Night Over Water - Ken Follett [124]
“How long had he been there, Eddie?” asked the captain.
“I don’t know. I guess he probably heard the whole thing.”
“There goes our hope of keeping this from the passengers.” For a moment Baker looked weary, and Eddie had a flash of insight into the weight of responsibility the captain carried. Then Baker became brisk again. “You may return to your seat, Mr. Field. Thank you for your cooperation.” Ollis Field turned around and left without speaking. “Let’s get back to work, men,” the captain finished.
The crew returned to their stations. Eddie checked his dials automatically, although his mind was in turmoil. He observed that the fuel tanks in the wings, which fed the engines, were getting low, and he proceeded to transfer fuel from the main tanks, which were located in the hydrostabilizers, or sea-wings. But his thoughts were on Frankie Gordino. Gordino had shot a man and raped a woman and burned down a nightclub, but he had been caught, and would be punished for his horrible crimes—except that Eddie Deakin was going to save him. Thanks to Eddie, that girl would see her rapist get away scot-free.
Worse still, Gordino would almost certainly kill again. He was probably no good for anything else. So a day would come when Eddie would read in the papers of some ghastly crime—it might be a revenge murder, the victim tortured and mutilated before being finished off, or perhaps a building torched with women and children burned to death inside, or a girl held down and raped by three different men—and the police would link it with Ray Patriarca’s gang, and Eddie would think: Was that Gordino? Am I responsible for that? Did those people suffer and die because I helped Gordino escape?
How many murders would he have on his conscience if he went ahead with this?
But he had no choice. Carol-Ann was in the hands of Ray Patriarca. Every time he thought of it he felt cold sweat dampen his temples. He had to protect her, and the only way he could do that was to cooperate with Tom Luther.
He looked at his watch: it was midnight.
Jack Ashford gave him the plane’s current position, as best he could estimate it: he had not yet been able to shoot a star. Ben Thompson produced the latest weather forecasts: the storm was a bad one. Eddie read off a new set of figures from the fuel tanks and began to update his calculations. Perhaps this would resolve his dilemma: if they did not have enough fuel to reach Newfoundland, they would have to turn back, and that would be the end of it. But the thought was no consolation to him. He was no fatalist: he had to do something.
Captain Baker sang out: “How goes it, Eddie?”
“Not quite done,” he replied.
“Look sharp—we must be close to the point of no return.”
Eddie felt a bead of sweat drip down his cheek. He wiped it away with a quick, surreptitious movement.
He finished the arithmetic.
The remaining fuel was not enough.
For a moment he said nothing.
He bent over his scratch pad and his tables, pretending he had not yet finished. The situation was worse than it had been at the start of his shift. Now there was not enough fuel to finish the journey, on the route the captain had chosen, even on four engines: the safety margin had disappeared. The only way they could make it was to shorten the journey by flying through the storm instead of skirting it; and even then, if they should lose an engine, they would be finished.
All these passengers would die, and he would too; and then what would happen to Carol-Ann?
“Come on, Eddie,” said the captain. “What’s it to be? On to Botwood or back to Foynes?”
Eddie gritted his teeth. He could not bear the thought of leaving Carol-Ann with the kidnappers for another day. He would rather risk everything.
“Are you prepared to change course and fly through the storm?” he asked.
“Do we have to?”
“Either that, or turn back.” Eddie held his breath.
“Damn,” said the captain. They all hated turning back halfway across the Atlantic: it was such a letdown.
Eddie waited for the captain’s decision.
“Heck with it,” said Captain Baker. “We’ll fly through the storm.