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

impossible. I see you’re still riding your streak of bad luck.”

“We’ll be back next season and you’d better watch out because we’ll have all these damn bugs ironed out. Maybe I’ll even employ David to make me a boat like yours. Then we’ll be able to see which of us is the craziest. Enjoy your moment in the sun.”

“Mark, Morweena.” David moved his huge bulk along the finger wharf making the wooden slats sway as he approached. “You were bloody wonderful. Weren’t they bloody wonderful?” he said to the assembled multitudes.

“Don’t forget the men who put us back into the race.” Kane nodded in the direction of Reg and Doc.

“Have you any idea who tampered with the boat?” Tom asked.

“I think Barrett was behind it. But it’s not important now. It also appears that our good friend Bill Thompson has gone walkabout. Maybe I’m being a bit hasty putting two and two together but I suppose it’s safe to assume that he was the person who fouled the fuel lines.”

“The bastard will never work in a boatyard again,” David blustered.

“You came second against all odds,” Tom said putting his hand on Kane’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, lad. I knew you’d come through.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I wasn’t so sure out there myself for a long time.”

Beyond Tom’s shoulder, Kane saw the remains of the Metro being towed into port. That’s what the crowd had come to see.

They were suddenly being swept along in a human flood heading for the rostrum at the centre of the marina, their hands being pumped by well-wishers as they progressed.

Kane looked over at Morweena. “Are you OK?”

She tried a smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired.”

“You were incredible.’

The tide of people took them away in different directions and he didn’t rightly hear her reply. It sounded like “I love you.” He hoped he heard right.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Sheikh Safardi’s normally tanned features were white and tense as he strode through the white antiseptic smelling corridors of the Hôpital St-Roch in the rue Pierre Dévoluy in Nice. He had driven to the hospital as soon as he heard that Barrett had been taken there and had spent the relatively short journey from Cannes on the mobile phone. His shipment was right on time and the man he had employed to pick it up was lying somewhere within the walls of the hospital through which he was now striding. This wasn’t simply another business complication. The shipment of cocaine which Safardi was expecting in three days was the biggest he had ever made. It was typical of Barrett to almost get himself killed when he was needed the most.

“Monsieur Barrett,” Safardi said to the nurse at the station on the fourth floor.

The nurse looked up slowly. “Quatrième chambre à gauche,” she said before returning to her filing.

Safardi walked briskly along the corridor and entered the fourth room on the left without knocking. Barrett was lying on his bed facing the ceiling. Safardi could see that his eyes were open and his left arm was encased in a white plaster cast from fingers to elbow. Otherwise, he appeared unhurt. He turned slowly and looked at Safardi.

“Come to visit the patient, have we?” he said, licking his dry lips. “How very touching.”

“I see that your brush with death hasn’t tempered your tongue.” Safardi watched as Barrett laboriously leaned to the side and sipped water through a plastic tube emanating from a glass on the table beside him. “One that lucky might be excused for immediately becoming a religious fanatic. Nobody who saw the accident can believe that you’re still alive. Of course, Milan wasn’t quite so lucky.”

“That bastard Kane,” Barrett croaked.

“Not this time, Graham. You did this one all on your own and you are one of the luckiest men on the planet tonight.” Safardi pulled a chair close to Barrett’s bed and sat down. “I spoke to your doctor on my way here. Quite frankly the man is incredulous that your injuries are of such a limited nature. However, he did confirm that it will be several months before you take your place behind the wheel of a powerboat again.”

“Rubbish,” Barrett said pushing himself up in the bed with difficulty. “I’ll be out of here in the next few days.”

Safardi stood up quickly and pulled back the sheet. Barrett was wearing a short white hospital gown. Safardi lifted the gown. Barrett’s body was covered with dark blue patches.

“A broken arm and a couple of bruises,” Barrett said. “It’s nothing.”

Safardi pulled the bedclothes up again and retook his seat. “And our shipment this week? I suppose you’ll be in top form to collect my ten million dollars of cocaine.”

“Always business,” Barrett said, settling himself in the bed. “I’ll do the job you paid me for.”

“My dear Graham. I have my largest shipment of cocaine arriving from Colombia in three days and there is absolutely no way that you’ll be able to fulfil your contract with me to collect it. You wouldn’t last ten minutes behind the wheel of a powerboat in your present condition. That leaves me in a certain amount of difficulty.”

Barrett bit his tongue. “What will you do?” he asked.

“I have been giving that question a considerable amount of thought over the past couple of hours. I must find myself another driver.”

“I suppose so,” Barrett said resignedly. “Do you have anyone in mind?”

“This will tickle you, Graham. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about Kane. I think I might ask him to replace you.”

“No fucking way!” Barrett pushed himself forward before collapsing back onto the bed. “If you do, you’ll be making the biggest mistake of your life.”

“Maybe I already did that by employing you,” Safardi said. “Your little fling with Morweena Penhalion last year seems to have unhinged you. This year you’ve been nothing but a bellyful of trouble. Now you have this obsession with Kane which might have killed you and has placed me in a difficult and potentially embarrassing position.