Simone eyes rebelled at the thought but she croaked her assent. 'And leave it in there?’
'Yes.' Macandrew gasped as a wave of nausea swept over him.
'Easy, Mac,' whispered Simone. She eased his head back on the pillow and repositioned the towel on his forehead.
Simone removed the syringe from its sterile wrapper and fitted the needle. She filled the syringe with the anaesthetic and expelled residual air before gathering up her courage to push the needle through Macandrew's skin. She heard him gasp but his foot remained immobile. Gently she applied pressure with her thumb to the plunger and saw the contents of the syringe disappear into Macandrew's foot. She felt better but her pulse was still racing. She refilled the syringe and did the other side.
'Was that all right?’ she asked.
Simone repeated the question but there was no reply. Macandrew had passed out. She was on her own. She looked at her watch and used the intervening time to clean up the outside of the wound with an alcohol-soaked swab. When she felt sure that she had done a thorough job and five minutes had passed, she removed one of the sterile surgical blades from its foil wrapper and slotted it into the scalpel handle. She pricked the wound site with the tip of the blade and looked for a reaction from Macandrew’s sleeping form. There was none. She tried again, harder this time. Again, nothing. It was time to begin.
She placed a wad of gauze beneath Macandrew's foot and made the first incision. She underestimated the amount of pressure required and the cut only resulted in a thin, crescent-shaped line of blood appearing. She swallowed hard. She was starting to feel light-headed.
She made a second, deeper incision and this time a wave of foul-smelling exudate welled up from the wound. Almost immediately, the swelling in Macandrew's foot started to subside and Simone felt the tension in her slack off in harmony. She wiped away the mess and encouraged more drainage by applying gentle pressure to the sides of the incision. She kept this up until the wound had been completely drained then set about disinfecting it thoroughly.
She thought the worst was over until she came to comply with Macandrew's final instruction that she insert a swab inside the wound itself and leave it there. A wave of revulsion threatened her as she prised open the incision with one pair of forceps and tried to push the swab inside with another. She couldn’t make the swab lie flat inside the wound; it kept scrunching up. She suspected that it would be agonising if she left it that way. It was going to be painful enough as it was.
She fought against the frustration of successive failures until she finally succeeded in making the swab lie flat. Pausing briefly to regain her composure and wipe the sweat off her brow, she closed the incision site and secured the swab with fresh tape and bandaging. Her hands started to shake as she thought about what she'd done and then she felt herself go icy cold. She had to put her head between her knees for a moment to avoid passing out then she slumped down in a chair like a rag doll and let her arms dangle over the sides. It was over.
An hour passed and Macandrew was still out cold but Simone thought that he appeared calm and untroubled and took comfort from this. It might be a different story when he came round and the effects of the anaesthetic wore off but for the moment all seemed well. He was sleeping peacefully.
Simone was allowed to stay with Macandrew until he came round – another concession won in her psychological battle with Stroud. She had noticed in her dealings with him that he was distinctly uncomfortable in the presence of women – something she intended to exploit ruthlessly, suspecting now that he would give in just to see the back of her. It turned out to be a long vigil: Macandrew was out cold for nearly five hours but the fever had gone and she could see that he was just making up for lost sleep: the rest would do him good. For her part, she passed the time reading old magazines or simply sitting by the porthole, looking out at the sea. She still felt close to mental exhaustion. Every hour that passed without incident would help.
In the last hour, the sea state had changed and the boat took on a roll as it started to ride a heavy swell. Simone started to feel uncomfortable at not having a stable horizon to concentrate on. She was about to turn away from the porthole when she thought she glimpsed land. She looked again but they were now down in a trough and, at that moment, Macandrew let out a low groan. She hurried over to him.
Macandrew blinked against the light. ‘God, what happened?' he asked in a hoarse whisper. His throat was dry.
'You passed out,' said Simone, giving him a glass water. 'You've been out for several hours.'
'My foot . . . did you do it?
'Just like you told me,' said Simone.
'God, you are bloody wonderful,' said Macandrew, flopping back on the pillow.
'You seem a lot better,’ smiled Simone. ‘Your fever’s gone.’
'God, I feel better,' said Macandrew, 'definitely better. He squeezed her hand.
'I think the voyage is almost over. I’m sure I caught sight of land a few minutes ago.'
'I wonder where.'
'We’ve been heading south east ever since we left Marseilles,’ said Simone. ‘I caught a glimpse of a chart in the wheelhouse. Corsica? Sardinia maybe, I don't think there’s been enough time for us to reach Sicily.'
'I’ve lost all track of time,' said Macandrew.
Simone went back to the porthole and said as they rose on the swell, 'We're getting quite close. Another fifteen minutes perhaps.'
'And then what?' muttered Macandrew under his breath.
Simone reported what she could see until they reached harbour and clattering feet in the gangway outside the cabin suggested that they hadn't been forgotten. Parvelli secured Simone's hands behind her back without speaking and tied her to the chair beside Macandrew's bunk. In spite of her protests, he fixed a length of adhesive tape over her mouth before turning his attention to Macandrew.
'I promise not to run away,' said Macandrew sourly but Parvelli didn't smile. He tied and taped him too. As he left the cabin, the engine note dropped to an uneven burble and they could hear voices. Parvelli had drawn a curtain across the porthole so Simone and Macandrew could only listen to what was going on.
The snatches of conversation they picked up from the quayside were in French so Simone's guess at Corsica was probably right, thought Macandrew. On the other hand it soon became apparent that their current location was largely irrelevant. The smell of diesel in the air and the sound of boxes being slid across the deck above them suggested that they had just stopped to take on fuel and supplies.
