I can survive out here, but not for long. If the dinghy goes down then we are all fucked. And it's dangerously low because of the weight it is carrying.
Matt glanced around. Ivan was holding on to another rope. Reid and Cooksley were bobbing about in the water, taking huge gulps of air every time their heads broke free of the waves.
Now I know why Buhner wanted us to practise our swimming.
Struggling to keep his head above water, Matt realised he could hear it before he could see anything — the noise of an engine, the sound broken up by the waves, but growing steadily louder. Behind him, he could hear the hull of the boat cracking, and saw one half disappear into the sea. Another hour, and all trace of it would be gone.
A light shone in the distance. Damien, thought Matt. He watched as the searchlight moved rapidly towards them, beaming out across the sea. Matt raised his hand into the air, waving it frantically, before remembering that they had blacked up faces and had worn black wetsuits to make sure no one could see them. That worked both ways. Damien wasn't going to see a hand in the water.
'There should be a flare,' shouted Ivan. 'See if you can reach it.'
Matt levered himself up to the side of the dinghy and peered over the rim. At the back, there was a small box with a red cross marked on it. Medical supplies, thought Matt. And maybe flares.
Pulling himself into the boat, he reached into the box. Bandages, disinfectants, antibiotics, aspirin.
For fuck's sake, who needs this rubbish?
Flares, he noticed, grabbing them. He held the gun high over his head, firing the flare into the sky, watching as it hung like a firework over the ocean. Beneath its fierce light he could see the boat vanishing underneath the waves. And he could see their own ship, maybe four hundred metres away.
Matt perched on the edge of the dinghy, watching while Damien steered his craft closer towards them.
It pulled up alongside, and Damien killed the engines. His searchlight was turned on to the water, picking out the crates and the four men.
'You blokes look like you could use a cup of tea,' he said.
ELEVEN
The clouds had cleared, revealing a sky of bright stars whose light settled on the pure sand and the dark blue water. Matt paced along the shoreline, the waves lapping at his feet. There could be few better spots, he reflected, in which to collect your fortune. It reminded him of how much he loved the Mediterranean.
Wherever Gill and I decide to make our home, it will be somewhere looking over this sea. The water is in my veins.
'That's it!' said Reid at his side.
Matt followed the line of Reid's finger, pointing out to sea. The cargo ship was steaming slowly into the bay. 'Get the dinghy and trucks ready,' he said.
Matt felt tired but invigorated. After the last night the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins. Damien had fished them all out of the water and they had loaded the crates on to their own boat. They had waited for an hour, watching as the last remnants of the al-Qaeda ship disappeared beneath the waves. They wanted to make sure it was safely at the bottom of the sea, since a floating wreck would be discovered within a few hours. Then they sailed back to Cyprus, cleaning themselves up on the boat. Damien laid anchor a kilometre from the coast, while the rest of them went ashore in the dinghy. The plan had been for Damien to stay with the loot overnight: it would be safer to keep it at sea than on dry land. He would meet them at the bay at two o'clock the following night to transfer the crates into the Land Rovers and then on to the cargo boat bound for Rotterdam.
Reid had insisted on staying with Damien — both he and Cooksley were suspicious about letting the money out of their sight, and wanted at least one of them to stay on the boat. Matt had to work hard to make sure Ivan didn't stay as welclass="underline" it might create suspicions, he told them, if none of them made it back to the hotel.
The team finally stumbled back into the hotel at five in the morning, exhausted but in high spirits. As far as the receptionist was concerned, it was just a stag party returning after an all-night bender. They went to their rooms, but it took Matt a couple of hours before he could get off to sleep. Too many thoughts were racing through his mind: how quickly can we get the money, how soon can I pay off my debts, how long before I see Gill again?
All of them woke late, and spent the day lounging around the pool. The team now looked tired and haggard; none of them had slept for more than a couple of hours. But they were also happy and relaxed, noticed Matt. They were all coming together. There was, he decided, nothing like the combination of danger and success to create camaraderie between men.
And now, here's the pay-off.
The ship was within sight. Damien was at anchor two hundred metres from the shore, with Reid at his side. Matt pushed out the dinghy to meet him, Cooksley and Ivan remaining on the secluded beach preparing the two Land Rovers. The dinghy bounced through the waves and pulled up alongside. Matt cast up a rope for Damien to catch and clambered up on to the ship.
'We've made it,' he said, thumping Damien on the back.
'Well, Reid and I thought about turning around and sailing straight for Argentina,' said Damien. 'But then I thought — nah, I'd miss Camberwell.'
Matt laughed. 'And we'd have to track you down and kill you as well.'
'I believe you would too,' grinned Damien.
The work was slow and hot, but none of them minded. Their spirits were high. Each crate had to be loaded on to the dinghy and steered back to shore. That took three trips. Then they opened up each case, wrapped the trays of diamonds and the bars of gold in tissue paper, and stowed them away inside the hulls of the Land Rovers. Both cars were already loaded on to the back of a truck, their engines removed, ready to be taken down to the docks. They had been parked behind a high sandbank to keep them out of sight of any passing traffic. There was not much chance of anyone seeing them: the beach was at the end of a dirt road leading nowhere, and Ivan had cased the location two mornings running to be sure it had no visitors.
Unpacking the crates and transferring the gear, Reid and Cooksley struck up a chorus of the Good Ship Venus: 'We sailed to the Canaries, to screw the local fairies, we got the syph in Tenerife and the clap in Buenos Aires,' they sang in a deep, rolling baritone. By the next verse, Matt, Ivan and Damien had all joined in: 'We sailed to the Bahamas, where the girls all wear pyjamas, they wouldn't screw our motley crew, they much preferred bananas.'
The song completed, all five men stood around laughing. Matt put the last of the gold bars into the Land Rover, then stood back from the truck. 'There's one more thing I want to do,' he said.
In his hand, Matt held one tray with six diamonds in it. He took them out one by one, holding them in his hand, admiring the way they caught and reflected the light from the stars, then handed one to each man. 'Let's keep one of these each as a souvenir,' he said. 'Give them to our wives or girlfriends.'
'You could give one to that cute waiter in the hotel,' said Reid.
'That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble,' Damien said.
They all took one diamond, slipping them into their pockets. 'One left,' said Cooksley.
'Why don't we give it to that barmaid at the hotel,' said Reid, laughing. 'I reckon she'd shag all five of us for one of these sparklers.'
'Or Alison,' said Ivan. 'She gave us this job. I reckon one of these would look good around her neck.' 'Alison, yes,' said Matt. 'Let's keep one for her.'
Matt turned the diamond over between his fingers, letting the sunshine from the window catch its light. 'Alison?' he said into the phone.