sort of mould or algae, he reached for the control box, which swung at shoulder height.
Luckily, there was enough ambient light from the porthole and other exterior lights on the ship and in the marina to see the controls. The buttons read “UP—DOWN—AFT—FORWARD.” Easy enough, even for a beginner.
Toby held his breath and pressed “DOWN.”
Nothing happened.
He peered closely at the control box again. Now he saw a keyhole, like the ignition of a car, on the side of the box. Damn it, this was the power switch. Where was the key? In the cradle? He cast around hopefully. It was a simple structure—its slippery wooden floor and galvanised tubing framework offered no ledge or receptacle that could store a key. Toby groaned to himself. He was going to have to retreat back the way he came.
The rain continued to fall. His wet hair flopped in his eyes and he pushed it back over his forehead as he did when he rinsed it in the shower. He was starting to feel cold as well as nauseated, and his cheek injury throbbed.
He tried to gear himself up for the treacherous trip back to safety along the slippery ledge. His spirits were as low as he could ever remember. Just then, he noticed a glint from the thick cable just above the box. He reached up and grabbed the control. There was a little snap shackle attached to the cord with cable clips, and from it hung a key.
He unclipped the key, inserted it and turned it, and pressed “DOWN” again. There was a whirring noise from above his head as the electric motor started up. With a slight jolt, the cradle started down.
Yes!
It was a maddeningly slow descent and Toby felt sure that the noise of the motor would attract attention. It must be getting towards the end of his stint, and dawn would soon break. He peered at his watch, but without the light from the porthole, now above him, the level of illumination had dropped and he couldn’t make it out without using both hands for the backlight, and his right hand was pressing the “DOWN” button.
He leaned over the side of the cradle. The ground approached slowly. Another couple of minutes at least at this speed. They were going to be long, tense minutes, but it looked like he was going to make it. Every second took him further away from the madhouse above him.
With a jolt, the cradle stopped.
He still had his finger on the “DOWN” button. He pumped it. Nothing. He pressed “UP.” The cradle motor whined and he jerked upwards. He pressed “DOWN” again. The cradle reversed, headed downwards for a second, then stopped again.
It must be at the limit of its travel, he realised.
Journey’s end.
Could he jump? He looked over. It was possible, but risky. The floor of the cradle was between six and nine feet from the ground. Two to three metres. He had done several charity parachute jumps and knew how to fall and roll to avoid injury.
He hesitated. Then decided.
Go for it!
He climbed over the railings and lowered himself until he was hanging from the bottom rail. If he clung to the edge of the floor, that would give him another margin of safety. He moved one hand down to grab the woodwork of the floor, then the other. But the wood was too slimy and he felt his grip loosen. A second later and he was falling, feet first.
As his feet touched, he bent his legs and rolled forward and then sideways. He lay for a moment on the jetty. Luckily, he had landed on a wooden section. Just a little way off was solid concrete. He had grazed his hand, another injury to add to his painful cheek, and he had winded himself a little, but apart from that he seemed to be in one piece.
He got up on all fours.
Now to get help.
A powerful light snapped on and blinded him.
“Feeble effort, Robinson.” A heavy South African accent.
Scott.
On the jetty.
He had been caught.
Chapter 6
Toby struggled to his feet. “I was investigating a disturbance, sir,” he said. “I heard screaming and went to check.”
“Why didn’t you
Luckily, there was enough ambient light from the porthole and other exterior lights on the ship and in the marina to see the controls. The buttons read “UP—DOWN—AFT—FORWARD.” Easy enough, even for a beginner.
Toby held his breath and pressed “DOWN.”
Nothing happened.
He peered closely at the control box again. Now he saw a keyhole, like the ignition of a car, on the side of the box. Damn it, this was the power switch. Where was the key? In the cradle? He cast around hopefully. It was a simple structure—its slippery wooden floor and galvanised tubing framework offered no ledge or receptacle that could store a key. Toby groaned to himself. He was going to have to retreat back the way he came.
The rain continued to fall. His wet hair flopped in his eyes and he pushed it back over his forehead as he did when he rinsed it in the shower. He was starting to feel cold as well as nauseated, and his cheek injury throbbed.
He tried to gear himself up for the treacherous trip back to safety along the slippery ledge. His spirits were as low as he could ever remember. Just then, he noticed a glint from the thick cable just above the box. He reached up and grabbed the control. There was a little snap shackle attached to the cord with cable clips, and from it hung a key.
He unclipped the key, inserted it and turned it, and pressed “DOWN” again. There was a whirring noise from above his head as the electric motor started up. With a slight jolt, the cradle started down.
Yes!
It was a maddeningly slow descent and Toby felt sure that the noise of the motor would attract attention. It must be getting towards the end of his stint, and dawn would soon break. He peered at his watch, but without the light from the porthole, now above him, the level of illumination had dropped and he couldn’t make it out without using both hands for the backlight, and his right hand was pressing the “DOWN” button.
He leaned over the side of the cradle. The ground approached slowly. Another couple of minutes at least at this speed. They were going to be long, tense minutes, but it looked like he was going to make it. Every second took him further away from the madhouse above him.
With a jolt, the cradle stopped.
He still had his finger on the “DOWN” button. He pumped it. Nothing. He pressed “UP.” The cradle motor whined and he jerked upwards. He pressed “DOWN” again. The cradle reversed, headed downwards for a second, then stopped again.
It must be at the limit of its travel, he realised.
Journey’s end.
Could he jump? He looked over. It was possible, but risky. The floor of the cradle was between six and nine feet from the ground. Two to three metres. He had done several charity parachute jumps and knew how to fall and roll to avoid injury.
He hesitated. Then decided.
Go for it!
He climbed over the railings and lowered himself until he was hanging from the bottom rail. If he clung to the edge of the floor, that would give him another margin of safety. He moved one hand down to grab the woodwork of the floor, then the other. But the wood was too slimy and he felt his grip loosen. A second later and he was falling, feet first.
As his feet touched, he bent his legs and rolled forward and then sideways. He lay for a moment on the jetty. Luckily, he had landed on a wooden section. Just a little way off was solid concrete. He had grazed his hand, another injury to add to his painful cheek, and he had winded himself a little, but apart from that he seemed to be in one piece.
He got up on all fours.
Now to get help.
A powerful light snapped on and blinded him.
“Feeble effort, Robinson.” A heavy South African accent.
Scott.
On the jetty.
He had been caught.
Chapter 6
Toby struggled to his feet. “I was investigating a disturbance, sir,” he said. “I heard screaming and went to check.”
“Why didn’t you
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