He had got one more piece of good news in Shediac. A cryptic but unmistakable message from Steve Appleby had confirmed that a U.S. Navy cutter would be patrolling the coast where the Clipper was going to come down. It would stay out of sight until the splashdown, then intercept any vessel that made contact with the downed plane.
That made all the difference to Eddie. Knowing the gangsters would be caught afterward, he could with a clear conscience make sure the plan went off without a hitch.
Now the deed was almost done. The plane was close to the rendezvous and flying on two engines only.
Captain Baker was at Eddie’s side in a moment. Eddie said nothing to him at first. With a shaky hand he switched the engine feed so that the starboard wing tank was fueling all engines, and restarted the port engines. Then he said: “The port wing tank ran dry and I can’t fill it.”
“Why not?” the captain snapped.
Eddie pointed to the handwheels. Feeling like a traitor, he said: “I’ve switched the pumps on but nothing’s happening.”
Eddie’s instruments did not show either fuel flow or fuel pressure between the reserve tanks and the feeder tanks, but there were four glass sights at the rear of the control cabin for visual checking of the fuel in the pipes. Captain Baker looked at each in turn. “Nothing!” he said. “How much is left in the starboard wing tank?”
“It’s almost dry—a few miles.”
“How come you’ve only just noticed?” he said angrily.
“I thought we were pumping,” Eddie said feebly.
It was an inadequate answer and the captain was furious. “How could both pumps go at the same time?”
“I don’t know—but thank God we have a hand pump.” Eddie seized the handle next to his table and began to operate the hand pump. This was normally used only when the engineer was draining water from the fuel tanks in flight. He had done this immediately after leaving Shediac, and he had deliberately omitted to reset the F-valve that allowed the water to escape overboard. In consequence, his vigorous pumping action was not filling the wing tanks, but just dumping fuel overboard.
The captain did not know this, of course, and it was not likely that he would notice the setting on the F-valve; but he could see that no fuel was moving through the sight gauges. “It’s not working!” he said. “I don’t understand how all three pumps could fail at the same time!”
Eddie looked at his dials. “The starboard wing tank is almost dry,” he said. “If we don’t splash down soon we’re going to fall out of the sky.”
“Prepare for emergency splashdown, everybody,” Baker said. He pointed a finger at Eddie. “I don’t like your role in this, Deakin,” he said with ice-cold fury. “I don’t trust you.”
Eddie felt rotten. He had good reason to lie to his captain, but just the same he hated himself. All his life he had dealt honestly with people, and scorned men who used trickery and deceit. Now he was acting in a way he despised. You’ll understand in the end, Captain, he thought; but he wished he could say it aloud.
The captain turned to the navigator’s station and bent over the chart. The navigator, Jack Ashford, shot a puzzled look at Eddie, then put a finger on the chart and said to the captain: “We’re here.”
The whole plan relied on the Clipper coming down in the channel between the coast and Grand Manan Island. The gangsters were betting on that, and so was Eddie. But in emergencies people did strange things. Eddie decided that if Baker irrationally chose another location, he would speak up and point out the advantages of the channel. Baker would be suspicious, but he would have to see the logic of it; and then
he
would be the one behaving oddly if he landed somewhere else.
However, no interference was necessary. After a moment Baker said: “Here. In this channel. That’s where we’ll come down.”
Eddie turned away so no one could see his expression of triumph. He was another step closer to Carol-Ann.
As they all went through the procedure for emergency splashdown, Eddie looked out of the window and tried to gauge what the sea was like. He saw a small white vessel like a sports fishing boat bobbing on the swell. The surface was choppy. The landing would be rough.
He heard a voice that stopped his heart. “What’s the emergency?” It was Mickey Finn coming up the stairs to investigate.
Eddie stared at him in horror. Mickey would guess in a minute that the F-valve on the hand pump had not been reset. Eddie had to get rid of him quickly.
But Captain Baker beat him to it. “Get out of here, Mickey!” he snapped. “Off-duty crew must be strapped in during an emergency splashdown, not wandering around the aircraft asking stupid questions!”
