Colin Forbes - The Power

'It may have calmed down by the time we return,' Paula suggested, not believing a word she said. 'And in summertime this place must be where the boaty types come.'

In the narrow channel of water a number of craft moored to buoys were wrapped in blue plastic to protect them against the elements. More were beached on the vast sandbank stretching clear across the estuary. Several boats were slowly circling the area where the powerboat had exploded. Paula still found the disappearance of the river extraordinary.

'It's as though there's a huge plug further out which they pull out and water just vanishes down it,' she remarked. She looked at Tweed. 'Was our journey here of any use?'

'Definitely. It's providing me with more pieces of the vague jigsaw I'm building up in my mind.'

The track fell more steeply and they saw the road leading to the quarry car park over to their right. Outside a bungalow a smartly dressed woman was shaking a blanket. Tweed stopped.

'Excuse me, have you any idea who owns that house at the top of this track?'

'A man called Gaunt. He lives somewhere way out on Bodmin Moor.'

'I might be interested in the property,' Tweed lied amiably. 'It appeared to be empty. I suppose he never comes near the place, this Mr Gaunt?'

'Someone does. Just occasionally. They did only last night. I had the TV on but I heard some kind of vehicle driving up there after dark.'

'Thank you for the information.'

'Wouldn't consider buying that old ruin,' the woman warned. 'We bought this place in summer. Never do that. We did – and we'd sell up and get out tomorrow if we could. It's spooky. Rock is only an old hotel further along the road and a few terrace houses. Nowhere to buy everyday necessities. I have to cross in that beastly old ferry to Padstow. Keep away from here.'

'You said spooky,' Paula reminded her.

'Every now and then lights appear in that house up there you've just been to see. I don't mean the room lights. More like someone prowling round with a torch. Gives me the creeps.'

'Well, thank you for your advice. It has not fallen on deaf ears,' Tweed assured her.

He waited until they had reached the bottom of the track. Paula looked along the lonely road which led to the rest of Rock.

'A waste of time,' Tweed said. 'She described it perfectly. Bob and I explored it when we were once at the Metropole for a day and a night. What are you looking for?'

Paula was delving deep inside her bag. With a triumphal air she brought out a small press-pack of white tablets.

'Look. Dramamine! And just down the road there's a shop which sells soft drinks, according to that madly flapping flag…'

They sat inside a glassed-in enclosure overlooking the estuary. Tweed swallowed a tablet washed down with orange juice and Paula checked her watch, timing thirty minutes. The water was churning now like a cauldron. Since the woman who had served them was cleaning the counter close behind they sat in silence for some time. Then Newman heard the engine of the approaching machine.

'Let me have my glasses,' he told Tweed.

The grey chopper, flying low, came in from the direction of the Atlantic. In the lenses Newman saw two men at the controls – both with their heads covered in helmets and wearing goggles Very similar to the figure which had been behind the wheel of the powerboat. The woman behind the counter disappeared through a doorway, slammed it shut. They were alone, so could talk.

'You'll say I'm paranoid,' Newman commented, 'but I think that chopper is searching for us.'

'Which would be alarming,' Tweed said quietly. 'Because it would mean someone has an excellent communication system. The crew of the chopper are either checking to see the wreckage of the ferry…

'Or,' Paula interjected, stiffening to quell a shiver, 'they know we survived and, as Bob suggested, they are searching for us.'

'Looks like the latter,' Newman agreed. 'The ferry is just going back to Padstow, it's in mid-river.'

They sat in silence again as the chopper swept low over the outgoing ferry, circled it, then flew inland over Rock. Paula found herself sitting very still, although it would be impossible for the helicopter crew to see inside the cafe.

'The copilot was also using binoculars,' Newman told them.

He had hardly spoken when they heard the machine above their heads, a reverberating roar. Newman stood up, peered out of the window to his right. They could now hear it hovering. Newman sat down again and a minute later the machine reappeared, flying over the estuary, heading out towards the Atlantic, its engine sound fading. Paula let out her breath.

'It checked that old house we explored,' Newman reported.

'Then it was looking for us,' Paula said grimly. 'How the hell do they know so much? I feel like a bug under a microscope, our every move foreseen, monitored. It's uncanny, nerve-wracking.'

'They've also committed a major tactical error by coming out into the open,' Tweed responded. 'I can see the ferry starting to come back so we'd better make our way to the landing point on the beach – wherever that may be now. The tide is starting to come in.'

They had barely stepped down on to the road when Butler, Cardon and Nield materialized from the rough ground behind the cafe. They were brushing themselves down when they reached the road.

'Did that chopper see you?' rapped out Newman.

'Silly question,' Butler rapped back, then changed his tune. 'Sorry. No, it didn't. We were flat on our backs under dead bracken and undergrowth. We saw it, heard it coming, but they didn't spot us.'

'Messy up there,' the normally immaculate Nield grumbled. He was wearing a smart business suit. 'Incidentally the joker next to the pilot had field-glasses. He particularly scanned the old house up the slope you went into.'

'We know that already,' Tweed told him.

There was a bounce in his walk as he headed for the gap in the hedge and made his way down the ramp on to the beach. The stick with the flag showing the landing point was closer to the ramp than when they had disembarked. Was that a day ago? Paula wondered. It seemed so. And why was Tweed so pleased with their diabolical trip to Rock?

'How dramatic!' Paula exclaimed.

As the ferry pitched and tossed and dusk began to fall the sea was surging in like a small tidal wave. The Atlantic was inundating the sandbanks which were shrinking in size even as she watched them. She was surprised – relieved -when the ferry arrived close to the Padstow shore and moved on past the bleak cove where they had boarded it.

'We're going to land at the harbour now the water has risen high enough,' Newman told her.

The narrow channel they had left behind on the outward trip was far wider. They arrived at the foot of a flight of steps leading up the outer side of the pier. Tweed stepped ashore on the bottom stone step, where he stayed to help Paula.

'Careful,' he warned. The first flight only has a rail on the inner side against the wall…'

She clung to it as she followed him up. Glancing to her left, she looked away quickly. With no rail on that side there was a sheer drop into the river. Higher up there was a rail on both sides which made her feel mote comfortable. She stepped on to the pier, took two paces forward, stopped, stared.

'They've opened the lock gate to the inner harbour.'

'That's because the river level is now the same as the water inside the harbour,' Tweed explained as he cleaned his glasses with his handkerchief.

'But it's gone!'

'What has?' Tweed asked, putting on his glasses again.

The Mayflower.'

'She sailed soon as the gate was opened,' a seaman leaning against the wall told Paula. 'Don't expect we'll see her awhile.'

'Why do you say that?' she asked.