Hatteras Blue (17 page)

"What about Aydlett? We've got a man overboard here. And if that grapnel goes, we might not have time to get a Mayday out. Without power to hold us into the seas we could go right on over. What good'll it do us then?"

"This wreck may be worth money to us, Galloway. A lot of it." He looked at his hands, wiped them on his trousers again. "And not only to us. It's important we keep its location secret as long as we can."

"From whoever set the bomb?"

"Exactly."

Galloway hesitated. The deck dropped away under his feet, then quivered as it slammed down into the sea. The hull creaked as its timbers twisted. I ought to put out a Mayday right now, he was thinking. They were out of the shipping lanes, but there might be a trawler near. And even in this storm, the Coast Guard might be able to put a helicopter north of them to look for Aydlett.

But he'd have to give their position, and hundreds of people monitored the distress frequency. So far Keyes had been right. There was at least the possibility that he was right about ... whatever it was he was after. And if he was right about that, there might be money involved after all. Real money. The kind that would solve his cash flow problems for a long time.

He saw for a moment Shad Aydlett's face, and then superimposed on it, the face of his brother. Screw him, he thought angrily. He's the one who insisted on going in the water.

"All right. No radio. Yet. I'll take the risk—considering as how you're paying for all damages incurred on this little outing."

"Thanks."

"I'm going to check the mooring. Be right back."

Hie wind snatched the hatch from his hands and shrieked in his ears. The sky was the color of old solder. He narrowed his eyes against mixed rain and salt spray and looked around. Topside was a shambles. Much of the gear was still on deck aft, battering itself into junk. Bernie, arms and legs blue with bruises, was fighting the wheel in the pilothouse, trying to keep the yawing bow into the seas.

"I got the tanks secured before it hit, Tiller."

"Good thinking." A full tank of compressed air, if struck right, would explode like a bomb. But the regulators and other equipment—they'd cost plenty to replace. A sea burst over the afterdeck as he watched and swept some of it through the freeing ports.

"Hook holding?"

'Yeah. Feels real solid—God, look at that!"

He turned. A line of rippled white, the crest of an enormous wave, was sweeping toward them from the rain-gray mist. "Amidships," he said. "And hold it there."

Victory
dipped to the preceding trough, then rose, but not quickly enough. The wave rolled over the bow and slammed into the bridge, staggering them, pitching the little ship skyward. A series of tearing sounds came from above. "There goes the tower," she shouted above the gale.

"Part of it, anyway." And the new sounder, he was thinking; even if it remained, a soak in salt water would make it useless.

Several smaller crests came in. The old boat feinted to one side or the other and rode over them gracefully. Galloway leaned against the bulkhead, watching the sea ahead. Then he saw it. Another crest, higher than the one that had taken the flying bridge. He put a hand on Bernie's shoulder, as much to brace himself as her, and clenched his teeth as the white line drove toward them.

It caught them on a yaw to starboard, smashing in one of the cabin windows and flinging the boat sideways until the taut line jerked them viciously to a halt.

"One more like that—"

"And there it is," said Galloway tonelessly. "Hang on." I should have put a kellet on the line, he was thinking. And I should have sent the Mayday.

Now it was too late. The antenna had been on top of the flying bridge.

Victory
met it head on. Foaming green covered the windshield as she was carried up, up, and backward until it seemed she would pitchpole. Galloway grabbed for a handhold, missed, and fell backward against the hatch. Water poured in through the shattered window. At the very crest the bow jerked suddenly and the whole hull quivered. Her motion changed instantly; she turned her head from the wind and rolled far over to port. Galloway struggled upright and stared out the streaming windshield.

The nylon thread had held. The grapnel had held. But the forward cleat was gone, torn out of the hull.
Victory
drifted beam-on in the trough, waiting for the next big comber to finish her.

Well, that's it, he thought. Gambled and lost. He felt suddenly weary, and at the same time, strangely relieved. He had a sea anchor left, but he didn't have much faith in it. In a way he was just as glad. There wouldn't be much longer to struggle.

"I shouldn't have let you come out with us on this," he shouted. "It sure wasn't part of your job, Bernie. I'm sorry."

"I didn't do it because of my job."

He looked away from the sea then, at her. Shaken and bruised, in the last moments before they capsized, she was smiling up at him. "I did it to help you, Tiller."

"You wasted your time."

"That's where you're wrong," she said. 'You're a good man, Galloway. Under all that bitterness and shame, you're better than you think."

And leaving a man to die?
He was about to speak, about to tell her what kind of man he really was when the companionway hatch banged open and Keyes, face smeared with oil, peered up. "Try the port engine," he shouted.

Galloway glanced again at her, muttered a half curse, half prayer, and punched the starter button.

The diesel rumbled into life. He slammed the wheel hard to starboard and as the screw gave the rudder bite, the bow came round into the teeth of the storm.

"Water in the cylinders," Keyes said, climbing the rest of the way up into the cabin. He looked at the broken window. "Backed up through the exhaust line and through the valves. I drained it through the indicator cocks. Your exhaust system's in sorry shape, Tiller."

"I know," said Galloway shortly.

"I can't help you with die starboard engine. It isn't water or fuel or the lube oil supply."

"One's plenty, long as it keeps turning over. The anchor cleat pulled out just as you came up. We've lost the wreck, I'm afraid."

'You have the position?"

"Marked on the chart."

"Good."

Galloway was staring into the storm. "Okay, here we go." He spun the wheel.

"Where are you heading?"

"North," Galloway said, gritting his teeth as the bow came round into the wind and sea. Maybe it wasn't too late. A tremendous wave burst over them and green water drained like a waterfall through the shattered windscreen. "We got a man to look for."

