"Archer, Geoffrey - The Burma Legacy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Archer Geoffrey)

water pump replaced. A tip-off they'd desperately needed. Until then,
they'd spent the day rushing from one sun-baked anchorage to another in a
fruitless search for him.
Suddenly a beep shrilled from the console in front of them.
"Shit!"
"What's that?"
Sam grabbed the throttles and yanked them back to neutral.
"Oil pressure." He pointed to the gauge. The needle had sunk to zero.
"What's that mean?"
"Don't know, yet." He pulled the stop button and the engine died.
"For Christ's sake, Steve! What're you doing? We've got to get to that
marina."
"No oil, no can do." He spun from his seat, slid down the companionway
steps and stomped into the saloon. Before leaving harbour that morning
he'd been given the briefest of tours of the boat's machinery space. He
unclipped the engine covers and peered inside.
Midge followed him down. When she reached him he was reading the
dipstick.
"Bone dry." He opened the spares locker. "But we're in luck! There's a
five-litre can here."
"They forgot to top up before we took the boat?"
"Or else there's a leak." He leaned into the engine space again. There
were black oil smears down the engine block. "Could be that the rocker
cover wasn't screwed down properly."
"Meaning . . .?"
"That I might be able to fix it with a spanner." He looked in the locker,
found a large, long-handled wrench and applied it to the loose securing
bolts. "Better get back on deck and keep watch. Make sure nothing runs us
down."
He poured the fresh oil into the engine, cleaned up and restarted the
diesel, checking there were no more leaks. Soon they were on their way
again.
"Fix you a drink, skipper?" Midge asked, her eyes betraying a trace of
admiration.
"I could murder a mug of tea."
She headed down to the galley.
fifteen minutes later there was a further message from the manna. The
Estelle had called to say she'd be alongside at four-thirty.
Sam smiled with satisfaction. "We'll only be twenty minutes behind
"Well, well, well," said Midge. "Perhaps there is a God."
Ten minutes later they arrived at a guano-smeared post marking the
entrance to the channel which led through mangrove clumps to the
marina. The water here was like brown soup. Sam reduced speed to a point
not far above the 5 knots allowed. Midge sat tensely beside him, as more
long-tail boats sliced past, their fisherman owners waving giant prawns in
hope of a sale.
The channel narrowed. Ahead, the river was flanked by mangrove roots
spindly as spider-legs. Then, round a bend, the concrete harbour
came in view, just as the police radio crackled one more time.
Estelle in berth Bzj. If you quick, you take the space next. "