The Triangle and The Mountain: A Bermuda Triangle Adventure (28 page)

“Was that all?”

“Not really. She wanted pictures as well, in all kinds of
situations but especially of their cars, each time they bought a new one. That
was quite often, because they tend to change cars a lot.”

“Why is that?”

“They are a very accident prone family. I’ve never seen
anything like it. I understand they have some serious difficulty getting
insurance nowadays.”

“What personal things of yourself have you given her?

“Nothing. She just asked me for a picture of the boat, so I
gave her a large full colour one.”

“Big mistake,” said Madeleine. “Like naming this boat after
the mountain. Are you sure that is all she has of you?”

“I’ve stored some items there, items that I could not take
on the boat. What is with all these questions?”

“I just see a picture,” said Madeleine, “Little bits and
pieces fitting together.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Has it ever occurred to you that the old people could have
been seriously offended by the fact that you went sailing when they had big
events, big birthdays coming up?” asked Madeleine.

“No. How can they expect me to put my life on hold for them?
Surely they understand that?”

“They didn’t, actually. They’ve turned on you.”

“And caused this?” Grant poked the mist with the pole.

“That is what I think.”

“Impossible.”

 “The story of Otto’s grandfather is the key to what I
understand,” said Madeleine. “Those graves on the mountainside must be graves
of many generations of sorcerers. That friendly old shepherd was a current
sorcerer and probably responsible for the deaths of many children. Otto’s
grandfather was actually in serious danger without knowing it. And somehow the
spirit of the
bakor
has made contact with these old farmer people. The
things they do are voodoo things. They practice it and in return they grow very
old. For the
manbo
on St Martin to be so upset, it must be a very
powerful spirit that lives in that mountain. You’ve brought something with you
that is threatening the balance that we have established.”

“But I knew nothing about it. Provided you are right, how do
I get rid of it?”

“You have to give up your ties with that place. You have to
give up your farm and your gift.”

“My luck?”

“Yes, your luck.”

“Never!”

“Then you will die, turn to nothing and only the curse will
remain, to once again attack anyone who travels in the Triangle.”

“Is there no other way?”

“No. None at all. You are attracting the full force of that
thing here, as a reverse for the gifts that you have received.”

“I will never go there again. I will give up the farm but I
will never let go of my luck.”

“What good will it do you if you are dead?”

“It will help me through, this time as well.”

“What if it has turned on you?”

“Has it?”

“It has. You have to cut your ties with it by denouncing
it.”

Grant started pacing the small area of the cockpit. “Every
instinct in me suggests that this mist is nothing special. In a while it will
lift like all fogs eventually do. What you are suggesting simply doesn’t make
any sense.”

“Those are your emotions, not your instincts. What does your
mind say? What have you
seen
when you were up on that mast? The fact
that we are covered in a cocoon of fog while it is clear all around us,
together with this,” she said, pointing at the spinning compass between them,
“and all the other malfunctions clearly point to a Triangle event that can
clearly end badly for us. In fact, it most certainly will, since you came here
with a curse on your head.”

“Yes, I know, but I can’t do it. I just can’t give up my
luck. It’s what keeps me winning. It’s what got me this boat! I cannot give up
my boat!”

“So you’d rather take that chance and die? Is that it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well, what about me, Grant? Should I die with you? Think
about that. My family had already lost a member to the Triangle. What will it
do to them to lose me as well?

“I cannot live without my luck,” said Grant. “Do you know
what I was before?”

“No, but you were alive. Does that not matter?”

“I was a common salesman, selling health insurance, lying to
people, because when they claimed there was always a problem. It was a miserable
life, always short of money. Do you see me going back to that?”

“You sound perfect for a bank like ours with that kind of
sales experience. Focus on me, Grant,” Madeleine said, planting herself in front
of him and stopping his wandering. “If we don’t stop this now, a lot of people
will die, starting with me. Do you have the right to take me as well? Think
about my parents. It is in your hands to take me away or to give me back to
them. What will it be?”

Grant stared at Madeleine for a long moment. It took a while
before he found enough willpower to overcome the surge in his emotions but
eventually he did.  It was a battle similar to the one he had fought early in
the morning in Madeleine’s cabin not many days ago. “All right,” he said. “I
will do it. At least, I will give it a try. What do I need to do?”