Surprising them all—especially Galloway—they found him.
Victory
ran north for twenty minutes, following his mental calculation on the drift of a man at the surface. Then he turned into the seas, throttling back to just enough power to hold her into the wind, and sent the others out to look.

Hirsch saw it first, a tiny speck off on the glassy backside of a comber. When Galloway steered for it the speck became first a bundle, then the figure of a man, face down, kneaded and tossed by the sea. "He's got his vest inflated," he muttered.

"That's all that's holding him up," said Keyes, from the far side of the boat. "He's dead. Better just—"

At that moment Shad Aydlett lifted a lifeless-looking face. He stared up at them for a long moment through salt-swollen eyes; then took the regulator out of his mouth and lifted an arm wearily above his head. , "Bernie, take the wheel. Dick, give me a hand, let's get him aboard."

"Right."

The port engine ran through the night. Galloway headed west. Toward four the storm began to abate, and two hours later he picked up the unmistakable white and black spiral of Cape Hatteras lighthouse. The lee of the Bight reduced the force of the waves and he was able to increase speed. At six-thirty he yielded the wheel to Hirsch and folded himself into the corner of the transom. He hadn't slept all night. Out of the gray dawn the low woods of southern Hatteras came gradually into view to starboard, the weathered gray houses of the village rising beyond them.

Galloway rubbed the dull ache at his back and contemplated the ruin of his boat. He'd built the flying bridge to take weather, but not the full force of a broadside wave, and the beams supporting the overhead had snapped. Everything above the low railing had been carried away, roof, windows, antennas, sounder, everything loose. It was a shell. Looking at it, he decided that the simplest thing to do would be to saw off the jagged beam ends and use it as an open platform to steer from when the weather was good. Perhaps he could rig some kind of sunscreen...

Keyes emerged from the cabin with a large towel. Coming aft to where Galloway sat, he arranged it to fall over the transom. Galloway watched. "What are you doing?" he said at last.

"Covering our name. Do you have any paint aboard?"

"There's a few cans in the chain locker. Why?"

"For the same reason I didn't want to radio our position. Where do you plan to put in?"

"Well, we have several choices. Hatteras Village is over there, off to starboard. I suspect you'll want something farther away, though."

You're right."

"Ocracoke's next island west ... pretty harbor, but small. We'd stand out like a lighthouse on fire there. No, I think Morehead City's our best bet." Galloway nodded slowly. "There's two, three transient marinas there can handle us. Better engine shops too."

"How far is it? I want to get back to sea as fast as we can."

Galloway got up stiffly. He stared at the chart, then walked his fingers over it. "Say eighty miles ... cut Cape Lookout close ... we should pull in around four."

"Is there any possibility of leaving tomorrow?"

"No way.
Victory
needs work, Dick. We need rest. And we've got a lot of gear to replace." Galloway yawned. "Anyway, we can rename her, sure. How about
TamhelrrP.
That suit you?"

Keyes's head snapped up. "That wouldn't be a good name."

"Why not? What does it mean, anyway?"

After a moment the blond man said, "The Tarnhelm is ... do you know Wagner?"

"Wagner?"

"The Ring Cycle. German opera, from Norse legends. The Tarnhelm was a sort of helmet of invisibility. Siegfried—the son of Odin—used it to regain the ring of power for the gods."

After a while Galloway said, "I don't get it."

"Is that so," said Keyes shortly.

Galloway squinted at him. We've got to have this out, he thought. Soon. He decided to do it while they were in port. Get Keyes alone somewhere and get some answers at last.

They both fell silent as Shadrach Aydlett appeared at the companionway. It was his first time on deck since they'd pulled him out of the water. The waterman's face was puffy and he moved slowly, but he seemed alert. The three men exchanged wary nods.

"You feeling better?" said Galloway.

"Some."

"What happened? You weren't making much sense when we gaffed you last night."

"I don't even remember that," said Aydlett. "I remember what happened, though. I let go of the anchor line to try to go a little deeper, test out that breathin' gear. The current got me and before I knew it I was a hundred feet away. Swam for a while but couldn't make any way. That stream is hell to fight." He paused for a moment to drain the beer he carried. When he came up for air he said, looking away from them, "Thanks for come lookin' for me, Tiller. Guess I owe an apology too. I'm sorry I was so suspicious of you."

"You'd have done the same. It was just luck we found you, though."

The waterman folded the aluminum can, tore it in two, and tossed it overboard. He watched it as the halves fell astern, gradually filling, and then disappeared. "Yeah. Luck. After the first half hour, I was sure you was leaving me out there."

"I can't say I wasn't tempted, Shad."

The two men stared at each other. Then Galloway said, "Anyway, you up to takin' her? I got some painting to do."

"Just bring me up another beer," said the black man, sliding himself behind the wheel.

When they nosed into the crowded harbor of More-head City and Beaufort, twin towns facing each other across the meeting of the Newport River with Onslow Bay, Galloway's block letters were tacky-dry.
Miss Anna,
out of Wanchese. She limped slowly across the basin and fitted her nose deep into a nest of gill-netters. Their crews, off-loading crates of sea trout and red snapper into refrigerator trucks, hardly glanced at the battered old PT. Galloway cut the engine and looked at his watch. "Four-fifteen. Let's get fueled first. I got to call a guy I know over in Peltier Creek, see if we can get him started on these engines. Then I'll give Jack a buzz, see how he's doing. How about some dinner in say half an hour? They set a good table over at Austin's."

Keyes and Hirsch accepted; Aydlett said to bring him back some crab sandwiches, he'd rather stay aboard and get some more sleep. Galloway finished tying up and left the others filling the tanks with marine diesel fuel.