In a little under an hour the engine note rose again and once more they were under way. Shortly after that, they were released from their bonds. Simone rushed back to the porthole to see what she could see. 'It’s my guess that we’re in the channel that runs between Corsica and Sardinia,' she said. ‘We’re still heading east.'
'To somewhere on the West coast of Italy?' suggested Macandrew.
'Or down to Sicily,' said Simone.
'Or even North Africa,' said Macandrew.
'Or anywhere,’ sighed Simone.
'As far as I'm concerned, the longer we’re at sea the better,' said Macandrew. 'It'll give me time to get better. Then maybe I’ll be a bit more help round here. I’ve been about as much use as a paperweight.'
Simone was pleased to see the improvement in Macandrew's spirits. It was good to see him clear-eyed and alert again. She gave him a hug.
They were at sea for two more days, by which time, Macandrew knew that he had beaten the infection and was gaining strength by the hour. He had replaced the packing in the wound twice but now he thought that he would let the wound start to heal naturally.
On the afternoon of the second day, he and Simone were allowed on deck to get some fresh air. Macandrew sat with his back to the mast with his legs stretched out in front of him. Simone sat beside him at ninety degrees. The sky was blue and the sea state calm. Their eyes were closed and they were enjoying the sunshine.
'A pity we're not doing this under different circumstances,' said Macandrew.'
Simone just smiled.
'Maybe, if we come out of this?' suggested Macandrew.
'Maybe,' answered Simone, giving his arm a little squeeze.
'I think I'll just throw Stroud and his cronies over the side right now and take over the boat.'
'Simone looked at Macandrew's foot and said, 'Isn’t there a saying in English about walking before you can run?'
'Touché,' replied Macandrew.
'Besides,' added Simone. ‘We are approaching land.'
Macandrew could see that she was right. There was something solid on the horizon. They stood up to get a better look.
'An island,' said Simone.
'They watched in silence as it seemed to take an eternity for the Astrud G to near the island. When they had closed to about half a mile, Simone whispered, 'I think know where we are; I've been here before. It's Malta.'
'Well done,' murmured Macandrew.
'I came here many years ago when I was a student with a group of friends on a SCUBA diving trip.'
'Does that mean you know the island well?' asked Macandrew.
Simone shrugged. 'It was a long time ago but it's not that big really.' Almost as an afterthought she added, ‘Strongly Catholic.’
Their conversation was interrupted by Stroud directing that they be taken below.
This time, they were not tied up or blindfolded. They watched from the porthole as the Astrud G was brought close to a rocky outcrop and her anchors were dropped.
'We’re not going into harbour,' said Simone.
'I guess they’d have to explain us to the authorities,’ said Macandrew. It's my bet we’ll be transferred to a smaller boat for landing somewhere quiet along the coast.'
When darkness fell and nothing happened, Macandrew grew tense. He and Simone had both been feeling the strain of the wait and their conversation had fallen away to nothing. Eventually Macandrew said what they had both been thinking. 'Maybe this isn't our destination after all. 'Maybe we're just stopping here overnight.'
No sooner had this been said when they heard the distant sound of a powerful outboard motor. It grew louder and they could hear activity above them on deck.
'Well, well . . .' said Macandrew, feeling adrenaline start to course through his veins.
Simone started plundering items she thought would come in handy from the boat's medical kit. She passed them to Macandrew who stuffed them into his pockets.
'They're coming!' warned Macandrew as he heard footsteps on the deck ladder.
Simone hastily shut the lid of the wooden box. The cabin door opened and they were herded up on deck by Parvelli. The night was clear and an almost full moon shone down on a calm sea. A large, rigid, inflatable boat was tied up alongside the Astrud G, her powerful twin Yamaha outboards murmuring as they idled impatiently. Simone was helped over the side first and made to sit at the back of the boat while Macandrew – who had hopped across the deck to reach the rope ladder - took the weight on his arms and lowered himself to stand on the sidewall of the inflatable. Although the sea was calm, there was still a bit of swell and he couldn't find enough balance on one foot to allow him to hop down on to the floor of the boat. He took an ungainly dive forwards and clattered down hard on his elbows.
'Are you all right?' exclaimed Simone.
'Apart from lost marks for artistic merit.’
The crew freed the inflatable from the Astrud G and pushed her away from the side. The Yamahas responded to the throttle like eager greyhounds and the inflatable creamed over the water towards the dark shoreline. No one spoke. There was no point; the engine noise was deafening. Macandrew sat with his arm round Simone, both holding their free hands to their faces against the intermittent spray thrown up from the bow. In other circumstances it might have been fun.
The engines died and they drifted in the last few metres on their momentum. Macandrew braced himself for what he though might be a sudden grounding but the operation was carried out with such skill that the boat came smoothly to a halt on the gritty bottom.
There was a van waiting on the shore. It looked very old - even by the light of the moon. Macandrew and Simone were ushered into the back and the doors slammed shut. It was pitch black inside and there was a smell of rotting vegetables. It didn’t mix well with the smell of the sea from their clothes and hair. After several attempts the van's engine was coaxed into life and they fought to steady themselves as it lurched forward over a patch of rough ground to join the road. A final jolt as the back wheels scrabbled up on to the tarmac, sent the pair in the back reeling against the sides.
They were now travelling along a smooth highway and, as the minutes passed, Macandrew became aware that he could see periodic flashes of light through the crack where the back doors joined. He crabbed across the floor and found that he could see out through it. He said to Simone, 'Maybe you should be doing this. You might be able to figure out where they’re taking us.'
Simone slid across to take Macandrew's place. He kept her steady with his arm around her waist. After ten minutes she said, 'We're entering a small town.'