Mickey was gone like a shot, and Eddie breathed easy again.
The plane lost height rapidly: Baker wanted to be close to the water in case they ran out of fuel earlier than expected.
They turned west so as not to overfly the island: if they ran out of fuel over land, they were all dead. A few moments later they were above the channel.
There was a big swell, about four feet, Eddie estimated. The critical wave height was three feet: above that it was dangerous to land the Clipper. Eddie gritted his teeth. Baker was a good pilot, but it was going to be dicey.
The plane came down fast. Eddie felt the hull touch the top of a high wave. They flew on for a moment or two then it touched again. The second time there was a stronger impact, and his stomach lurched as the huge aircraft bounced up into the air.
Eddie was afraid for his life: this was how flying boats crashed.
Although the plane was airborne now, the impact had reduced its airspeed, so that it had very little lift; and instead of sliding into the water at a shallow angle, it would come down hard. It was the difference between a smooth racing dive and a painful belly flop except that the belly of the plane was made of the aluminum, which could burst like a paper bag.
He froze, waiting for the impact. The plane hit the water with a terrific bang that he felt all the way up his spine. Water covered the windows. Facing sideways as he was, Eddie was thrown left but managed to stay in his seat. The radio operator, who faced forward, banged his head on the microphone. Eddie thought the plane was breaking up. If it dipped a wing that would be the end.
A second passed, then another. The cries of terrified passengers floated up the staircase. The plane lifted again, coming partly out of the water and moving forward with the reduction in drag; then it sank back, and Eddie was thrown sideways again.
But the plane stayed level, and Eddie began to hope they would make it. The windows cleared and he glimpsed the sea. His engines were still roaring: they had not been submerged.
The plane slowed gradually. Second by second Eddie felt safer, until at last the plane was stationary, rising and falling on the waves. In his headphones Eddie heard the captain say: “Jesus, that was rougher than I expected,” and the rest of the crew laughed with relief.
Eddie stood up and looked out through all the windows, searching for a boat. The sun was shining but there were rain clouds in the sky. Visibility was fair, but he could not see any other vessels. Perhaps the launch was behind the Clipper, where he could not see it.
He took his seat again and shut down the engines. The radio operator broadcast a Mayday. The captain said: “I’d better go and reassure the passengers.” He went down the stairs. The radio operator got a reply, and Eddie hoped it was from the people who were waiting for Gordino.
He could not wait to find out. He went forward, opened the hatch in the cockpit and climbed down the ladder into the bow compartment. The forward hatch opened downward, forming a platform. Eddie stepped outside and stood on it. He had to hold the doorframe to keep his balance in the swell. The waves were coming over the sea-wings, and some were high enough to splash his feet as he stood on the platform. The sun was going behind the clouds intermittently, and there was a stiff breeze. He looked carefully at the hull and wings: he could see no damage. The great aircraft appeared to have survived unscathed.
He released the anchor, then stood surveying the sea all around, hunting for a vessel. Where were Luther’s buddies? What if something had gone wrong, what if they did not turn up? But then at last he saw a motor launch in the distance. His heart missed a beat. Was this it? And was Carol-Ann on board? Now he worried that it might be some other vessel, coming to look at the downed plane out of curiosity, which would interfere with the plan.
It came in fast, riding up and down the waves. Eddie was supposed to return to his station on the flight deck, having dropped anchor and checked for damage, but he could not move. He stared hypnotically at the launch as it grew larger. It was a big, fast boat with a covered wheelhouse. He knew it was racing at twenty-five or thirty knots, but it seemed painfully slow. There was a group of figures on deck, he realized. Soon he could count them: four. He noticed that one was much smaller than the others. The group began to look like three men in dark suits and a woman in a blue coat. Carol-Ann had a blue coat.
He thought it was she, but he was not sure. The woman had fair hair and a slight figure, just like hers. She was standing apart from the others. All four were at the rail, looking at the Clipper. The waiting was unbearable. Then the sun came out from behind a cloud, and the woman raised her hand to her face to shield her eyes. Something about the gesture pulled at Eddie’s heartstrings, and he knew it was his wife.
