Her Name Will Be Faith (37 page)

He leaned forward. "Now I must tell you that at the
time of taking to
the
air this evening, we at NABS have been unable to discover the
existence
of any such plan, either from the police or from the Mayor's Office." He
paused significantly. "We now invite the city authorities to accept our
offer of free air time, either tomorrow morning or evening, so
that you folks sitting out there may be given the
vital details of their plan
for your safety, should the need arise
– always supposing such a plan exists. This is Richard Connors, for the
National American Broadcasting Service."

Jo
switched off the set, and mixed herself a drink. Coming on top of
everything else that had happened today, she felt
numbed. Richard hadn't
given her a hint that he was planning to go
outside the realm of weather forecasting and get involved in city politics.
Presumably he had been ordered to do so by J. Calthrop White. She wondered what
the official reaction was going to be.

Ten minutes later the phone
buzzed, and she knew it would be him,
so she took it in the study. "Hi! Who's a big bad
bear, then?"

"What did you think of it?"

"Richard Connors, ace reporter, straight from the
shoulder. It was great, but you'd better not apply to City Hall for a building
license in
the near future. Or
any kind of license, come to think of it – even a
marriage one. And haven't you missed the boat? Faith seems
to be
spending her energy on empty ocean."

"You
could be right, although she actually seems to be re-stocking her energy from
that ocean. But it's a fact: right this minute she isn't posing a threat to
anyone. When I made that statement at six o'clock, she was
still stalled and could've gone anywhere. Now she's
on the move again,
still very slowly, only ten knots, but more north
than east. She's now
definitely missed
Bermuda, and is going straight up the Gulf Stream into
the North Atlantic.
Actually, she could pose less of a threat than Gloria did. All we're likely to
get is some more of this rain, which everybody is enjoying."

"Oh,
gosh. Did you know that when you repeated your attack on City Hall?"

"Yeah.
I suggested it might be a good idea to hold the repeat until tomorrow, but JC
has the bit between his teeth, I guess. Anyway, you
know, whatever Faith does, the city does need an evacuation plan,
because
if it doesn't happen this time, it's going to happen some time.
And she
could still turn nasty. We know
she's a maverick, and she's still one of
the biggest storms in history.
Certainly the biggest we've seen this far north this century. She's on the
verge of becoming a Category Five. We don't have anything bigger than that.
When you have something that big
sitting out
there only 400 miles away, virtually on our doorstep, you have to regard it as
a threat."

"Makes sense to me. Let's
hope the Mayor agrees with you."

"Who's sounding all cheerful,
then?"

"Of course I'm cheerful. Oh, sure, I should be in
mourning for poor Lawson, and Big Mike seems to have lost just about his shirt,
financially as well as literally… but I have my little girl back, safe and
sound and tucked up in bed just behind this wall. Richard, do let me know next
time Mark is coming up. I want to thank him personally."

"I'll
do that. What news of your
husband?"

"Oh, he's somewhere… oh, my God!" What Richard
had told her was only just registering. "Between Hamilton and
Newport."

"Holy Christ! How far out?"

"Well, he left last night, say at seven, and he was
going to motor if he couldn't sail. Supposing he could maintain seven knots, I
suppose he'd be just about two hundred miles from Hamilton."

"Then he has time to turn back. He's about three
hundred miles east by north from the storm… but if he keeps on he's going to
enter the dangerous semi-circle."

"He left because he thought the boat would be in more
danger in Hamilton than out at sea."

"Christ, what does he think will happen to his
precious boat if Faith catches up with him? Jo, we're talking about lives, not
boats. The point is that Faith is already just about past Bermuda. Unless she
makes a sharp right turn they're not going to get anything but a swell. It's up
to you, but..."

Jo looked at her watch. It was nearly 11.00 pm. "I'll
raise him, just as quickly as I can. But when do I see you?"

"Just as quickly as I can get
away from here," he promised.

Sam Davenport climbed through the hatch of the racing
yawl
Esmeralda,
sniffed the air. It was
utterly dark with the moon and stars obliterated
by the cloud cover, from which intermittent drizzle had turned
everything
on deck clammily wet. But the wind remained light, and the
sea calm,
although with a big swell out of
the south-west;
Esmeralda
had all sail set,
but she was also
motoring.

"That
forecast wasn't so good," Sam remarked.

Michael Donnelly sat aft, just visible in the glare of
the binnacle lamp,
one hand resting on the
wheel. He wore orange oilskins over bathing
trunks, but the hood was
thrown back to make room for his cap – at the
moment he was only seeking protection against the rain. "She's
close,
eh?"

"350
miles."

"That figures. We must just about be crossing the
top edge."

"Not according to the forecast," Sam said.

"Eh?"

"She's
altered course, heading more north than we are. She's still south-west of
us."

"How
fast's she moving?"

"About
ten knots."

"And
we're making a steady seven. She won't catch us. Nothing more than a gale,
anyway."

"Yeah. Well I hope you're
right. I got the news before the forecast.
Some
of what happened in Eleuthera was horrendous. They're talking of several
hundred dead, and damage running into millions."

