Colonel White stared across the table at Vince Parker and Neil Samms who did their best not to look apprehensive. ‘Well I hope that this is going to be the last frigging loose end attached to this operation,’ he suddenly snarled. ‘Who is this guy Morris? One of Dan Halls’ buddies? Or maybe Richard Cornwall’s? Maybe his daughter’s boyfriend?’
‘Do you want me to go London and take care of it Colonel?’
‘What? After you and Vince screwed up over catching Dan Hall?’ White gave a quick shake of his head. ‘Ok, that wasn’t your fault; I guess we were all unaware that he knew Tate from way back in the gulf and probably had some kind of emotional attachment to her. We should find him quickly enough.’
Samms was grateful that White seemed to have got over their failure to catch the fugitive. After an initial bawling out, he had seemed to treat him and Vince with slightly more consideration.
‘I’m sure we will Colonel,’ he meekly agreed.
‘But for now we’ll send someone from the London station to get the gen on Morris. You seem to spend most of your time there Neil; who is there?’
‘I’d ask Gary Weitzman, Colonel.’
White’s phone rang. ‘They’d damn well better have that address,’ he grumbled as he picked it up.
Two hours later Gary Weitzman pulled up outside Steven Morris’s house in Chichester. There was no reply to his doorbell ringing or from his knocking on the front door but a neighbour helpfully informed him that Steven Morris had gone on a sailing trip several months back. Did she know when he’d be back? No, but why don’t you go down to the yacht basin and ask around there to see if anyone knew his plans.
At dawn the weather moderated. Steven repaired the rigging, hoisted the main sail and then replaced the storm jib with a larger sail and soon they were heading westwards again.
‘I’m wasted,’ he said. ‘Can I leave it with you for a while?’
‘Yes of course,’ she said.
‘Ok call me if the weather changes, and call me anyway before midday, could you?’
Gerry spent the morning practising steering the boat, sometimes making small adjustments to the sails and feeling pleased with herself when they seemed to work out well. She gazed out over the ocean dreaming of an alternative life where she could just sail a yacht to an unknown destination without this constant anxiety of what awaited her when she reached the land. She went below as the sun approached the overhead and for a couple of minutes she watched Steven stretched out on the saloon bed, his mouth just open, snoring gently. She felt an almost overwhelming urge to wake him up by kissing him, placing her own slightly parted lips over his but instead she pushed him on the shoulder and called ‘Wake up! It’s nearly high noon.’
While he took the watch, she found some spaghetti and decided to try and make the best pasta dish she could with the limited resources of Steven’s galley supplies.
After they had finished eating Steven stretched. ‘That was great, thank you. I really needed that sleep as well.’
She noticed he was frowning slightly. ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked summoning up a smile.
‘I wish I could invite you out to dinner; to a restaurant or something, but I guess we’ll be eating together again anyway. It’s hard to ask you out on a date when we’re sort of thrown together in mid-ocean.’
Gerry smiled. ‘I was hoping that you would have at least found me a bunch of flowers.’
‘Well when we get to Bermuda perhaps I can do that.’
‘Are you going to ask me out, then’ she said raising her eyebrows and gazing directly into his eyes.
He looked back at her. ‘Yes I suppose I am.’ He took hold of her hand in his. ‘Will you have dinner with me in Bermuda?’
‘I’d like that very much! Thank you.’ Despite this invitation she felt lonely, knowing that they would inevitably have to part company in Bermuda.
Suddenly he looked rather embarrassed. She decided to take the bull by the horns. ‘Do you want to make love to me, Steven?’ she asked, putting her other hand over his.
‘Yes I do. Very much. Sorry.’
‘There’s no need to be sorry. Here we are, a man and woman alone in a yacht, miles from anyone else.’ She smiled at him. ‘But when we reach Bermuda I still expect you to buy me flowers and take me out to dinner.’
He gave her an embarrassed smile but clearly he was still unsure of his invitation. Gerry leant forward and kissed him on the lips and after a moment their lips parted and they kissed more intimately. Gerry expected him to start tugging at her clothes but as he seemed to be waiting for her to take the lead she backed off and pulled her shirt over her head and smiled at him. He looked from side to side, and then at the deck. ‘Er… I’ve not done this since… er… since my wife … well it’s been eighteen months.’
Gerry turned her back to him. ‘Can you remember how to unhook a bra?’ she asked lifting up her hair. He did so and then somewhat gingerly he moved his hands round to cup her breasts. Then he let go and Gerry waited expectantly for him to slide his hands around her hips and unfasten her shorts, but he seemed to be hesitating. Before it became even more awkward she turned round to face him and kissed him again and hugged him, crushing her breasts against his chest and then she unbuttoned and unzipped herself and when her shorts had fallen to the deck she stepped out of them. Then she started to unfasten his shorts, wondering at his sudden reluctance, but soon he was naked and she felt the proof of his ardour pressing against her, but still he appeared slightly troubled. ‘What is it, Steven?’ she asked.
‘I haven’t made love to any woman but my wife for twenty-four years, and, well we‘ve only just met and I’m worried that I’m well, exploiting your vulnerability or something,’ he said.
‘Look, I like you and you definitely seem to want me and although we may not love each other, I really want you right now so will you please just lie down with me on this bed and shag me.’ And without waiting for his answer she fell back somewhat awkwardly on to the bunk pulling him down on top of her. He kissed her again and then began to kiss her breasts and then her stomach while she stroked his head and back.
‘Steven…’
He looked up with an anxious expression.
‘My name’s not Emily, it’s Gerry… short for Geraldine. Can you call me Gerry from now on?’
‘Gerry… of course.’
‘Ok now carry on where you were please.’
‘Message from London, General,’ said Jasper White. ‘Steven Morris in his yacht Surprise departed the Azores about two weeks ago, destination Miami, and given reasonable weather he should now be in the vicinity of Bermuda.’
‘Ok, so we can safely conclude that by some miracle Geraldine Tate survived ditching in the Atlantic and was picked up by Morris. Now where do you think she might persuade him to take her?’
‘Well if I was Tate I’d want to go to the nearest UK territory,’ said White. ‘She’d persuade him to take her to Bermuda. We could ask the Navy if they have anything out there that can start a search.’
‘It’s tempting but I really don’t want to explain anything to the Navy. First of all let’s find out if we have some asset in Bermuda, or if we should hire a boat. Have Samms and Parker fly out there and see if we can intercept this guy’s yacht,’ Bruckner ordered.
‘Yes sir, I anticipated that, and if you don’t mind I’ve found out that we have an old friend with an ocean going motor yacht moored up in Hamilton we could borrow.’
‘Jasper, if there were more like you we wouldn’t get into all this crap in the first place. Forgive the cliché but from now on I won’t believe Tate is dead until I see her head on a plate. Now have you got any news about Dan Hall?’