Crash Course by Derek Fee (pdf to ebook reader .txt) 📕

The war of attrition was now fully engaged. Kane and Morweena pushed the boat to the maximum. He was in among the laggards and knew he must be gaining on the leaders. Morweena and Kane were lost in their own forms of concentration, each one operating by touch to nurse their boat forward at maximum speed. They were two kilometres from the nearest buoy when Doug Jackson’s Brit1 with its distinctively coloured red, white and blue colours appeared through the spray on the canopy. Kane glanced down quickly at the GPS screen as Brit1 skipped over the waves past them heading in the opposite direction. They had managed to cut the lead to maybe three-quarters of a lap. The knowledge that they were gaining galvanised them to further efforts. Kane’s arms and knees were aching from the continual buffeting the boat was taking. The afternoon breeze was rising, whipping the tops of the waves into spray-laden white horses. The boat lifted out of the water as it hit the top of a wave and reared into the air. Morweena immediately cut back the throttle. The fifty-foot hull was suspended in the air before smashing back into the water. Anticipating their landing, she was already opening the throttle and the propellers churned as the stern of the boat hit the water. A steady stream of boats was passing them heading in the opposite direction.

Karakatis caught a glimpse of the Kernow as it sped past him in the opposite direction heading for the buoy. Penhalion must have the luck of the devil, he thought. His deep-V was trailing the leaders but as long as he could stay in the race until the catamarans had to slow down, he would still have a chance. However, he was willing to sacrifice everything to make sure that the Penhalion boat did not finish in the first three.

“Two more boats are out!” There was now a note of excitement creeping into David’s voice as he followed the race from the helicopter. “Conditions are deteriorating. The wind is rising and there’s a noticeable increase in the swell.” Kane and Morweena were working miracles beneath him but he wondered how long the boat and its crew could take the pressure that their move through the field was taking on them. “Hakonen is lying dead in the water and Lemay’s boat is hobbling along.”

The straggler’s boat was now clearly in view and Kane recognised the blue catamaran of di Mena’s Azzurra ploughing sedately through the waves. The Kernow’s engines screamed as they powered past the Italian. One more down, Kane thought. The boat was appreciably lighter than at the start of the race and the combination of the reduced weight and rougher water would place even greater pressure on the driver’s efforts to keep up the speed. There were three laps remaining and they had been racing flat out for two hours. The Penhalion team were rapidly running out of time.

“Another casualty,” David announced from his perch. “San Miguel has stopped dead.” David focused his glasses on the Spanish boat which sat motionless in the water off the island of Sainte Marguerite. “More casualties!” he shouted, swivelling to focus on two further boats bobbing helplessly in the water.

Morweena felt the first wave of fatigue hitting her when she mistimed a throttle-back as the boat leapt salmon-like from the water. The adrenaline pumped around her body, fighting off the tiredness caused by the intense concentration.

They were leaving the stragglers behind and back in the race proper. Kane pointed the nose of the speeding boat directly ahead and they raced past the bay leaving the high-rise apartments and hotels of the town of Cannes behind them on their right. He felt a knot of excitement in the pit of his stomach as he urged the boat forward in the wake of the remaining boats. Only fifteen of the thirty starters were still in the race.

“You’ve cut their lead to a quarter of a lap.” David’s voice was shaking with excitement. “Give it all you’ve got.” Kane wasn’t only a miracle worker, David thought, he was a bloody phenomenon.

The boat was appreciatively lighter and they were spending more time sailing through the air than skipping over the waves. Morweena knew that she was being imprudent in her use of the throttle but it was all or nothing. Better to go out in a blaze of glory than not put in the maximum effort.

Kane braced himself against the wheel as the boat crashed into the water before rocking from side to side as he tried to regain stability. As they passed the Cap d’Antibes, the rear of the leading pack came into sight. He tried to pick out individual boats but it was impossible to focus through the canopy as they bucked and rolled through the choppy waters.

Barrett listened quietly to the report from his team manager. Kane was closing on him.

“He’s not getting past us,” he said to Milan. “Do you understand that?”

“I hear and obey. I’d push this fucking throttle clear out of the housing if I wasn’t so fucking scared that we’ll go aerodynamic.”

“Well then let’s go fucking aerodynamic. I don’t want that bastard getting ahead of us. Okay.”

“You’re the boss,” Milan said, and for maybe the first time in his life a feeling of dread pervaded him.

Kane moved steadily through the field as they sped eastwards.

“David,” Kane said, “Situation report.”

“Jackson’s Brit1 is in the lead, Tadeka’s second with Barrett third. You’re in fifth place and closing on Karakatis in fourth.”

“Penhalion is directly behind you,” Karakatis’ team manager reported. “About one hundred metres and closing,” he added. “If you thought Kane was crazy at Sorrento, it looks like here he’s intent on killing himself, or another competitor.”

“Give me his movements, exactly,” Karakatis said calmly from the cockpit. The devil was not helping Kane, the man was the devil himself. Nobody could make up a lap in an offshore race.

“Kane