"Yeah," Michael agreed.
"Including my brother-in-law and one hell of
a big property deal." He shrugged. "That's
the way the cookie crumbles, I guess. You ready to take over?"

"Sure."
Sam swung his leg out of the companionway, then checked. "Hello,
somebody's calling."

"Don't tell me," Michael groaned. "It'll be
Jo again. She's a pain in
the ass,
sometimes."

Sam
gave his skipper a curious glance; he had never heard Michael
speak to Jo as he had done last night, or refer
to her in such terms, before.

He ducked back into the cabin, thumbed the handset.
"You're right," he called. "It is Jo."

"Well, take the helm," Michael
said, and went below.
"Esmeralda,"
he
said. "What's the trouble now? Over."

"There could be a lot of trouble," Jo said.
"What's your position?
Over."

"Will
it mean anything to you? We're chugging along, mostly under
power. We're..." He switched on the chart
table light and squinted at
the chart. "I won't give you the
co-ordinates, because you wouldn't understand them. Let's say we're
approximately 220 miles northwest of Bermuda, right on track. And that there
are four guys trying to get some sleep. Over."

"Have
you enough fuel to get back to Hamilton? Over."

"Sure,
we have enough fuel to get back to Hamilton. We have enough fuel to motor into
Newport. Why should we want to go back to Hamilton? Over."

"Faith
is coming your way again, Michael. Didn't you get the midnight weather
forecast? Over."

"Sure
we did. She's over 300 miles away from us, and only making a
couple of knots more speed. So she's altered
course. We still have time to
beat her in. Over."

"Not if she increases speed, and the experts here think
she may do
that. Listen to me,
Michael. This could be the biggest storm this century.
I
have spoken with a weather forecaster here and he says your only safe
course is to go back to Hamilton. The storm is
already past Bermuda and
is very unlikely to turn back now. But she's
going to cross directly over your route to Newport. Over."

"I know what Faith is doing," Michael said.
"And I know we can beat
her
in. Going back to Bermuda is out. I'm coming home. If Faith gives
us
anything, it'll be a little wind so we can quicken up. Now tell me, did the
folks get in? Over."

"Yes,"
Jo said. "Yes, they got in. Over."

"And
Tamsin's okay? Over."

"Yes.
She's fine. Michael, for God's sake, will you listen to me and go back.
Over."

"Look,
you go back to bed and let me run this ship, eh? We'll be in
Newport Sunday night. You be there to meet us,
right?
Esmeralda
over
and
out." He replaced the handset, looked at the four anxious faces
peering
at him from their bunks. "So what's eating you guys?"

"Maybe
she's right," Larry remarked. "And we should turn back."

"And if Faith alters course easterly again, as she's
most likely to do,
we
run slap into the middle of her," Michael told him. "This baby has
been
altering course more times than a ship with a broken rudder. We know we're
ahead of her now. We are going to stay ahead of her."

"But
if she does quicken up..." Pete said.

Michael shot him a glance. "That's supposing Jo and
her tame weather
forecaster have it
right, which I doubt. Say, what's gotten into you guys, anyway? You scared of a
little wind? Listen, this ship is damned near
hurricane
proof, because I made her that way. And we're gonna make even more sure. If you
don't want to sleep, there's plenty for us to do.
So, all hands turn
out."

They grumbled, but grinned as well; they had the utmost
confidence
in Michael as a
skipper – and he knew the best possible way to stop them
from
worrying was to keep them busy.

"Okay," he said. "Switch on the deck
lights, Sam. Now, let's get
organized.
Larry, I want lifelines strung, from pulpit to pushpit; make
sure
they're secured to strong points, both masts, and the winches – if
they're needed, they'll have to take the weight of a man. Jon, break out the
deadeyes and prepare to screw them over the ports the moment I tell you. Pete,
I want every possible vent plugged, ventilators taken out and
their caps screwed down tight. Stow the anchor
below and remember the
hawse pipe. If water gets in anywhere it'll be
there and we could wind up with half the ocean in our chain locker; use rolled
up towels and dirty
clothes. All deck lockers
are to be padlocked as if we were leaving the
ship in Nassau. Mark, I
want you to cook just about everything we have, in one vast stew, then break it
up into say six meals, and store each one
in
a separate container – if we're caught in the storm for any length of
time
we're going to need regular food and there's going to be no time to
cook. And I want every man to check his personal
safety harness. So let's
get to it."

"I'd
like to call Newport and tell Sally what we're doing," Sam said.
"Especially as I reckon we'll be out of radio range in another couple of
hours. Can you take her again for half an hour?"

"Sure,
if you reckon she'll want to hear from you in the middle of the
night." Michael returned on deck. "And
when you've done that, carry
extra
lashings over the battery boxes and the radio gear – if we should
get
knocked down they could just come loose."

He took the helm, settled himself, thought of Jo working
herself up into
a fuss, and grinned.
Silly bitch. Then he frowned. Jo had been behaving badly the last couple of
months. Something was happening, or had happened, to change her personality.
His frown deepened. Or someone. Just where the hell was she getting all this
weather information from, anyway?

His fingers tightened on the
wheel. There was going to have to be some
very
straight talking between them, when he got home.