We ran down the cinder track and across the greasy surface of the flensing deck. The moonlight was quite bright now. By comparison the inside of the factory was very dark. One solitary light glowed at the far end. It showed the shadowy shapes of oil vats rising to the roof. I moved cautiously forward and almost immediately stumbled into a thick, evil-smelling mass. It was a pile of waste from the vats, still warm like a dung hill. The place was silent, yet full of the sound of escaping steam. The steady hiss of it seemed as much a part of the building as the heavy warmth and the smell. The sound of the steam was all round us like a singing in the ears. And through it came a faint bubbling sound. It was boiling oil trickling down the gutterings between the vats.
Curtis gripped my arm. On the other side of the building a rectangle of pale moonlight showed the doorway that he had remembered. For a moment it was blocked by shadows. Then it was clear again. Something fell with a crash of iron and there was a muttered curse in Norwegian. Then a torch was shone on the floor. ‘You take Lovaas,’ I told Curtis. ‘Dick. You get the other fellow. I’ll look after Sunde.’
We dosed on them from behind. It would have been easy if Dick hadn’t stumbled against something. There was a clatter. Then the torch swung on to us. I saw Curtis go forward in a diving tackle. The torch spun across the floor. There was a thud of bone on bone as Dick hit out. And then everything was a wild jumble of curses and blows. ‘Sunde,’ I called. ‘Quick. The yacht is down in the cutting.’ He must have heard me, for I saw his small figure dive for the doorway. Curtis and Dick called to each other. Then we were all through the door and running for all we were worth across the open rock. Sunde was ahead of us, clearly visible in the moonlight. His boots slithered on the smooth rock. We quickly overhauled him.
Behind us came a shout. I glanced over my shoulder. The corrugated iron of the factory was quite white in the moonlight. Lovaas was following us. A stab of orange flame was followed by the whine of a bullet. He was firing as he ran.
We topped a rise and saw Diviner’s masts. I shouted for them to get the engine started. My breath was coming in great sobs. I was badly out of training. The engine burst into life as we scrambled down the rocks into the cutting. Jill waved to us from the cockpit. Wilson was holding the boat against the outgoing tide on the after warp. ‘Let go,’ I told him as we reached the deck. Instantly the tide dragged her clear of the rocks.
Jill caught my arm. ‘Thank God you’re all right, Bill,’ she said. ‘Was there shooting?’
‘Yes. Lovaas.’ I called to Carter for full speed and took the wheel. Sunde looked all in. His face was pale. ‘Get him below,’ I told Curtis. ‘And have Jill see to that hand of his.’ Sunde had a nasty cut across the knuckles. ‘You all right, Dick?’
‘Fine,’ he replied.
I looked back. Two lines of ripples stretched diagonally across the inlet, marking our progress. A figure appeared on the rock under which we had moored. It was Lovaas. He stood watching us for a moment, quite still and silent. Then he turned and went back towards the factory.
‘Take over, will you, Dick,’ I said. ‘I want to have a talk with Sunde.’
‘Where shall I head for, skipper?’
‘Sognefjord,’ I answered. ‘We’re going to Fjaerland.’
Before going below to interview Sunde, I went into the chartroom and worked out our course. There was a good deal of cloud about and I wanted to avoid any islands until we opened the entrance to Sognefjord. ‘Is the log out?’ I called to Dick. • ‘No,’ he answered. ‘Shall I stream it?’
‘Please.’ I had little tidal information and it was difficult to work out any allowances for drift. But the course we were sailing was marked by two lights and we should have to work on these. I drew in the lines of our course and then went into the cockpit. Dick had left the wheel and was fitting the log line to its bracket. I held the wheel as he dropped the heavy, finned spinner overboard. The thin line trailed aft in our wake and as he let the last loop drop overboard the log wheel began to turn. He came back and took the wheel. ‘What’s the course?’ he asked.
‘North thirty west,’ I answered.
The Nordhordland coast by Bovaagen was already no more than a low line of rock, shining white in the moonlight. It straggled out in a series of hummocks along our starb’d beam until it thinned to a narrow line and vanished. To the west lay open sea. Ahead of us a light winked steadily. ‘That’s Hellesoy light,’ I said. ‘It’s on the island of Fedje. Leave that to port, but keep as close to the island as possible. Utvaer light should then be on the starb’d bow. Hold your course for ten miles and then turn to bring Utvaer fine on the port bow. I’ve marked it on the chart. Okay?’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘What about watches?’
