They
left behind them, to enjoy the corpses,
the dark coated one, the
dark horny-beaked raven
and the dusky-coated one,
the eagle
white from behind, to partake of carrion,
greedy war-hawk, and
that grey animal
the wolf in the forest.
The Battle of Brunanburh
CHAPTER 24 CABO ANTONIO
“All clear,” said Sandy Bain. “No ships or planes. Could be anything behind this mountain.” He indicated a rounded line on the boats radar.
Moran looked out of the windscreen. The rain cleared for a moment. The other two launches, long, low, invisible to radar, almost like resting submarines, slowly rose and fell on the long, rain flattened, South Atlantic swell. The shore of Africa, so clear on radar, was a deeper grey in the eye straining distance. “I guess it’s the right place. Lot of cloud though. Even on the photo’s.”
“Yeah” Sandy grinned at the satellite photo’s. True, there was land visible between clouds, but it was shadowed and blurred and lacked any definition. In a place like this no one ever wanted better photos made. Hot steamy and rarely seen.
“I suppose that’s why they want the boats here,” said Moran “No observation.”
“Yeah. Well, I’ll be glad when it's over. God knows who these boats are for.”
“I keep telling you. Ex President MuRillo.”
“But who is he buying them for? Drug runners? Terrs? We haven’t a clue,” said Sandy.
“No.” lied Moran “But the money’s OK.”
“Yeah. The rain’s coming back.”
Of course Moran knew, that the British government knew, all about the companies deal. That’s why there was a passive label or two built inside the carbon fibre hull. American patrol aircraft would sweep the ocean with the correct frequency, and these things would shine out letting intelligence guys know where they were. Simple. That way they could be stopped while drug running, or sailing near any oil rigs.
Moran stepped on deck, waved to the other boats, preserving radio silence as the customer wanted, and saw Patrick Cairns and Johnny Hones wave back from their own boats. “In we go then Sandy.”
“Right.” The turbos howled, multiple exhausts burbled into the water jets. All three boats leapt up and planed over the rain spattered ocean.
“Floater ahead,” said Moran, but Sandy saw it on the head up display and steered past it. “Looks like a tree trunk.”
“Should we slow down this close to shore?” asked Sandy.
“Yeah.” Moran should've thought of that. The rains would wash all sorts into the sea. He waved to the others to catch up and slow down. “I can see the coast now. Trees all the way.” Above the engines and rain rattling on deck, there was another sound, surf breaking. “I can just see white water. Must be the beach.”
“I think this is the estuary here.” Sandy nodded at the radar.
“Yeah. Could be. It looks like the trees end there. Must be Cape Antonio.”
The three boats slowly rounded the hidden sand banks and the swell subsided “Its three fathoms steady,” said Sandy.
“Oh yeah.” Something else Moran should have remembered after two weeks in the open ocean. They hadn’t been in waters this shallow since the test trips up and down the coast, from Whitehaven to Siloth and back, while the sneaky beaky guys tested the beacons hidden in the boats keel.
“I’ll follow the shoreline round till we get to the creeks,” said Sandy.
“Yeah.” Moran looked over the side. The water was turning from grey to brown.
“Something else in the water.”said Sandy “On screen. I’ve got the virtual for’ad view on.”
Moran looked into the wheel house, the green tinted view of sea bed on the screen. Could be sand or mud carved by the currents. “What's that?”
“It could be a waterlogged tree trunk. Those could be branches. The land was supposed to come this far a few years ago. There's a light house on the charts and a small town. All got washed away when the sea rose.”
“Yeah. I don’t think they’ve surveyed here since colonial times.” Moran slapped at a bug on his arm and looked at the real land. More trees. No smoke, no sign of people. On radar the estuary narrowed ahead. The haze ahead thickened into a darker more solid blue/grey. An unbroken wall of trees blocking their path. He looked at the radar. It was spotty and indistinct, struggling with partial echoes dimly finding their way between trees and reflecting off open water. “Could that be the channel we want?”
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