“Firstly, you send an email to the farming couple that you
are giving back their land.”

“The computer is not functioning.”

“Then write it on a piece of paper and give it to me. Let’s
go.” Grant put the spinnaker pole down and they went below. Madeleine found a
sheet of paper and handed it over with a pen.

“Don’t make it long,” she said. “Because we might not have
much time left. And please sign it. Now I want you to take this second sheet
and write on it that you denounce all spiritual and other gifts that you have
received through your association with the Kamberg Mountain and everyone living
in it and around it.”

 Grant did as he was bid and handed back both sheets.
Madeleine pressed the lever that elevated the chair and settled in front of his
computer at the office desk.

Grant had a look through the portholes. “It’s disappearing!”
he called. “The mist is disappearing! Now can I have these sheets back?”

“No,” said Madeleine. “It will come back.” She snatched the
two sheets of paper from the desk and held them out of reach of his
outstretched hand.

“Are you sure, Madeleine? It’s my farm and my luck. It’s
millions of dollars. This is my life that we are talking about.”

Madeleine pressed the power button and the computer sprung
to life as if rising seawater and electronic fog had never threatened it.

“How do you explain the fact that the computer came on, now
that the mist has left?” she asked. “Was that just some ordinary fog? You are
breaking the hold of the Curse of the Mountain on you. That is what you are
seeing out there.”

“I’m not doing it for me,” he said.

“I know. Now, could you please put in your password and
connect us to the internet.”

She continued to keep the sheets far away as Grant
established connection through the satellite phone. Then she opened Outlook,
called up the last email that Grant had sent and used the address. When she was
done copying his letter about giving up the farm on the mountain she pressed
the ‘Send’ button and sat there until the email had gone. She selected ‘Sent
Items’ and checked that it had gone indeed.

She folded up the second sheet with the denunciation of his
‘luck’ and stuck it into her brassiere. “You will never see it again,” she said
to Grant.

“Now what?” he asked.

“My work is done,” she said. “You are the captain. What we
do is up to you.”

Grant stepped out of his office, bent over the chart table
and reached for the sailing computer. “Everything seems to be working,” he
said, flipping through the screens. “Let’s see on deck.”

They scaled the stairs inside a second. The day was bright
and sunny, with not a cloud to be seen, not overhead and not on the horizon.
Nowhere was there even the slightest suggestion of mistiness. Grant checked the
screens of the Garmin in the doghouse as well and declared with relief that he
knew where they were, which was actually not far from where they started out in
the morning and not somewhere in a strange galaxy. He just had to know. The
compass needle lay steady, not varying from its usual deviation, which was
quite close to geographical north in these longitudes.

***

Grant sorted out the pieces of the emergency rudder once
more. He found smaller pieces hidden away in the corners of the cockpit but
fortunately nothing was missing. The drill was turning with full force and it
took only a minute to finish the remaining hole in the transom. Attaching all
the pieces took another two hours and then they hauled up the sea anchor that had
served them so well. It came on board reluctantly and Grant strung it up on
inner stays to dry so he could fold it away. The light air was moving lazily
and in fits and mostly from the east, the direction in which they wanted to go.
 It appeared too little to move the big yacht.

“Do you feel like some hard work?” Grant asked.

“I’m really drained,” said Madeleine.

“All right, I’m not up to it either, not after an eighty
foot climb and working the windlass manually to get that sea-anchor up. We’ll hoist
our working sails and hope for the best. Tomorrow, if things have not improved,
we will replace the working sails with a lightweight set.”

 They set the Genoa and raised the main, mizzen and mizzen
fore-staysail to their full.

“I thought you were supposed not to set so much sail with
the auxiliary rudder,” said Madeleine.

“We balance the sails so that the boat can almost sail
without a rudder,” said Grant. “That way we can put more sail on when the wind
is light. From now on it is true sailsmanship that will get us through. We will
reef much sooner than before and we put nose into the wind with the mizzen
whenever it gets rough.”

 It was during this time that they realised that they had
lost several winch handles.

