Synopsis

This is a tale of industrial espionage in a marine environment, which threatens to cause a brand new super-freighter to founder on it’s proving voyage. The dastardly plot is masterminded by the step-son of the Managing Director of the shipping line who designed the vessel. The scheme involves blackmailing an ex. Merchant Navy Officer (with an unenviable past, who now works for a company making navigation equipment) along with the kidnapping of his daughter when he believes that the tight time-frame is not being rigidly adhered to. All is going according to plan until the Managing Director’s daughter and her fiancé are on a sailing trip and happen upon some vital clues as to what is going on in the families holiday home on the Shetland Islands.

The ‘Penny III' was not a new ship and the relentless pounding was gradually taking it's toll by searching out every crack and flaw in the hull as well as opening up new ones. As a consequence she was taking on water, luckily not at an alarming rate, but fast enough to ensure that John Parrish the engineer, had his work cut out for him by keeping the pumps running at full capacity.

George Cassell instinctively ducked as the next great wave gave the bridge house a sideways blow, and nearly wrenching the wheel from his grip. Gritting his teeth he peered down at the dimly lit compass as it swung in it's gimbals; the ship had been lifted almost forty degrees off course in a matter of seconds. Spinning the wheel in a clockwise direction he watched the compass card slowly unwind; one-seventy, one-eighty, one-ninety, at which point he started to turn the wheel the other way, one-nine-three, one-nine-four, one-nine-five...

 Just then, a strident blast from the whistle in the speaking tube sounded near to his right hand. It sounded again, this time twice in succession. Cassell seized the tube and removed the whistle.

"Cassell." he snapped.

"Bates here Captain." came the hollow sounding reply. "Just picked up a distress on the shortwave, 'Ladies Locket' bound for Lowestoft, taking on water badly. They reckon that she won't stay up top much longer."

"Position?"

"I estimate her to be about a mile or two to the SouthWest of us; we could make it sir, what do you think?"

Cassell was silent. They had enough troubles of their own, the last thing that they needed was someone elses problems.

"Any other shipping?" he asked.

"Only other one to answer was the 'Patricia', and she's fifteen miles or so to the North of their estimated position. Seems to me that we're the only ones near enough to be of any use to them."

It looked to Cassell as if there was no option other than to make an attempt to rescue the crew.

"We're going after them." he said down the tube to the radio operator. "Get them to keep sending something, and try to obtain a bearing with the RDF. I'll edge her twenty degrees to starboard for the time being, but let me know that fix as soon as you have it."

Cassell replaced the whistle in the end of the tube and whilst he considered the odds stacked against a successful rescue attempt, Jeff Bates set about recontacting the foundering vessel.

"This is "Penny three calling Ladies Locket, do you read me? over."

He switched the set over to receive, but on hearing nothing but static from the speaker, turned it back to transmit.

"This is trawler Penny three calling Ladies Locket, do you read me? over."

Once again static was heard from the speaker, then a tense sounding voice cut in over the noise.

"Ladies Locket receiving you loud and clear, are you coming this way? Over."

Bates gave a sigh of relief as he switched back to transmit.

"Affirmative Ladies Locket, can you leave your carrier on for thirty seconds whilst I try to fix your bearing please, over."

The operator on board the stricken vessel willingly complied with this request which would enable the rescuing vessel to obtain a directional fix using the swinging antenna mounted half way up her stumpy mast.

Bates carefully adjusted the controls on his set until he was sure that the reading was as good as he was likely to get; then quickly turning to the chart table to check their position. Punching a button on the new satellite receiver he waited for the update. Seconds later the machine replaced the 'Please Wait' message with their present longitude and latitude, indicating that they were about four miles off the North East coast of the Shetland Isles; the Ladies Locket therefore had to be somewhere between them and the shoreline.

"Penny three calling Ladies Locket over." Bates switched the set to transmit again, and this time the response was almost immediate.

"Can you give me an estimation of your distance from the shore? over."

Even though they had a reliable satellite fix which should have been accurate to a hundred yards or less, he was wary of setting a course towards the land with the visibility outside down to nothing more than a few hundred yards at best.

