Read Online Passage by Night (v5) by Jack Higgins - Free Book Online
Authors: Jack Higgins
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forty years old.'
'He must be crazy.'
'He doesn't want to lose his boat, that's all. That and Anna are the only two things he's got left in the world.'
'Do you think he'd be interested in running me across to San Juan?'
Aleko shrugged. 'A desperate man is capable of anything.'
'You never said a truer word.' Manning picked up his grip and the cameras. 'I'll have a look at that room now, if you don't mind.'
As he followed Aleko along a whitewashed corridor, a sudden spark of excitement moved inside him as he realized, with complete certainty, that he had found the solution to his problem.
Aleko was the owner of a small twelve-foot launch which he was willing to hire out. Two hours later after a change of clothes and one of the best meals he'd had in a long time, Manning took her out of the harbour and turned west along the southern tip of the island.
The sea was like glass and the cloudless blue sky dipped away to the horizon. He lit a cigarette and sat back in the swing chair, one hand on the wheel, wondering about Papa Melos. What made a man keep on fighting when every card in the deck was stacked against him? There was no answer. Some men went under struggling to the last. Others sank without a cry.
He rounded Blair Cay within forty minutes and saw the boat anchored about a quarter of a mile out in the gulf. He slowed down and coasted in towards her, aware of the dull rhythmic throbbing of the mechanical pump that forced air down through the blue water to the man below.
It was difficult to believe that anyone could still use the old-fashioned canvas suit with all the paraphernalia of air and lifelines in this era of the frog-man with his compressed air cylinders. The aqualung was superior in every way and with it, the diver became a completely free agent.
He could see the girl as he drew nearer, rather small in a bright red shirt and canvas jeans, long hair twisted into a pigtail at the back. She was turning the handle of the lifeline crank, hauling her father in, and seemed completely unaware of Manning's approach.
Quite suddenly, the crank stopped revolving. She tugged at the handle, exerting all her strength and then went to the rail and looked over. She ran back to the crank and swung all her weight against the handle with no result. The next moment, she turned and dived over the rail.
Manning cut the engine and drifted alongside. He fastened the line quickly, ran across to the crank and threw all his strength against the handle. It refused to budge. As he moved back to the rail, the girl surfaced beside the wooden ladder gasping for breath. Somehow, her pigtail had come undone and long, blue-black hair floated around in the water. He reached down and pulled her over the rail.
'What's wrong down there?'
She was completely distraught. 'I couldn't reach him! I couldn't reach him!'
'How deep is he?'
'Ten fathoms, maybe more. I've got to try again.'
She scrambled to her feet, turning to the rail. At that moment, a great gout of air erupted to the surface. Manning sat down and pulled off his shoes and jacket.
'You stay with that crank. The line's probably snagged on a niggerhead. The moment I signal, start pulling him in.'
He scrambled onto the roof of the wheelhouse, poised on the edge for several seconds, forcing as much oxygen as possible into his lungs, and dived.
Once in the Caymans, he had free-dived just over a hundred feet, but that had been ten years before. Ten years of hard living. Of going downhill in every way.
As a diver descends, the deepening layer of water filters the sunlight, absorbing all red and orange rays. At fifty feet, as he descended the face of the great cliff, Manning found himself swimming into a neutral zone. Visibility was still excellent, but all colours were muted and autumnal.
At sixty feet the line had looped itself around a gnarled spike of coral, tightening into a crevasse. He freed it quickly and moved on.
He found the old man on a wide ledge on the face of the
'He must be crazy.'
'He doesn't want to lose his boat, that's all. That and Anna are the only two things he's got left in the world.'
'Do you think he'd be interested in running me across to San Juan?'
Aleko shrugged. 'A desperate man is capable of anything.'
'You never said a truer word.' Manning picked up his grip and the cameras. 'I'll have a look at that room now, if you don't mind.'
As he followed Aleko along a whitewashed corridor, a sudden spark of excitement moved inside him as he realized, with complete certainty, that he had found the solution to his problem.
Aleko was the owner of a small twelve-foot launch which he was willing to hire out. Two hours later after a change of clothes and one of the best meals he'd had in a long time, Manning took her out of the harbour and turned west along the southern tip of the island.
The sea was like glass and the cloudless blue sky dipped away to the horizon. He lit a cigarette and sat back in the swing chair, one hand on the wheel, wondering about Papa Melos. What made a man keep on fighting when every card in the deck was stacked against him? There was no answer. Some men went under struggling to the last. Others sank without a cry.
He rounded Blair Cay within forty minutes and saw the boat anchored about a quarter of a mile out in the gulf. He slowed down and coasted in towards her, aware of the dull rhythmic throbbing of the mechanical pump that forced air down through the blue water to the man below.
It was difficult to believe that anyone could still use the old-fashioned canvas suit with all the paraphernalia of air and lifelines in this era of the frog-man with his compressed air cylinders. The aqualung was superior in every way and with it, the diver became a completely free agent.
He could see the girl as he drew nearer, rather small in a bright red shirt and canvas jeans, long hair twisted into a pigtail at the back. She was turning the handle of the lifeline crank, hauling her father in, and seemed completely unaware of Manning's approach.
Quite suddenly, the crank stopped revolving. She tugged at the handle, exerting all her strength and then went to the rail and looked over. She ran back to the crank and swung all her weight against the handle with no result. The next moment, she turned and dived over the rail.
Manning cut the engine and drifted alongside. He fastened the line quickly, ran across to the crank and threw all his strength against the handle. It refused to budge. As he moved back to the rail, the girl surfaced beside the wooden ladder gasping for breath. Somehow, her pigtail had come undone and long, blue-black hair floated around in the water. He reached down and pulled her over the rail.
'What's wrong down there?'
She was completely distraught. 'I couldn't reach him! I couldn't reach him!'
'How deep is he?'
'Ten fathoms, maybe more. I've got to try again.'
She scrambled to her feet, turning to the rail. At that moment, a great gout of air erupted to the surface. Manning sat down and pulled off his shoes and jacket.
'You stay with that crank. The line's probably snagged on a niggerhead. The moment I signal, start pulling him in.'
He scrambled onto the roof of the wheelhouse, poised on the edge for several seconds, forcing as much oxygen as possible into his lungs, and dived.
Once in the Caymans, he had free-dived just over a hundred feet, but that had been ten years before. Ten years of hard living. Of going downhill in every way.
As a diver descends, the deepening layer of water filters the sunlight, absorbing all red and orange rays. At fifty feet, as he descended the face of the great cliff, Manning found himself swimming into a neutral zone. Visibility was still excellent, but all colours were muted and autumnal.
At sixty feet the line had looped itself around a gnarled spike of coral, tightening into a crevasse. He freed it quickly and moved on.
He found the old man on a wide ledge on the face of the
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