Steven was out on the front deck doing something to the rigging. She saw that he had kept himself in shape since leaving the army, with just a slight thickening around the waist. She waited until it seemed he had finished and called out ‘Hi.’
He gave a quick wave. She watched him unclip a short blue rope that was harnessed around his waist from one of the wires that ran along the side and then walked along beside the raised cabin leaning against the heel of the yacht with the ease of practice but nevertheless he kept one hand on top of the wooden rail on the cabin roof until he jumped in beside her.
‘I see you’re careful not to fall overboard,’ she said.
‘Yeah that’s right.’ He fingered the blue rope. ‘I clip on this safety tether whenever I’m using both hands out on the deck; I also tow a hundred fathom floating rope behind the boat.’
‘So if you fall off how long does that give you to find it?’
‘Well it depends how fast I’m going of course. At one knot, about six minutes until the end goes by; at five knots, just over a minute. Any faster and I doubt I’d have any chance.’
She nodded. She had already experienced the terror of being lost in the middle of the ocean, so she did not feel the desire to discuss it further.
‘What’s the time?’ she asked. ‘I feel I’ve been asleep for ages.’
‘Well I don’t keep a clock on local time when I’m running. Its 0815 GMT, or UTC as they like to call it now, but it’s about an hour and a half before local noon.’ He pointed up to the sky as he said this, and following his finger she could just make out a point of brightness where the sun had nearly pierced the layer of cloud that hung all over the sky.
‘So nearly eleven hours, then,’ she remarked She suddenly caught sight of some clothes attached to one of the wires that ran up from the side of the boat to the mast, and amongst his shirts and underwear drying in the breeze she saw the polo shirt and bra she had left dumped in the shower along with the rest of her clothing. He caught the direction of her gaze.
‘I dumped the rest of your stuff; I hope you don’t mind.’
Her other clothes had been filthy through sea sickness and other personal hygiene issues and she quickly thought of something to say to hide her embarrassment.
‘I’m starving. Sorry to be cadging your supplies, but maybe I can at least learn how to use your cooking facilities and help out there.’
‘You’re feeling ok then? You know you shouldn’t eat too much after a long fast?’
‘Yes, I know, but I’m fine really…thanks.’
‘Ok, well I keep to a routine, so I start cooking lunch after my noon sighting. There’s some more of those cereal bars if you can’t wait.’
‘Thanks. Sighting of what?’
‘The sun. I practice my solar and celestial navigation.’ He pointed to the array of sophisticated equipment at the front of the compartment. ‘In case the satnav system craps out on me.’
‘Sounds like a good idea.’ She stepped over to the display panel. ‘I’ve used satnav on field trips and in cars. Why don’t you show me how this works?’
Steven came over and stood next to her and she felt a sudden need to make some kind of physical contact with another human being. She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around him while he talked her through the operating system and then showed her how the automatic helm system was clutched into the satnav. This led to him demonstrating how a shift of the wind resulted in the boat heeling over further, and then how the steering system compensating for the drift. They fell into a discussion of leeway and how it varied with speed through the water. He was gratified that she seemed eager to learn and he spent the next hour showing her the basics of seamanship and how it particularly applied to sailing a sixteen metre yacht single-handed. ‘You’re a keen student. I should be able to teach you quite a bit over the next few days.’ For the first time since they had met he smiled at her. Gerry responded by beginning her own smile, but it turned into a grimace of pain as her cut lip stretched.
In the afternoon while Steven was up on the deck she logged in to the MI6 web site. She looked up her own profile and found that a security wrap had been placed on it that denied her access. She stared at the screen for a moment and then put in the operation code Sandstar. Fifteen minutes reading left her burning with anger.
The report stated that Geraldine Tate had suffered a psychological breakdown in prison following the death of her mother and her decision to give up her child for adoption. She was now suffering from acute paranoia. She was still determined to find further scapegoats for the murder of Dean Furness, the man responsible for the death of her partner Philip Barrett. She still remained in denial that she was responsible in any way for Furness’ murder.
When returning to the UK with Ali Hamsin it was assumed that Tate had managed to break free and had run amok, attacking the crew. It was suspected that Daniel Hall had furnished her with the means to break free and he was now on the run, location unknown. Investigation by air traffic services suggested that the aircraft had turned towards Bermuda and it was assumed that the aircraft had crashed into the ocean. A ship had reported seeing an aircraft at low level heading towards the islands, but a search based on this position report had found no debris. It was assumed that Tate had carried out her threat as there was no sign of the aircraft. It was probably not in the interests of the USA or the UK that any further search should be carried out as to the exact circumstances. It was considered unlikely that news of the accident would be released into the public domain on any future occasion, but a joint approach to a covering statement was now a high priority. The only records of the flight described a military charter carrying miscellaneous dangerous cargo and the only reported losses would be the two pilots.
Gerry logged off and stared at the screen which now showed a painting of a nineteenth century ship with the name “Bellona” on the stern, probably part of Steven’s enthusiasm for Patrick O’Brian’s work.
After a few minutes thought she tried logging on to her Santander bank account and found her access denied. She tried her Barclays account and could not gain entry to that either. In some desperation she tried the Lloyds account that she had created fifteen years ago under the name of Emily Stevens, and she was relieved to find £9723 pounds was still available, with an overdraft facility of an additional £3000. Unfortunately her illegally retained Emily Stevens passport was concealed under the floor of the shed in her late mother’s garden. She wondered if she would ever be able to retrieve it and she gazed up at the cabin roof making tentative plans to get from Bermuda to England without being picked up by either her own people or the Americans.
To what extent would Steven Morris be prepared to help her? That rather depended on how much he liked and trusted her. His was a strong character and she doubted that she would get far by trying to threaten or coerce him. She heard him treading overhead and decided to go on deck and learn more about yacht sailing. Fortunately his desire to teach her and her burgeoning interest in the subject chimed in nicely with that objective. Maybe if she devoted enough time to learning how to sail she could get out of the cooking job she had volunteered to do. Then of course there was another thing that a woman could offer a man, especially a man who had been alone on a yacht for many weeks. And she hadn’t had sex, hetero sex, for years. She hoped she did not appear too repellent.