Chapter Twenty One
They were up early the next morning, having the luxury of a full night’s sleep uninterrupted by watches.
Emerging at dawn from the cabin they were in time to watch the sun rise from the sea in an orgy of oranges and reds, sending glittering paths of yellow and blue towards them. McBride glanced back, and the coniferous trees were bright with colour, and from every chalet orange reflections sparkled.
Despite the cold breeze, they sat in the cockpit eating bacon and baked beans.
“You should have done some more fishing this morning, Ben”
“I know when to stop while I’m ahead.” He grinned.
They set off to continue their southward journey. McBride had made an accurate estimate the previous night using the chart. Seven hours sailing would see them round the southern-most point of Sweden, and start back north-north-east, to arrive at Skagen, but they couldn’t get there today. The exit from the Baltic was a bottle-neck crowded with ships big and small. The large ships were, under marine law, forced to use pilots, but a lot thought they would try to save the cost. The resultant collisions were in that case not covered by insurance. And even that did not deter some ship owners.
The coastline when they cleared the bay was very similar to that of the previous day. They met more ships as they approached the south of Sweden. They took it in turns to be on watch whilst the other took the helm. The rule is that steam gives way to sail, or in today’s terminology, powered vessels give way to sail. But if they don’t, you can’t argue when you are dead.
They came to a narrowing of the sea, land on either side. Ben, on the helm was bewildered.
“What’s happening? The land is closing in.”
“Don’t panic, the chart shows this long narrow island running for miles down the coast. We’re on the landward side. A couple of hours, and we will be past it.”
They did pass the island, and a few miles further on, the sea had taken a huge bite out of the coast of Sweden, leaving a massive bay. Rather than follow the coast they sailed across the bay. And came to the end of Sweden.
The sky had been clouding over since early afternoon, and the wind had swung due west, gusting force five. McBride made the executive decision to drop sails and finish today’s leg under power. The shipping traffic made sailing in this weather dangerous.
“Help me get the sails down once I’ve started the engine.”
He turned the ignition on, waited until the green light came on, pressed the starter and the engine kicked in. McBride peered over the side at the coolant water outflow. A healthy pulsating surge of water emerged.
Ben wound in the mainsail, as McBride paid out the rope. They lowered the jib.
They followed the coast round the southern tip of Sweden. McBride pointed out Copenhagen on the port bow, and the never ending stream of car ferries making the short journey across the strait between Sweden and Denmark.
Following the Swedish coast led them to perform a complete U-turn, so that they were sailing north. As soon as they rounded the cape, they were sheltered from the wind, and the sea suddenly calmed. The change was dramatic.
McBride made the most of the calm to leave Ben on the helm. He went to the chart table, plotting the course to Angelholm, the fourth largest city in Sweden. They saw in the distance planes taking off and landing at the city’s airport. The proximity of the airport to their intended overnight stop worried McBride. The SVR must be monitoring airports in their hunt for the fugitives. They may also be checking neighbouring marinas. As far as he could see from the charts, their only alternative would be to sail overnight to Skagen. That, too, was a dangerous option with the volume of sea traffic, and many ships without a pilot. Not to mention the weather. They may be in relative calm in the bay, but heavy rain beat on the cabin roof. A typical low pressure system. They would surely be better in the marina.
As they came nearer land at the chart plotted point, McBride saw the river entrance. A few hundred yards away, an illuminated sign proclaimed Kittervaagen Road Marina. Not a name to conjure with in the world of advertising. But at least it gave location for the landlubbers.
They had no sooner negotiated the river mouth, than they were at the marina entrance. Even in October, the sodium lights illuminated the pontoons, the fuelling point at the farthest corner, and the offices and chandlery away to the left, past the pontoons with a few moored yachts. McBride could make out more yachts out of water, sheeted down for the winter and lined up in a compound near the main buildings.
They took the first line of pontoons, because Ben had spotted the notice Visitor Moorings. Naturally they were the farthest from the offices and chandlery. Ben practised his berthing skills. Not bad, thought McBride as he stepped off with a mooring rope.
“Finished with engine,” he called back over his shoulder. Ben should have the engine off the moment McBride was on the pontoon. He probably would do it right next time.
McBride leaned on the boat. “I’ll go and book in. Stay with the boat. Get the boathook in one hand, and if anyone walks up the pontoon, start waving it at them. I’m not joking.”
McBride was warm from the walk when he pushed open the office door. The only man in the office looked up and came to the counter, spoke in Swedish.
“I’m English. I’ve just moored up at berth number one on the visitor moorings. I will be leaving again in the morning”
The man looked past McBride out of the glazed door. He must have super eyesight thought McBride.
