Confessional - Jack Higgins [53]
The driver pointed. 'Far end of the harbour. You can walk round.'
Turkin nodded to the breakwater stretching out into the bay. 'And the boats come in there?'
'That's right. Albert Quay. You can see the car ferry ramp from here. Hydrofoils berth further along.'
'Good,' Turkin said. 'Many thanks.'
They got out and the cab moved away. There was a public toilet a few yards away; without a word, Turkin led the way in and Shepilov followed. Turkin opened his holdall and burrowed under the clothing it contained, prising up the false bottom to reveal two handguns. He slipped one in his pocket and gave Shepilov the other. The weapons were automatics, each gun fitted with a silencer.
Turkin zipped up his holdall. 'So far so good. Let's take a look at the marina.'
There were several hundred boats moored there of every shape and size: yachts, motor cruisers, speedboats. They found the office of a boat hire firm easily enough, but it was not open yet.
'Too early,' Turkin said. 'Let's go down and have a look round.'
They walked along one of the swaying pontoons, boats moored on either side, paused, then turned into another. Things had always worked for Turkin. He was a great believer in his destiny. The nonsense over Tanya Voroninova had been an unfortunate hiccup in his career, but soon to be put right, he was confident of that. And now, fate took a hand in the game.
There was a motor cruiser moored at the end of the pontoon, dazzlingly white with a blue band above the watermark. The name on the stern was L'Alouette, registered Granville, which he knew was a port along the coast from St Malo. A couple came out on deck talking in French, the man tall and bearded with glasses. He wore a dark reefer coat. The woman wore jeans and a similar coat, a scarf around her head.
As the man helped her over the rail, Turkin heard him say, 'We'll walk round to the bus station. Get a taxi from there to the airport. The flight to Guernsey leaves at eight.'
'What time are we booked back?' she asked.
'Four o'clock. We'll have time for breakfast at the airport.'
They walked away. Shepilov said, 'What is Guernsey?'
'The next island,' Turkin told him. 'I read about it in the guide book. There's an inter-island flying service several times a day. It only takes fifteen minutes. A day out for tourists.'
'Are you thinking what I am?' Shepilov enquired.
'It's a nice boat,' Turkin said. 'We could be in St Malo and on our way hours before those two get back this afternoon.' He took out a pack of French cigarettes and offered one to his companion. 'Give them time to move away, then we'll check.'
They took a walk around the pontoons, returning in ten minutes and going on board. The door to the companionway which led below was locked. Shepilov produced a spring blade knife and forced it expertly. There were two cabins neatly furnished, a saloon and a galley. They went back on deck and tried the wheelhouse. The door to that was open.
'No ignition key,' Shepilov said.
'No problem. Give me your knife.' Turkin worked his way up behind the control panel and pulled down several wires. It took only a moment to make the right connection and when he pressed the starter button, the engine turned over at once. He checked the fuel gauge. 'Tank's three quarters full.' He unfastened the wires again. 'You know, I think this is our day, Ivan,' he said to Shepilov.
They walked back round to the other side of the harbour and turned along the top of the Albert Quay, pausing at the end to look down at the Hydrofoil berth.
'Excellent.' Turkin looked at his watch. 'Now all we have to do is wait. Let's find that cafe and try some breakfast.'
At St Malo, the Condor hydrofoil moved out of the harbour past the Mole des Noires. It was almost full, mainly French tourists visiting Jersey for the day to judge from the conversations Tanya overheard. Once out of harbour, the hydrofoil started to lift, increasing speed, and she gazed out into the morning feeling exhilarated. She'd