The sun was going down when the fat man brought in a meal of pasta, bread and water and put it down. ‘Eat quickly,’ he said. ‘You don’t have much time.’
Macandrew and Simone did as they were told, if for no other reason than the fact that they were very hungry. Shortly afterwards, they were escorted out of the building and put into the back of an unlettered van waiting outside. The familiar smell of it told Macandrew that it was the van that he had been brought down from Paris in. It came as no surprise to either of them when, twenty minutes later, the van doors opened and they were ushered out on to the quayside at Marseilles harbour.
The night was still and warm and, although they were some way away from the cafes at the waters’ edge, Macandrew could smell the coffee and cigarette smoke on the night air. He looked at the lights wistfully before having to turn all his attention to the business of climbing down a harbour wall ladder on to the motor yacht that lay waiting there. Parvelli ushered him slowly across the cobbles and saw him on to the first rung.
Simone — her arms held by Stroud — watched from above as Macandrew held his injured foot clear of the rungs and used arm strength to lower himself — a rung at a time — on his good foot. Thankfully, there was very little swell on the water so he was able to time his fall from the bottom rung of the ladder into the waiting arms of the fat man and one other whom he took to be a member of the crew. He was taken below and locked up in a small cabin.
He hadn’t learned much on the way down, just that the vessel was named Astrud G. and that she had been registered in Marseilles. According to a plate above the cabin entrance, she was owned by, Aristo Charters. He heard the door of the cabin next to his being opened and hoped that this was where Simone was being put. When the footsteps died away, he opened the one small porthole in his cabin and softly called out her name.
‘I’m here,’ she replied. ‘Maybe if we were both to cry out for help...’
‘We won’t be heard,’ said Macandrew. ‘We’re too far away and they could get nasty. Let’s bide our time.’
The cabins occupied by Simone and Macandrew were on the seaward side of the boat so they couldn’t see what was happening on the quayside. The first indication that they were about to get under way came when a shudder ran through the boat as the main engine was started: it drowned out the sound of the small pump which had been slurping bilge water out into the harbour.
The vibration increased and Macandrew was aware of heightened activity on deck culminating in the sound of a mooring rope being thrown on to the ceiling of his cabin. He watched the harbour lights disappear behind them as the yacht turned to clear the outer basin before heading off out into the Mediterranean.
The engine note picked up as they cleared the harbour proper and then settled down to a constant throb. Macandrew checked his watch before taking two more tetracycline capsules. It was vital not to let the antibiotic level in his bloodstream fall. It was too early to say if the infection was responding to treatment, but there had certainly been no noticeable improvement. If anything, the pain had got worse. He tried telling himself that his foot had taken quite a few knocks on the journey to the boat and that might be the reason but it would be another day or so before he could be sure.
He turned off the cabin light and lay down on his bunk until his eyes became accustomed to the dark and he could see the stars through the porthole. He concentrated on the brightest of them until his eyelids became heavy and he fell into a troubled asleep.
Macandrew and Simone were kept below deck throughout the entire first day at sea although Simone was allowed to visit Macandrew’s cabin during the late afternoon. He had continued to feel ill and was now almost certain that this must be down to the spread of infection rather than anything more innocent. The antibiotic wasn’t working. He would give the drug one more day before opting for more drastic measures but, if he left it any longer, there was a strong chance that he would not be in any fit condition to do anything at all. He said as much to Simone.
‘What will you have to do?’ she asked.
‘Cut it open and drain it,’ replied Macandrew.
Simone grimaced. ‘But you don’t have any instruments or anaesthetic,’ she said as if the words were freezing on her lips.
Macandrew stayed silent.
‘Maybe the boat carries medical supplies. I could ask.’
‘It’s worth a try,’ said Macandrew. Stroud had earlier given him some painkillers in tablet form. He took two as his level of discomfort rose.
‘You should try to get some sleep,’ said Simone.
She saw to it that he was comfortable before asking to see Stroud. She was taken up on deck.
‘The infection in Dr Macandrew’s foot is spreading,’ she told Stroud who responded with a shrug.
‘He needs proper medical care. A hospital.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
Simone had not expected anything else. ‘You must help him. You’re a doctor.’
‘I’m a psychiatrist,’ countered Stroud. ‘I’ve given him antibiotics and painkillers. I can do no more.’
Simone stared at him angrily. ‘If anything happens to him, hell will freeze over before I’ll synthesise anything for you!’
Stroud looked at her dispassionately before replying, ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Madame.’
‘I mean it...’
Simone saw uncertainty appear on Stroud’s face and felt encouraged. She said, ‘A boat this size must carry medical supplies, local anaesthetic, minor surgical equipment. Give me access.’
Stroud looked to the skipper who had been professionally pretending not to hear what was going on. The man nodded.
‘Don’t you know what these men are doing to us?’ Simone demanded in French.
The man, middle aged and deeply tanned, said, ‘Madame, I have been contracted to carry five people from A to B. I have been paid well. That is the end of the matter. I have no interest in who any of you are or what any of you are doing. That way, I keep up the payments on my boat.’
‘You don’t understand...’ protested Simone.
‘Enough!’ said Stroud. ‘Take her below.’
‘What about the medical kit?’ said Simone, pulling against the arm that had started to guide her off the deck.
‘Tomorrow.’
Simone returned to her cabin feeling mentally exhausted but relatively satisfied with the way things had gone up on deck. Apart from having got Stroud to agree to give them access to the boat’s medical supplies, she had managed to sneak a look at the chart and ruler in the wheelhouse. She now knew that they were heading south east. It wasn’t much but it was something.
Any last remaining doubts about the spread of infection faded when Macandrew woke in the early hours of the following morning with sweat pouring down his face and feeling that his veins had filled with fire. He struggled to get himself upright and then wished he hadn’t when consciousness threatened to leave him. He had miscalculated the spread of the infection. He had been hoping against hope that the antibiotics might win through in the end but now there was a real chance he had left it too late. He would have to fight to remain conscious at all costs. If he didn’t operate on his foot he would die.
Fever was the biggest threat. He had to cool himself down. He opened the porthole to let the breeze in then he dragged himself across the floor to the wash basin where he splashed cold water up into his face before soaking a towel and crawling back to his bunk where he lay with it across his forehead, eyes closed, taking slow, deliberate breaths and trying to use logic and reason to combat the toxins that were invading his bloodstream.