“Yes, Sir. If you will just complete the form. The charge is thirty krone for the night. If you stay three nights, the charge drops to twenty per night.”
Using the pen on the counter, McBride filled in the form, giving his correct name, travelling solo, boat name Belinda. He had to be honest about that, it was written on the stern of the yacht. Permanent address. He put a fictitious address in Dublin.
He bade the man goodnight, and walked up the pontoon. After a few paces he turned to look back at the office. The man had picked up the phone and was holding a conversation. Might be his girlfriend but McBride felt the hair on his neck tingle..
When McBride got within a few paces of the yacht, Ben put down the boathook.
“Put it inside the cabin, together with anything else we can use as a club.”
“You think it’s dangerous here?”
“I do. I would have aborted our stop here, if the weather had been better. There’s a big airport not far over there. The SVR will be watching it, and they know we are in a boat. What would you do?”
“Watch the adjacent marina.”
“Exactly. The man in the office was making a phone call as soon as I stepped outside. Might be coincidence. Anyway, we’ve got time to eat. Never fight when you’re hungry. I just made that up.”
They rustled up a meal of tinned food, washed down by black tea.
“Are we going to stand watches?” Ben looked concerned.
“I would think I would wake if I heard a mouse scuttling down the pontoon. But if you want.”
“I’ll do the first watch. If I keep the door just ajar, we will hear better.”
McBride laid down on his bunk. Ben sat just inside the doorway, with the boathook in his hand,
Four hours later felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped. Ben whispered into his ear.
“It’s your watch.”
McBride looked at the time. Midnight. He sat on the port side, just inside the cabin. He was nodding off, when he heard it. A slow stealthy footstep. The timbers of the pontoon creaked slightly. McBride tensed, his hand on the door, tense and ready to go. The yacht started to tilt as weight was applied.
John McBride dived out of the cabin bunched low and whooping, grasping the man’s leg. The man had both feet on the boat, and was preparing to step down into the cockpit. McBride heard the whine of a bullet going past his ear, and then the man, unstable with the McBride’s hand pulling on his leg, started to fall back to the pontoon. He put one foot back to go dow
n on the pontoon, but his instability increased and he tumbled with his hands in the air. There was a metallic noise of an object hitting the boards, and a splash as it entered the water. McBride thought, there goes the pistol. He was aware of a large man behind the one who had dropped the gun. He was entangled in the melee, and there was a loud splash as one of them fell into the water on the opposite side of the pontoon.
McBride didn’t hesitate. He continued his rush, and dived over the gunwale and hit the other man with his head, a blow that hit him in the solar plexus. The man gave a grunt, and gasped for breath. McBride still low down, on his knees now, pulled the other man’s legs from under him, and he too fell into the water. McBride got up, and brushed himself down. He was only slightly out of breath. He swung round, hearing a noise behind him. It was Ben, with the boathook in one hand.
“Just in time, just use that boathook to fend off the two men having a swim. Stop them from getting back on the pontoon. We want them well away from here before we continue our journey.”
“We’re not leaving in the middle of the night, surely?”
“Looks like we will have to do. We don’t know how many friends these two swimmers can call on. Discretion is the name of the game now.”
One of the men already had his hands on the edge of the pontoon, but was having difficulty getting out of the water. He was panicking, and McBride was of the opinion that he couldn’t swim. But, because he couldn’t understand Russian, he was only conjecturing. Ben went up to the man, started belaying him with the boathook. McBride cringed. Was there no stopping this lad? The man in the water pushed away from the pontoon, lay on his back, kicking his legs. His partner, swam across to him, grasped him by the shoulder, and swam, towing him in the direction of the chandlery. About fifty yards of swimming, they both scrambled on to the pontoon, and shuffled off in their wringing wet clothes.
McBride hoped they had a car nearby. They could get pneumonia in this cold weather.
“Well, young man, time to put away that lethal weapon, and start packing. We don’t need to start right away, because it will take our assailants time to change and report to their masters. I would think we’ve got a couple of hours before anything else happens.”
“Well, as you say, we can get prepared. Here’s an idea, why don’t we move the boat, if we sneak it in among other boats, we will see them searching, and can just cast off and sail away.”
“Hey, that is good thinking.” McBride looked around the marina, then he pointed at the pontoon next to the road, but separated by a tall wire fence. There were about a couple of dozen boats, mostly of their own size, with one or two gaps in the moorings, looking like missing teeth.
“That will do fine, the gap closest to the exit, I think. Fire up the engine, and let’s go.”