Coincidence - Alan May [61]
Phillip let him know that a second line wouldn’t be necessary. The hawser was almost two inches thick, for God’s sake; it would be perfectly adequate as long as it didn’t chafe.
He wondered if the guy kept up the running boat-talk all the time he was with Anika.
Mac knew he had to move quickly. He dived under and swam to the other side of the Coincidence. He paddled to the stern, reached around the transom, took a firm hold of the transom ladder, and then waited.
Within fifteen minutes, the lines had been cast off, except the towline, and the fenders taken aboard. As the two boats started to separate, Mac climbed onto the swim ladder and waited. As soon as the towline was fully extended, he crept up and found himself aboard an impressively well-equipped boat.
He moved forward until he reached the bridge. He closed the miniblinds on the windows and surveyed the electronic equipment. The motor controls and systems were not too different from those on the Inspiration, he was glad to see. At the chart table, he found a chart with a course already plotted for Easter Island. He’d be able to follow their progress with the GPS.
He prowled through the rest of the boat while enough daylight remained to see his way, making mental notes of where everything was, keeping an eye out for anything that might prove useful. He was beginning to shiver. He found some spare clothes in a drawer in the owner’s cabin and put them on, leaving his own dripping in the shower. The owner was clearly a taller and stouter man than Mac, but it was good to be warm and dry.
The generator had, thankfully, been left on, so the refrigerator was running. Peering in, he spotted a supply of beer—now there was a sight to cheer the soul! Good God, he was famished! He found some bread, slightly stale now, and a bit of cheese, and fixed himself a plate. Balancing a couple of extra beer bottles under his arm, he took his supper to the owner’s cabin and there he sat in the gathering darkness, munching and mulling over his options.
He could, he supposed, cast off in the dark of night and disappear. The Coincidence could easily outrun the Inspiration, he knew; it could probably go twice as fast. He’d have to hack away at the towline and make it look as though it had chafed through—otherwise the hijackers would know something was up. That would make the timing uncertain. But even if he were to get away unnoticed, then what? Help was a long, long way off. And what would happen to those on the Inspiration when the hijackers discovered their boat was gone? He could nae risk it.
Better to keep the boats tethered. But there was the satellite phone … He could use the satellite phone to tell someone of their plight … That was a start, at least. They were now a thousand miles away from Easter Island. That ought to give him time enough to think of a plan of some description.
But if, as the Immortal Bard had said, even the best-laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley, what hope could there be for plans as sketchily laid as these?
23
Kathleen Tutty was unlocking her office door shortly after eight-thirty in the morning when the phone began to ring. “Coming, coming,” she mumbled as she jiggled the key in the lock. It could be stubborn sometimes; every day she thought about getting the building manager to have a look at it, but every morning a pile of papers demanded her attention and the thought disappeared until the next morning’s struggle.
By the time she had reached her desk and lifted the receiver, there was nothing but a dial tone.
She stowed her purse in a side drawer, yawning, and flipped the switch on the coffee pot. She grabbed her cup and was halfway through the door on her way to the ladies room to rinse it out when the phone started up again.
“Hello,” she said. “What? I’m sorry—we seem to have a bad connection.”
She could hardly make out what the man was saying. She was pretty sure it was a man, anyway.
“Mac? Is that