The Prisoner's Dilemma by Sean Stuart O'Connor Page A

be dead before the hour was out? To his amazement he then saw the man nod at the girl with the deepest show of respect. He watched him as he bent down and picked her up with no more effort than a mother would use to lift a baby. He then walked to the side of the ship and gently held her over the rail, still struggling wildly. Dunbeath focused again and saw that the man was now standing still, steadying himself, evidently waiting for the right moment. The girl continued to buck and twist in his arms but she might have been a small dog for all the trouble she gave him. A monstrous waveswept over the ship and Dunbeath saw the man bend down and carefully drop the figure over the side and into its path.
    Dunbeath refocused the telescope for a broader view. It was obvious that the ship couldn’t last much longer, stuck fast on the rocks and with the full force of the storm shrieking into its side. Enormous waves were now pounding the stricken vessel like a blacksmith’s hammer and as Dunbeath watched he knew that the rocks beneath it would be grinding the planks out of the ship’s hull with all the swift certainty of a Dunbeaton fisherman gutting a good catch.
    Dunbeath had seen enough. He stepped away from the telescope and picked up his notes, quite sure that the end must be near. The ship would break up before dawn rose and he saw little point in it interrupting his work any longer.
    * * * 
    Onboard Zweig was like a man reborn. There was no calmness about him now as he called his men towards him, shouting orders as he did so.
    â€˜Bring up a long cable from below. Enough to reach the shore,’ he bellowed.
    Before long the thick rope was being passed up and two men were then ordered to attach the lightest cord they could find to its end. Zweig inspected their work, pulling hard at where the two lines met. He satisfied himself that the join would hold and then ripped off his heavy weather jacket and sea boots. The crew looked at him with disbelief and yet with a hope born of despair. He tied the light line around his waist.
    â€˜Hartmann,’ he yelled in the Master’s ear above the howl of the gale, ‘I shall swim for it. When I’m on the shore I’ll get those people there to pull the cable down. When we have it secure at that end, tighten it around the capstan. Lift it clear of the waves and then send the men down.’
    Zweig took no notice of Hartmann’s feeble attempt to restrain him and simply checked again that the light line was tight around his waist and trailing behind him. Then, without a backward glance, he jumped up on the rail and flung himself into the boiling sea.
    At first he swam strongly towards the beach. He made a hundred yards and every man on board urged him forward. With pounding hearts they would see his head break surface and then a collective prayer would be muttered when it disappeared once again. With each stroke he made, the line fed out and Zweig’s men could only guess at the drag he must have been fighting. At intervals they would see him stop and then desperately tread water as he leant backwards to manhandle the thin rope towards him. With it pooled beneath him he would strike out for the shore once more.
    Another hundred yards was gained. As each inch played out the sailors cheered more wildly. Any other man would have been spent by now but his crew knew that their captain’s huge strength, and his unbreakable determination, were driving him on to success or death. Nearer to the beach the breakers grew ever larger and Zweig would be frequently lost to the men’s view for half a minute or more. Then he’d reappear and they’d see an arm come over for yet another stroke. Yard by yard he closed on the beach. There could only be thirty or forty left.
    Just as the onlookers began to dare that Zweig might succeed, the crazy turmoil of the disturbed surf sucked him onto a line of hidden rocks close to the shore. Even the