Jesus! What was going on here!
The others dropped their ice creams (in the sea - what a
bloody waste!) and split into two groups. One followed the big man onto the
catamaran and started handcuffing the sailors, while the other led by Ali and
Rachel went to the support boat, where they started dropping anything
electrical overboard as well.
“Give us your phones, now”
screamed the big man.
I don’t know about the Luna
Rossa team but I was shitting my brand new boxers I can tell you that.
For a moment I wondered if I should try to send a quick text
off but then they remembered me and Ali came over and frisked me. I found
myself regretting it wasn’t Rachel and that cheered me up - if I could think
along those lines I was staying cool enough to remain ol’ Buff.
“Sorry Buff” he said, taking my battered old BB and dropping
it into those crystal blue waters. “We can’t take any chances.”
For a moment I could see it glinting under the waves then it
faded away, dropping towards the sea floor.
They seem very well organised, fully equip with plenty of
handcuffs and everyone with their tasks. The VHF radio was removed from the
RIB, together with its engine’s spark plugs, which followed my BB down to where
the water was cold, dark and still. Then all the sailors together with the
support crew made to strip down to shorts and t-shirts before being shepherded
onto the Sunseeker.
“We mean you no harm” said the big man. “You will be taken
to an isolated beach on Sardinia, where you will be released. We just want to
borrow your yacht, and we need time before anyone comes looking for it.”
Was that it? Were they just really keen AC fans who had been
gagging for a sail on this high tech beauty, or was there more to their plans
than that?
“Now is your last chance” said Rachel to me. “If you want to
find out why we want Luna Rossa you
must follow us now. Otherwise you can stay with on the Sunseeker. I should warn
you it will be very dangerous: we will understand if you are scared, if you’ve
had enough.”
Jeez, what to do.
I watched as Ali and the others shifted their bags into Luna Rossa’s starboard hull. So there
really was more to it than I guessed, and I was thinking longingly about
getting back to the hotel for a shower and clean boxers when she touched me
gently on the arm.
“Please stay, Buff: we need someone willing to tell our
story.”
Maybe I am a sucker for a pretty face and maybe it’s because
my arm is tingling all over again at the memory of that brief contact, but I
said yes, and swung my legs over the side and onto the hijacked challenger for
the 34th America’s Cup.
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