“Next time we cross paths with a hurricane,” Grant said,
“please remind me that we take the handles below.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Madeleine. “I’ll add it to my list.”

Somehow the yacht started moving after all, pushed by a
whisper of a wind on the starboard beam.

“Look, we have a wake!” cried Madeleine excitedly.

With a mixture of anxiety and pride they watched their new
rudder take up the strain, to keep them on a course directly northward. In the
absence of any serious wind or waves, other than slow swells, they experimented
with tacking and gybing actions without any trouble. There were a few extra
points to remember in the procedures but they reckoned they would cope.

Day fourteen. They were experimenting with the wind vane during
breakfast when a ship appeared above the horizon and headed directly for them.
It was a Coast Guard cutter. It drew up within hailing distance.

“We could not reach you on the VHF,” said the captain, who
introduced himself as Austin.

“We’ve got no power left,” called Grant.

“Do you need any assistance?” asked Captain Austin.

“The main problem we have,” responded Grant, “is that our
engine does not work. We have water in the diesel and maybe in the engine
itself.”

Two uniformed officials and an engineer in overalls came
over in a Zodiac. It took the engineer half an hour to check the engine for terminal
exposure to salt water. “You’ve been lucky,” he said. “She did not get more
than a spit of water through the air intake and I don’t see any other damage.”

They replaced the diesel in the tanks with the forty litres
that he had brought with him and swung the engine from a set of batteries that
he had brought along as well in a handy carry-pack. The Volvo came to life,
blew a puff of blue smoke and settled down into a clean-running rhythm after just
a few minutes. From the slickness with which it all happened it appeared to
Grant as if the engineer had done this job on many boats before. Grant asked
for and got another five hundred litres of diesel at the going price.

The Coast Guard steamed back the way they came and left them
in an area of weak and inconsistent breezes. Both routers that Grant spoke to
said that they had never seen the weather patterns so confused. It was probably
the aftermath of the hurricane.  Slowly they sailed north, waiting for a
favourable wind to take them to Bermuda. On the weather faxes they read the
isobars.

“Look,” said Garth. “The centre of the high pressure cell is
directly on Bermuda. Maybe the weather does not want you to get home after
all.”

“It’s often like that,” said Madeleine. “Don’t worry. It
does eventually change and it is not as if I am in a dead hurry.”

Grant decided that staying with the longitude of seventy
degrees west was best, since he did not fancy putting too much pressure on the
new rudder by tacking to and fro against west-flowing air. They made frequent
sail changes and Grant noticed that Madeleine was gradually developing touches
that were sure and accurate. Often she went about her job without a single
direction from him. He was giving her back to her parents but he wondered if
she was ever going to be the same girl who came onto his boat in a designer
outfit and high heels.

In between sail changes the yacht reverberated to Electronic
Dance Music and artists that Grant had never heard of, such as Edie Brickel
& The New Bohemians. Surprisingly, Madeleine’s choices also included a
Celine Dion number or two, perhaps in an attempt to find a middle ground
between them. Not that he was a fan. From Grant’s side there was Stevie Ray Vaughan,
as well as Bryan Adams, who once more got a lot of playtime. They worked out a
system of alternating control of the sound waves and maintained the peace.

At last they reached favourable winds - a band of westerly
winds north-west of Bermuda, dark with line squalls. This was their ticket. Grant
poled out an additional jib and they ran wing-on-wing before a twenty five knot
breeze, heading east. It was stormy behind them over the Gulf Stream and they
listened with mild amusement to boats reporting difficulties in fifteen foot
waves. The cold front caught up and pushed the waves out to where they were and
although it necessitated time at the exposed tiller for both of them, it was
mere routine.

Everything was as usual, and yet different. “I’m afraid
things have changed indeed,” Grant announced to Madeleine. I’ve just lost a
quarter of a million dollars on a deal. It is the first time since I started
trading.”

“Are you sure it is not just the usual up-and-down?” she
asked. “You cannot always win.”

“That is the thing,” he said. “I always won. Without
exception, until today. Clearly my luck has left me. I was so sure about this
one. All the indicators pointed to a reversal and then the stock simply
continued to plummet.”