A Twist of Sand

"You could send a radio message. There's nothing to stop you."

"Except," I said acidly, "a squadron of American ships which is cruising around here somewhere recovering guided missiles fired from Cape Canaveral. They've got aircraft with them, too. Go ahead. Broadcast to the world our illegal mission. They've got the latest radar and radio-interception devices in the world. Even so, they won't find Etosha. Not in this anchorage, anyway."

Stein glanced at me in veiled admiration.

"This Captain Peace would be a great poker-player --  always a new ace up his sleeve."

"See the sand blowing across from the sand-bars there?" I said. It billowed like a windsock of snow from the summit of Mount Everest. '* That sand is laden with mica and chemical salts. You remember a thing the U-boats used in the war -- Bold, they called it? They used to release a film of chemical components which hung like a curtain in the water and foxed our asdics. The same thing happens with that sand. Radar will simply not penetrate inside here." I turned to Anne with more vehemence than I really meant. "Go ahead. Get John to signal your American friends. And explain all this away too."

A flush came up on her cheeks, already bright with the wind.

"Computation -- you remember?" was all she said.

"Are you ready to go ashore?" I asked Stein.

"In half an hour," he said. "I've got the stores all packed."

"You'll have to put up with the surf-boat," I said. "The others got smashed . . . er -- at sea in a blow. I'll send the Kroo boy, he's the best surfman amongst the crew."

Stein's mouth hardened.

"You're going to send us ashore at the mercy of a single kaffir? What does he know about this anchorage?"

I almost felt sorry for Stein then. It was like dropping an unwanted puppy in a bucket of water with a brick round its neck. But he knew too much. The girl -- well, I had a plan for her.

"Of course I'm coming," I said. "How far do you think you'd get without me?"

Stein relaxed.  I refused to look at Anne.

"Get the boat alongside," I told John. "Detail the Kroo boy to come with me. Get some of the others to load the stuff into the boat. Smack it about."

Stein had certainly helped himself liberally to Etosha's stores. With typical thoroughness he had labelled everything. Jim, the Kroo boy, stood in the tossing surf-boat with its high prow, and the crew passed down things to him. Stein had even roped up some canvas -- for a tent presumably. He came up with a Remington high velocity in one hand and the Luger in the other. He was like a child off on a picnic.

"Arms for the man," he grinned. He'd also stuck :i Bowie knife in his belt. "This will stop almost anything," he patted the Remington affectionately. "For person:\I protection, there's nothing at all to touch the old Lugci. Perfect balance in the hand."

Anne had changed into a thicker red sweater and a duffel coat.   She was very silent.

Stein knelt down and listened to Johann's breathing.

"Tie his hands and throw him in the boat," he said callously. "He may come round on the way to the to the beach. He may cause trouble if he finds you in the boat also."

Johann was heaved like a sack of potatoes into the boat.

The native crew looked on goggle-eyed. The surf-boat looked very deep in the water, but I thought she would be all right.

I jumped in. Anne stood at the open rail and looked down into my face.

"Come on," I called.  "Jump.  I'll catch you."

It may have been the blowing salt, but her eyes were wet. The right eyelid was slightly rumpled. She gave a ghost of a smile and leapt lightly down, scarcely making use of my proffered hands.

Stein came last. I noticed the bulge of ammunition in his pockets. Well, he'd need it, every round of it, to get him out alive. You can't shoot the Skeleton Coast.

"Cast off," I said.

"Back in two hours," I called to John.

The Kroo boy cast off expertly. If he was something of a duffer at Etosha's wheel, he certainly was in his element now. He guided the heavily-laden boat expertly as I headed her towards the channel. Our course lay roughly across the causeway, now submerged, to the beach, which meant the boat would have the protection of the sand-bars for the tricky run in through the surf. Since they guarded the beach against the south-westerly swell, it shouldn't be too risky. A dollop of water came aboard and Anne gave a slight gasp. Curva dos Dunas certainly looked more terrifying from the low level of a boat than from a ship's bridge. The surf creamed on every side, but with the boat's compass I took a quick bearing and then headed her almost directly towards the high hill to the north. Once inside the channel it became smoother, and the water turned white with a pale blue backing -- like the colour of a Lazy Grey shark. Satisfied that I was now over the causeway proper, I turned the boat directly shoreward.

"How's your surf-riding?" I asked Anne banteringly.

"Not so good," she replied, putting on a brave show, but I could plainly see she was terrified of the line of creaming surf ahead.