“Carol-Ann,” he said aloud.
A surge of excitement seized him, and for a moment he forgot about the perils they both still faced, and gave in to the joy of seeing her again. He raised his arms and waved happily. “Carol-Ann!” he yelled. “Carol-Ann!”
She could not hear him, of course, but she could see him. She started with surprise, hesitated as if she was not sure whether it was he, then waved back, timidly at first and then vigorously.
If she could wave like that she must be all right, he realized, and he felt as weak as a baby with relief and gratitude.
He remembered that it was not over yet. He had more to do. He gave one more wave, then reluctantly went back inside the plane.
He emerged onto the flight deck just as the captain was coming up from the passenger deck. “Any damage?” Baker said.
“Nothing at all, as far as I can see.”
The captain turned to the radio operator, who reported: “Our Mayday has been answered by several ships, but the nearest vessel is a pleasure boat now approaching on the port side. You can probably see her.”
The captain looked out of the windows and saw the launch. He shook his head. “She’s no use. We have to be towed. Try to raise the Coast Guard.”
“The people on the launch want to come aboard,” the radio operator said.
“Nix to that,” said Baker. Eddie was dismayed. They had to come aboard! “It’s too dangerous,” the captain went on. “I don’t want a boat tied up to the plane: it could damage the hull. And if we try to transfer people in this swell, someone’s sure to fall in the goddamn drink. Tell them we appreciate their offer, but they can’t help us.”
Eddie had not anticipated this. He put on an unconcerned look to mask his sudden anxiety. The hell with damage to the plane—Luther’s gang were coming aboard! But they would have a hard time without help from the inside.
Even with help, it would be a nightmare to try to board through the normal doors, he realized. The waves were washing over the sea-wings and halfway up the doors: no one could stand on the sea-wing without a rope to hold on to, and water would pour into the dining room while the door was open. This had not occurred to Eddie before, because the Clipper normally landed only on the calmest of seas.
Then how could they board?
They would have to come through the forward hatch in the bow compartment.
The radio operator said: “I’ve told them they can’t board, Captain, but they don’t seem to take any notice.”
Eddie looked out. The launch was circling the plane.
“Just ignore them,” the captain said.
Eddie stood up and went forward. As he stepped onto the ladder leading down into the bow compartment, Captain Baker snapped: “Where are you going?”
“I need to check on the anchor,” Eddie said vaguely, and went on without waiting for a reply.
He heard Baker say: “That guy is
through.”
I knew that already, he thought with a heavy heart.
He went out onto the platform. The launch was thirty or forty feet from the nose of the Clipper. He could see Carol-Ann standing at the rail. She had on an old dress and flat shoes, just what she would have been wearing for housework. She had thrown on her best coat over her work clothes when they took her. He could see her face now. She looked pale and drained. Eddie felt anger boil deep inside him. I’ll get them for this, he thought.
He raised the collapsible capstan, then waved to the launch, pointing to the capstan and miming throwing a rope. He had to do it several times before the men on deck understood. He guessed they were not experienced sailors. They certainly looked out of place on a boat, in their double-breasted suits, holding their fedoras on their heads in the wind. The guy in the wheelhouse, presumably the skipper of the launch, was busy with his controls, trying to keep the boat steady relative to the plane. At last one of the men made a gesture of acknowledgment and picked up a rope.
He was no good at throwing it, and it took four tries before Eddie was able to catch it.
He secured it to the capstan. The men on the launch hauled their craft closer to the plane. The boat, being so much lighter, rose and fell more on the swell. Tying the launch to the plane was going to be difficult and dangerous.
Suddenly he heard Mickey Finn’s voice behind him, saying: “Eddie, what the hell are you doing?”
He turned around. Mickey was in the bow compartment, looking up at him with a concerned expression on his open, freckled face. Eddie yelled: “Stay right out of this, Mickey! I’m warning you—if you interfere, people are going to get hurt!”