“That’s a sound theory, old son.” LJ said.
“So, what next?” Dillon asked Chapman.
“What extra equipment is fitted to your boat?” Chapman asked, and pointed at the array of electronics and small monitor screens in the console.
“That’s a depth finder, and that one is a digital plotter, for mapping the seabed.” Dillon switched on both machines and the screens instantly lit up.
“Good, in which case we’ll run along the coast and see what the seabed has to offer us further along. It’ll be a hell of a lot quicker to search from up here initially, and then if we do spot anything, well we can then go over the edge and take a closer look.”
“I’m in full agreement with that. Let’s get the anchor up and get under way, Vince you take charge of the equipment, and keep your eyes peeled on those screens.” Dillon said.
Mazzarin and Zola surfaced about twenty feet away from the inflatable. Kurt spun it around and went to pick them up; they heaved themselves in just as Chapman engaged the anchor winch. The slack on the line was immediately taken up by the electric motor, and then it jammed with a sharp jerk. He immediately shut off the power to the winch, and the line slackened off again.
“What’s the matter, Rob?” LJ asked.
“We’re snagged on the bottom by the look of it.”
Chapman pulled back on the throttles and the boat slowly edged backwards. The line went taught, and the inboard diesels started to rev under the resistance. He cut the power, and the twenty-six foot cruiser relaxed on the swell.
“Jake, I reckon the only way we’re going to free that anchor, is for one of us to dive down and have a go at it, what do you think?”
“Okay, I’m on my way.” Dillon said pulling on his jacket and tank.
“When you’ve managed to free it, make sure you’re well clear of the bow area as the winch takes up the line.”
“No problem.” Dillon checked the amount of air left in his tank, and satisfied that he had enough, tumbled backwards into the water.
Kurt watched Dillon go back into the water through his binoculars, and said, “Now what are you up to, then?”
“Ha, I’d say they were hooked up on the bottom.” Pierre said maliciously.
“How very unfortunate for them.”
Dillon reached the anchor, and sure enough, it was wedged tight in between two large pieces of granite. On the surface Chapman skilfully eased the boat this way and that using the minimum power, and as the line slackened off Dillon was able to pull the anchor free. The next moment the winch cut in, and snatched the anchor out of his gloved hands and dragged the heavy piece of metal along the sea floor before it started up. He swam away from the boat and then started his own ascent, becoming immediately aware of the strong current that was pushing him further out to sea. Relaxing he drifted up slowly and then surfaced about thirty metres away from the power cruiser, once he’d got his bearings he inflated his jacket, and waited for Chapman to come and get him.
LJ had been watching to see where Dillon surfaced, spotting him off the starboard bow as he bobbed up and down on the heavy swell. At the same time, Mazzarin stood up and shouted excitedly from where he’d been sitting in the stern of the inflatable, and pointed to where Dillon had surfaced. But it was Pierre who responded by taking the wheel, “Now then Englishman, it’s payback time.” He pushed the throttle fully forward, and the small craft raced through the water at high speed towards its target.
The inflatable carved its way through the water towards Dillon, who had started to swim with his jacket still inflated in the general direction of the power cruiser.
As it bore down on him, Dillon quickly slipped out of the buoyancy jacket, jack-knifed, and dived beneath the surface. He only just managed to avoid being hit as it raced over the surface, no more than five feet above his head. Looking up, he saw his jacket and air tank take the full force of the inflatable rigid hull before getting mashed by the propeller. A moment later he surfaced, and saw Chapman no more than fifteen metres away. LJ was already leaning over the side with a long gaff pole in his hands, ready to pull Dillon on board at the first opportunity.
Chapman spun the wheel hard over to port, bringing the cruiser around in a wake of foaming water before it came to rest on the swell. The inflatable swerved in again, and then went around in a wide arc before heading straight for Dillon again. Pierre, eyes glazed, was throwing the small craft around like a toy; he gripped the wheel proprietarily, laughing like a hyena which could be heard clearly across the water.
Vince came out of the main cabin carrying the MP5 carbine, was struggling to release the stock when Chapman came down the ladder from the wheelhouse, and took the weapon off of him.
“Here let me have that. You go and get the extra clips.”
He released the safety catch, and fired at the inflatable. Kurt was trying to get Pierre away from the wheel, Mazzarin and Zola had hit the deck. Chapman fired carefully, not wishing to kill anyone, and this time hit the inflated bow section, which immediately started to deflate.
Dillon had manoeuvred himself around the power cruiser to the seaward side and was treading water. He could just make out Kurt in the inflatable as he brought a clenched fist down hard across Pierre’s shoulders, knocking the Frenchman down onto the deck. The big German took control of the rapidly deflating craft, turned in a wide circle and raced off at full speed.
LJ looked anxiously through his binoculars, surveying the area for Dillon. “Can anyone see him?”
Dillon shouted and waved his arms a little distance away. It was Chapman who spotted him first, put down the MP5, and went back up to the wheel, and took the boat towards him. Dillon swam in at the stern, and Vince and LJ quickly got down on to the dive platform to haul him on board.
“Hell, what was all that about?” Dillon said, as he unzipped and shrugged off his dive suit.
“It was that French troglodyte, Pierre. He’s obviously taken quite a dislike to you, old son.” LJ told him.
Vince passed Dillon a towel, and as he was drying himself off saw the MP5 down on the deck. “Couldn’t resist a little fun, eh?” Dillon said amiably, looking up at Chapman.
“Never could stand bully-boys,” Chapman said. “Do you want to carry on, or shall we call it a day?”
“Let’s carry on. After all we have a hell of a lot of coast to cover yet.”
“I don’t think our friends will be bothering us again today.” LJ said, peering through his binoculars.
“That’s a fact, not with a flaming great rip in that inflatable. I wouldn’t be surprised if they hadn’t sunk by now.” Chapman said laughing.
“What’s the weather forecast like for the rest of the day?” Dillon asked Vince.
“Shipping forecast indicates that there’s a storm rolling in from the west, and that a force six or seven will be blowing by late afternoon.”
“Damn. Well in that case, we’d better make the most of what fine weather we’ve got left.” Dillon said.
Chapman, settled into his seat, powered up the inboard diesel, and headed back towards the shore.
The inflatable slowed as it reached the headland at Les Mourier, not more than half a mile away, Kurt raised the binoculars to his eyes and watched the power cruiser making its way slowly along the coast in a northerly direction away from them. He looked down at the GPS screen and checked that the homing bug was still working.
“They’re moving north along the coast.” “What are they doing?” Pierre asked.
Kurt got out his mobile phone, and called Captain
Armand aboard the Solitaire. He spoke briefly to him, and then waited while Armand checked the database for all dive sites along the northern coast of Jersey. Kurt broke the connection and stood silent for a moment.