After cutting across the trawler’s path, Dirk and Summer shelved their portside oars and dug in with their starboard blades. They swung the scull alongside the fishing boat until Dirk could grab a side tire fender. Summer rose and stretched for the side rail and pulled herself aboard. She quickly reached back and snared the blue binder that had been at her feet. Dirk followed her aboard, kicking the scull toward shore as he pulled himself onto the deck.
They were greeted by a black and tan dachshund that approached with its tail wagging, offering an ominous howl. Summer knelt in surrender, eliciting a lick and a melodious greeting.
The dog was followed by a tall silver-haired man who gazed at them through curious coral-sea green eyes. “Are you a boarding party?”
“No, just hitchhikers.” Summer rose to her feet. “Sorry to board without asking, but they were trying to kill us.” She pointed at the opposite riverbank.
The old man looked across the river. He ignored a silver Audi speeding down the road and focused on the four boys wearing spandex and hurling rocks and insults from the shoreline.
“Killers, eh?” He shook his head. “I guess they do look slightly hostile. I would be, too, if someone stole my boat.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Excuse me, but I need to get back to the wheel.” He turned and stepped to the pilothouse, trailed by the dachshund.
Following behind, Dirk and Summer noticed a life ring outside the wheelhouse identified the boat’s name as First Attempt.
“Is there a river police station on the Thames?” Dirk asked.
“I think the Brits have some sort of patrol station up near the London Eye. It’s along my way, so I can drop you.”
“We’d be very grateful.” Summer noticed the boat’s owner was drinking coffee from a mug inscribed with Balboa Yacht Club and the initials CC. “What’s a fellow Yank doing sailing on the Thames?”
“Mauser and I decide
d to see the world by boat.” He nodded toward the dachshund, now curled up on a pillow near his feet. “We’re coming down from a side trip to Oxford.” He waved a hand at the windscreen, beyond which the tall landmarks of central London could be seen in the distance. “I always found that you see the worst side of a town driving past it on the highway. The great old cities seem to preserve their best face for the waterfront. We’ve enjoyed London and are off now to cross the Channel for the Seine River and Paris.”
“Did you cross the Atlantic in the First Attempt?” Dirk asked.
“Oh, yes, we sailed her across. She’s built like a battleship, and just as stable. I’ve got extra fuel tanks below that give us a range of over three thousand miles.”
“How fast can she go?” Summer gazed the shoreline for signs of the two Russians.
“With a friendly breeze and a favorable current, she’s good for nine and a half knots.” He rapped the throttle forward to its stops. “Don’t you worry, miss. I’ll have you to the police dock in about twenty minutes.”
• • •
LESS THAN TEN MINUTES LATER, Mansfield found a boat. By luck, the Chiswick Pier Marina a mile downriver had a handful of boats for hire. Martina arranged a rental by phone seconds before the Audi skidded to a stop out front.
“Keep downriver, and track them as best you can,” Mansfield told the Audi’s driver.
Ivan had a bruised cheek and a fresh cut on his hand from his collision in the old taxi but brushed off any pain and nodded at Mansfield.
Martina followed Mansfield as he jumped out of the car and hurried to a wiry man wearing coveralls and carrying a gas can.
“You here for the boat?” he asked with a friendly grin.
“Yes.”
“The fastest we have, per the lady’s request.” He pointed past a row of sailboats to a small powerboat at the end of the dock. “A Seafarer 23. She’s no cigarette boat but a fine old runner nevertheless, all fueled up and ready to go. I’ll just need your driver’s license and a credit card.”
Mansfield handed him his phony French passport with several hundred-pound banknotes protruding from the cover. “I presume this will suffice?”
The boatman’s eyes grew wide. “The keys are in the ignition. Just have it back before it gets dark. Cheers.” He watched with curiosity as the attractive, nicely dressed couple sprinted to the boat and roared off into the Thames.
44
The trawler had followed the meandering path of the Thames through west London and reached a northerly turn near Battersea Park when the pursuing speedboat raced into view. Dirk was the first to spot it, recognizing Mansfield and Martina in the front seats. “Can you drop us somewhere quick?” he asked the old man.