"Ladies Locket calling, estimate three miles out and drifting south, repeat three miles out, over."

Bates reached for the speaking tube, removed the whistle and blew down it. Seconds later Cassell answered.

"Captain, I have a heading for you, steer two-two-five for about one mile. Both the satellite, and the position they gave me seem to coincide; hate taking a bearing from a machine though."

Cassell on the bridge was already changing course to the new compass heading. He too didn't like relying on technological innovations, but this was one of the rare occasions when it had to be done; and after all, hadn't he been told by the installation engineer that there was no way that the device could display an erroneous position?  Reaching down to the engine room telegraph, Cassell  moved the handle from half speed ahead to full ahead. A few seconds later the bell sounded three times in response, and he could feel the vibrations from the engine picking up.

The 'Penny III' increased her speed and crashed into the waves in an even more violent manner, making the wheel noticeably more difficult to hold; compounded by the fact that they were in the far more dangerous position of being almost broadside to the waves. The next large wave proved this point by sliding them up onto it's crest and dropping them sideways down the other side. An empty mug that had once contained tea, toppled over the deep rim of the shelf beside the compass binnacle and fell with a crash onto the metal floor. Anything that wasn't tied or bolted down was sliding uncontrollably around in the bridge house.

At that particular moment, the fury of the gale was unleashed within the room itself as the side door opened and Andy Coates the Mate, hurriedly stepped in and shut the door behind him.

"Strewth Captain!" he exclaimed, "Must be an eight to niner out there; I near as damn it got swept overboard by that last big one. Hear that we're off after a drowning duck?"

Coates peeled off his oilskin jacket and sou'wester, and hung them on a hook beside the door.

"Jeff says you'll need another pair of eyes up here shortly; any distress flares yet?"

Coates never received an answer to his question as the ship suddenly rolled heavily to starboard with green water pouring over her bulwarks. He grabbed at the rail in front of the windows and hardly touched it as a second and even larger wave struck the superstructure with a broadside, weighing the ship down even more. The vessel heeled over at a crazy angle of forty degrees or more, as Cassell fought with all his strength to avoid the onslaught of the next wave from capsizing them. Coates had the tips of his fingers torn from the rail when the second wave struck, so causing him to lose his foothold  and fall heavily onto the wet floor where he slid across to the lee wall, nearly taking Cassell with him.

The trawler wallowed drunkenly in the trough between two waves with most of her starboard deck under water. Slowly, but ever so slowly, she turned to starboard, so hitting the next wave stern first, and righting herself in the process. Only then was Cassell able to take stock of the situation on the bridge, but as he was unable to leave the wheel for as much as an instant he grabbed up the speaking tube.

"What's happening Captain?" came the anticipated response, "I really thought we were going over that time!"

"Come up quick, the Mate's taken a bad fall, looks like he's out cold; and you'd better bring the first aid with you."

Cassell replaced the speaking tube and glanced sideways at the body which was still lying up against the wall. There was nothing else he could do until the radio operator arrived, so having rechecked the compass bearing he resumed peering out into the storm, half expecting to see the distress flares from the 'Ladies Locket' at any moment.

 His mind wandered again to the prospect of rescuing maybe half a dozen men off a sinking trawler with a twenty foot sea running; would they be too late, or more importantly, what if they sailed straight past without even seeing them?

His thoughts were cut short as the side door flew open and the radio operator staggered up against the door surround, holding a small box clutched to his chest.

"Shut that damn door man." snapped Cassell angrily. "Mates' over there by the wall." he added nodding his head in the direction of the unstirring figure lying in the shadows. But the radio operator still didn't move. He seemed to be petrified to the very spot, his face had turned white and his eyes bulged as he stared out of the open doorway and into the storm. The trawler’s plates shuddered yet again as her bows sliced into another wave, sending tons of murky green water smacking against the superstructure and in through the open doorway.

"What the hells the matter with you Bates..?" Cassell's words tailed off as he too saw what the other man had seen.

The wave looming up in front of them was not smooth and green, but jagged, glistening and black.