. 'The charges operate on the same principle as the ejector seat of an aircraft.' 'Who fires the charges and from where?' 'You'll see the 'chicken button' as it's called on the main bridge bulkhead. It's painted scarlet, and to get at it one has first to break a glass – like a fire-alarm.'
'Things would have to be pretty far gone before, one resorted to such extreme measures,' I said. 'Now – a final question: how does one get out on the yard itself from here?'
'There's this exit hatchway. It's held shut magnetically, like the ship's watertight bulkheads. Here's the switch. First, though, I have to obtain permission from the officer of the deck.'
She dialled 'O' on a red-painted phone on a mast bracket. I wondered why Grohman hadn't used the instrument at the time of Captain Mortensen's accident. The sail rollers could have been halted via the bridge controls.
Kay said, 'John? I'm opening the main tops'l yard-arm for the skipper to take a look-see – okay?'
The door slid open and we ducked through. The yard itself was wide enough for Kay to stand on. She balanced, without retorting to the safety grab-handles.
The vantage-point gave me a magnificent view of both ship and anchorage. The Narrows entrance seemed perilously close. Between Navy Point and Engineer Point, its twin land flanks, the grey-green water was coming in from the deep ocean beyond the outer anchorage. The sea had lost its brilliant cobalt of the morning. Neither headland was high; none of the hillocks running east and west of them was as high as Jetwind’s maintruck. Therefore a lookout in the crow's nest could see clean across the intervening land to what the Almirante Storni was up to.
Then I turned round, and looked astern. Stanley town with its brightly coloured tin roofs still reflected the sunlight which was now becoming increasingly hazy.
Next my eyes went deck-wards to admire Jetwind's long, lean hull. I stopped short. Two of Jetwind's big lifeboats were being swung out from the stern. There was a group of men at each. A third boat was already heading towards the main harbour jetty. 'What goes on down there?' I demanded. Kay shook her head.
I ducked back through the hatchway, picked up the phone and dialled. Tideman answered. 'Who gave orders for the boats to be put out?' I had half anticipated his answer. 'Mr Grohman, sir.' 'What are they supposed to be doing?'
I wasn't sure that I had heard his reply correctly. 'A picnic! Did you say a picnic?'
'Aye, aye, sir. A picnic – rather an outing, for the crew. Through The Narrows to Cape Pembroke on the open sea.'
'Recall those boats – at once, d'you hear? From now on, no boat or man is to leave this ship without my express permission – understand?'
Chapter 11
I banged down the phone. Kay was standing by uncertainly.
'I'm going down to sort this out,' I snapped. 'Thanks for the conducted tour. I have the picture now.'
I started down the ladder. Before I had gone a rung or two, she called 'Skipper!' 'Yes?' 'I'll be invoking Cape Horn good luck for your interview this afternoon.'
I was halfway out of the service bay, my head and shoulders still showing. I had a worm's eye view of Kay from the level of her ankles. From that angle she seemed all long legs and big eyes. There was something in those eyes that I needed, the way things were crowding me. Our eyes locked for a long moment.
I said, before I had consciously decided to involve her in the break-out, 'Kay, I'm holding a skull session in my cabin tonight. Tideman and Brockton will be there. I would like you, too.' She was very acute. 'Do they know?' 'Not yet.' Her expressive eyes became very thoughtful. 'After you know the results of your interview with the magistrate?' 'With or without, it makes no difference.' 'You're going to take the risk?'
'Yes. That's why I want the three of you. I need your help and know-how!'
'Apart from your own.' She leaned down impetuously and touched my forehead with the tips of her fingers. 'You'll have to take the rap – you know that.' 'I know that, Kay.' She went on looking at me, then added, 'I'll troll for a blow tonight, Peter.' 'You do that, Kay.'
She waited, as if she expected me to say more. I was tongue-tied by all the cross currents. I said, 'Tentatively, ten tonight in my cabin with the others?'. She nodded. I hurried down the ladder to the bridge.
Grohman was already there. His slick Jetwind uniform offset his aquiline Spanish features. I felt by comparison rather like a bum-boat skipper in the black cold-weather rig I had hastily bought in Cape Town. Tideman pretended to be consulting a switch panel; Brockton was in a neutral corner near the radio office door.
