Now the sun was so low that he could only see it when the yacht crested the waves, and with each successive peak more of the red disc disappeared until only a flickering red line remained. As he swung down into the cockpit he glimpsed a curious shape in the sea beyond the prow. He grabbed the coaming and jumped up on to the thwart to keep it in view. The object crested a wave and as it caught the light of the setting sun it appeared to be a dull orange colour. It lay long and low in the water for a moment and then slid out of sight down the other side of the wave. He stared out into the darkening sea and as the last of the sun sank below the horizon he saw it rising sluggishly towards the crest of the next wave. He tried to fix its position against the clouds on the horizon and then altered course towards it. It was probably only some piece of flotsam but the picture he retained in his mind’s eye suggested that it might have been large enough to damage his yacht if he was clumsy and collided with it.
The moon was not due to rise for at least an hour. He took the flashlight from its bracket and shone it hopefully. The object was much too far away to be picked up by its beam. He replaced it and pulled out a single shot flare gun. His body tensed as he pulled the trigger. There was a bang, louder than he expected and the firework trail of the projectile arced up into the sky. He shut his eyes for a moment as the flare burst into life. As the bright light descended on its little parachute it gave him a good sight of his target. He altered course slightly and then stood staring out to sea using the flashlight sparingly to preserve the battery life. After ten minutes he still had not spotted the floating object. He thought about firing off another flare but then he caught a glimpse of it at the top of a wave only about a hundred and fifty metres away off the starboard bow. He hurriedly altered course towards it and then winched the mainsail down. ‘Come on, come on,’ he muttered as he held his thumb on the engine auto start button. Ten seconds later he heard and felt the diesel motor rumbling into life in the bowels of the yacht. With one hand he steered the craft whilst playing the flashlight beam over the sea. Suddenly it was right in front of the yacht. He threw the engine into reverse but not in time to prevent the stem grinding against the floating object.
Steven put the motor into neutral with a curse and gazed out over the side. He was relieved to see a cylindrical fabric tube about a half metre in diameter rather than a rigid object that might have damaged the yacht’s bows. The flashlight revealed a large inflatable raft about ten metres long. It was curiously rectangular and flat at one end; it was not orange, but made from a dull silver fabric that had reflected the dying sunlight. He couldn’t see anyone aboard, but playing his flashlight at the far end he could see a bundled up sheet of heavy duty plastic fabric. What lay beneath it?
Somewhat reluctantly he unclipped a boat hook from the cabin roof and pulled the life raft hard up against the side of his yacht. There was a webbing strap fastened along the top of the cylindrical side of the raft and using the hook he manoeuvred it awkwardly along the boat until he could use the aft mooring line to tow it astern. He checked his battery condition indicators and then switched off the diesel motor. He examined the raft as best he could while leaning over the stern and playing the flashlight beam over it. Maybe someone was alive in the raft, sheltering under the plastic sheet?
‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Anyone aboard?’
He played his flashlight over, looking for any signs of movement.
‘Anyone in the raft there?’
Perhaps he should climb aboard and examine it more closely? A wave heaved the raft up towards the yacht. It then sank rapidly down and by some combination of their relative motion a jet of water erupted from between the two craft and soaked him thoroughly. He cursed his stupidity in not putting his waterproofs back on. He decided it was too dangerous to climb down into the raft in the dark with the sea in its current state; he pictured it breaking free while he was on board it and watching his yacht drifting away. He would do nothing more until morning by which time the sea should have moderated. He looked up at the mast. There was no point in setting the sails. With the raft acting as a sea anchor, the yacht’s handling and steering would be problematic at best. He decided to ride out the night.
He walked into the saloon cabin, sat down in front of his computer and switched it on. As he waited for the satellite link to connect he gazed up at the bulkhead where the photograph of his late wife used to be fixed. Six weeks ago he had realised that he was spending too much time clutching a glass of whisky and gazing at her picture and tormenting himself with memories and he had taken it down and hidden it in a drawer.
He thought again about the strange design of the raft. That rectangular shape would make it awkward to manoeuvre or to tow and that curious raised flat end would make it less seaworthy. A series of low pitched bleeps told him that the internet connection was available.
After a few minutes searching the web sites of manufacturers of life rafts and their associated equipment he discovered what he had moored to the stern of his yacht must be a slide raft from an airliner. Usually it was packed into the lower half of a passenger door but if the door was opened in an emergency then the raft would erupt from its container and inflate into a rectangular shape that passengers could slide down if they had to escape from the aircraft when it was on land, or if the aircraft ditched into the sea then it could be detached from the side of the aircraft and became a life raft that could hold fifty people.
Steven read through the description of the raft and its features. Apparently all the newest ones were fitted with an Emergency Locator Transmitter that would broadcast a signal on the international distress frequencies for at least forty-eight hours before the internal battery was exhausted. He slowly folded down the screen of the computer. His own life raft was packed into a readily accessible box on the cabin roof and he knew it was fitted with an ELT. He wondered if the raft floating outside had been equipped with one and if it was working. Maybe he should find out. He reached over to the radio set and switched it on. He selected the receiver to 406 MHz; there was nothing but a quiet hiss from the internal loudspeaker. He switched it off again and went outside to look at the raft. The moon had risen above the horizon and the raft was bathed in its silvery light. He listened as the waves slapped at the sides of the raft and gurgled under the flat end. He had read that it had been attached to the side of the aircraft on the door sill and when the door was opened it … that was strange; it seemed that the heap of fabric at the far end of the raft had shifted. He shone the flashlight beam over it. Perhaps the action of the waves on the raft had tumbled it into a new position. He heard a sudden movement behind him and began to turn round but as he did a savage blow to his head knocked him unconscious.
He woke up with a throbbing, aching head. As soon as he tried to shift his position he found his hands were tied together behind his back. His knees were bound and so were his ankles. He tried to straighten his legs but his hands were held to his feet by another length of rope. He had been attacked, knocked out and expertly tied up by an unknown assailant. He swore quietly under his breath. By his nature he was not a man much given to fear, and as an ex-Major in the Royal Marines he was mentally well equipped to supress panic. His most important conclusion was that if his unknown assailant wanted to kill him then he would already be dead, not trussed up.
He looked up and around and realised he was lying on the deck in the forward cabin of the yacht. Normally a sleeping cabin for two, he had turned it into a storage compartment. But hell! What had happened to him?