'Johaar! Could you swim to Black Sophie and fix a line…' I outlined my plan while we stood transfixed, waiting for the ripping burst at the Mazy Zed, visible now under the rising moon.
There it was! A polka-dot of flame bickered along the upperworks.
'He's stopped firing!' exclaimed Mary.
That short volley could not have done much harm.
'Gun jammed,' I said tersely. 'He'll clear the stoppage and return.'
Koeltas's eyes were so slitted that they seemed closed. He was dubious about the kingpin of my plan. 'That bastard does not wish to make war on an old ship like the Malgas. Unless…' — he switched into patois to express himself. 'The jackal is very, very cunning, and if you put a trap down with meat, he comes and smells human and laughs and goes away. But if you can make him really think it is not a trap, then…'
'That boat is not a seal you can hit over the head with a club.' said Kim.
Seals! The idea was born with the word! What had Koeltas himself said when they fished me, half-dead, off the blinder? — 'other nights we float in an old oil drum with dinnameet and a fuse.' Oil drums charged with dynamite! But we'd have to be quick, mighty quick, if my plan were to have a chance of succeeding. The torpedo-boat was already making for the gap between Sinclair Island and the promontory. The north-flowing current which had helped save Mary and myself had its place in my trap. Koeltas confirmed that the current was strong between Black Sophie Rock and the shore. A dozen mathematical problems of time and distance leapt into my mind; I needed an electronic computer, not a slow human brain. How much fuse should I allow? How long.would the torpedo-boat take before reaching the Malgas again, granting her fifty knots? Would she follow the same course. Would she skirt the foul ground, the, rocks and the blinders through which she had torn so gracefully before? Seeing she was now headed seawards she might prefer the" main entrance to Angras Juntas instead of the way she had come in first time. If she did, my whole plan fell to the ground.
'Kim! Get me six drums of dynamite — do you have to fill them?'
'No, he grinned. 'They're loaded, ready. Just cut the fuse the right length…'
'How much dynamite in each drum?'
'Some have thirty pounds — for the small jobs — some fifty…'
Fifty pounds of high explosive! That was better than I had hoped for. It would have to be a really old-fashioned firing job, coupled with a most up-to-date piece of calculation. If the drums detonated before the torpedo-boat was firmly committed to a course near the Malgas, she would simply veer out of harm's way round the northern flank of Black Sophie and bear directly down on her main sitting target, the Mazy Zed, from the other direction.
'Bring six fifty-pounders.' I ordered.
Kim's voice rippled with excitement. 'And fuse — how much?'
I paused. The length of fuse was vital. 'Koeltas, the current — three knots?'
The thrill of action was in his harsh voice too. 'Nee, nee! Four, maybe four and a half.'
Four and a half knots! Say the hydrofoil would complete a five-mile circuit at fifty knots, followed by a three-mile run-in to her target the length of the bay — 'Seven and a half minutes!' I told Kim. 'And cut that bloody fuse exactly!'
'Kim knows how!' grinned Johaar. 'Now give me the rope and I swim to Black Sophie.'
'Swim to Black Sophie!' Kim started for the explosives, reaching, and drawing a heavy clasp-knife to cut the fuse.
'Cut the cackle!' My nerves were ragged. The pay-off if the fuse were too long or too short would be a bellyful of heavy machine-gun bullets. 'Where is the torpedo-boat now?'
'She's between Sinclair Island and the promontory,' replied Mary. 'You can hear the sound of the engine choking off the cliffs.'
'That's where I hoped she would make for. Johaar, how long will it take you to swim to Black Sophie?'
'Six, seven minutes.'
'With the line around you?'
'Easy.'
I turned to Koeltas. The rope.'
'I pull down the rigging to get that bastard.'
Johaar slipped a light line round his waist, putting the knife between his teeth again. He wore only a pair of shorts. He stood poised on the low rail while two of the crew hastily knotted the pilot line to a two-inch manila from the forrad sail locker.
'If I catch anyone, I cut his throat?' Johaar inquired genially.
'No! I want him alive — I want to find out who is at the bottom of all this.'
Johaar shrugged. 'Okay. But I'll beat him like a donkey first.' He went over the side.
Zero hour! I checked my watch.
'Prepare to get the drums overboard! One from the bows, one from the stern, and the rest at intervals along the side!'
Koeltas flayed his men with his thin voice, good though they were. 'Not altogether, you stupid clots! I want a neat line of drums in the sea!'
The crew grabbed the canisters and took station. I borrowed a battered old Ronson from Koeltas. Then, one after another, six fuses came sputtering to life. Three hundred pounds of high explosive, with fuses burning!
Seven minutes to go!
I raised my hand. 'Let go!'
Expertly, the crew got the drums clear. They fanned out as they floated away. The sinister red tops and pinpoint fuses formed a deadly line under the hard moon.
Six minutes!
Mary was at my side. 'Johaar is in trouble.'
I raced to the stern with her, Koeltas and Kim. We could see his head and the powerful thrash of his arms. He had underestimated the current; he was being swept away from Black Sophie. The way he was going, he'd finish up among the drums as they exploded. Koeltas, wordless, seized my wrist and looked at my watch. His eyes went to the guano-daubed rock and then to the white scar of the torpedo-boat's track.
'He'll never make it' — the patois was strained, brittle, a cacophony of clicks and clacks.
He snatched up an axe from the belaying-pin rail and cut Johaar's rope.
'What the hell…!' With one stroke, Koeltas had wrecked my whole operation. I grabbed at him, but with the strength of a steel spring he shook me clear and lumped on to the low rail, cupping his hands. The foam was at the corners of his mouth from the rattle of words. 'Johaar! Let go! Swim there! I'll shoot a rope. Fasten it on Black Sophie!'
Five minutes!
Koeltas dived below. Free of the rope, Johaar turned like an eel and struck strongly towards the rock. Koeltas came back with a small rocket line-gun, the sort of thing for firing a light line to rig a breeches buoy.
Four and a half minutes!
The hydrofoil swung in from the sea.
Koeltas did not wait for Johaar to reach shore. He touched the fuse. We stood back. Mary's face flared blue in its light. The line arced over Johaar's head. We saw the marker burning bright among the rocks.
Four minutes!
The torpedo-boat emerged from the lee of Plumpudding Island. Sheriff's craft was still out at sea. The enemy boat did a series of dainty side-steps through the blinders.
Three minutes!
Johaar scrambled ashore. He snatched the light line and started hauling in the heavier manila. The crew paid it out in return, shouting and gesticulating at the approaching menace.
Two minutes!
The heavy rope reached Johaar. He vaulted over rocks, stumbled, rose, making for a pinnacle about twelve feet high. In my anxiety over him, I had lost sight of the line of drifting drums. The torpedo-boat was rushing towards them at fifty knots; they drifted across at four knots.
One minute!
Johaar raised a dripping arm. I saw his grotesque, python-like piebald markings in the moonlight.
Throttle wide open, bumping against the set of the current, the torpedo-boat screamed down at the schooner. This time there was no doubt about her intentions. The twin muzzles were locked on us.