Free San Andreas by Alistair MacLean Page A

power.’
    â€˜There’s that. There is a possibility.’ He was unconvinced and watched with some impatience as the Bo’sun spun the now useless wheel and examined the binnacle compass and the standby compass, now smashed beyond any hope of repair.
    â€˜Do we have to remain up here?’ Patterson said. ‘There’s nothing we can do here at the moment and I’m freezing to death. I suggest the Captain’s cabin.’
    â€˜I was about to suggest the same, sir.’
    The temperature in the cabin was no more than freezing point, but that was considerably warmer than it had been on the bridge and, more importantly, there was no wind there. Patterson went straight to the liquor cabinet and extracted a bottle of Scotch.
    â€˜If you can do it I can do it. We’ll explain to the Captain later. I don’t really like rum and I need it.’
    â€˜A specific against pneumonia?’
    â€˜Something like that. You will join me?’
    â€˜Yes, sir. The cold doesn’t worry me but I think I’m going to need it in the next hour or so. Do you think the steering can be fixed, sir?’
    â€˜It’s possible. Have to be a jury job. I’ll get Jamieson on to it.’
    â€˜It’s not terribly important. I know all the phones are out but it shouldn’t take too long to reconnect them and you’re fixing up a temporary rudder control in the engine-room. Same with the electrics—it won’t take long to run a few rubber cables here and there. But we can’t start on any of those things until we get this area—well, cleared.’
    Patterson lowered the contents of his glass by half. ‘You can’t run the San Andreas from the bridge. Two minutes up there was enough for me. Fifteen minutes and anyone would be frozen to death.’
    â€˜You can’t run it from any other place. Cold is the problem, I agree. So we’ll board it up. Plenty of plywood in the carpenter’s shop.’
    â€˜You can’t see through plywood.’
    â€˜Could always pop our heads through the wing doors from time to time, but that won’t be necessary. We’ll let some windows into the plywood.’
    â€˜Fine, fine,’ Patterson said. The Scotch had apparently restored his circulation. ‘All we need is a glazier and some windows and we haven’t got either.’
    â€˜A glazier we don’t need. We don’t need to have cut glass or fitted windows. You must have rollsand rolls of insulating tape in your electrical department.’
    â€˜I’ve got a hundred miles of it and I still don’t have any windows.’
    â€˜Windows we won’t need. Glass, that’s all. I know where the best glass is—and plate glass at that. The tops of all those lovely trolleys and trays in the hospital.’
    â€˜Ah! I do believe you have it, Bo’sun.’
    â€˜Yes, sir. I suppose Sister Morrison will let you have them.’
    Patterson smiled one of his rare smiles. ‘I believe I’m the officer commanding, however temporary.’
    â€˜Indeed, sir. Just don’t let me be around when you put her into irons. Those are all small things. There are three matters that give a bit more concern. First, the radio is just a heap of scrap metal. We can’t contact anyone and no one can contact us. Secondly, the compasses are useless. I know you had a gyro installed, but it never worked, did it? But worst of all is the problem of navigation.’
    â€˜Navigation? Navigation! How can that be a problem?’
    â€˜If you want to get from A to B, it’s the biggest problem of all. We have—we had—four navigating officers aboard this ship. Two of those are dead and the other two are swathed in bandages—in your own words, like Egyptian mummies. Commander Warrington could have navigated, I know, but he’s blind and from the look in Dr Singh’s eyes I should think the blindness ispermanent.’ The