15

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday! This is motor yacht Athena, Athena, Athena. Mayday Athena. My position is South three degrees, fifty-two minutes, twenty-three seconds, East fifty-five degrees, thirty-four minutes, forty-two seconds, approximately five miles southwest of Denis Island. We have hit submerged object and are sinking. I have four people on board. We require immediate assistance. Abandoning to life raft. Over.”

The VHF radio crackled loudly with static.

No one responded to the distress call. Nor was a response expected.

Ling, who’d sent the message, sat safe and sound in Alpha team’s classroom at Guardian headquarters, miles from any sinking ship. She turned to Bugsy, radio mic in hand. “Why does everything have to be repeated three times?”

Their surveillance and communications tutor, a bald man with the stocky build of a wrestler, held up two stubby fingers. “First, to ensure that the message is heard accurately. And second, to distinguish it from other radio chatter.”

He lowered the radio’s volume and faced the rest of the team.

“Knowing how to make a Mayday call is a vital skill for any crew member aboard a boat. It can mean the difference between life and death at sea.” His sharp, beady eyes flicked across to Connor. “Summarize the Mayday procedure for me.”

Connor glanced at his notes.

“Turn on VHF radio, check power, press and hold the red Distress button for five seconds—”

“Good. Now, Amir, what does this action do?” interjected Bugsy.

Amir was quick to respond. “It broadcasts a digital alert to all DSC-equipped craft as well as the local coast guard. This will include your MMSI—the unique number identifying your craft—along with your position and the time.”

Bugsy gave his student a big thumbs-up, and Amir beamed. “Jason,” Bugsy continued, “what if there’s no response within fifteen seconds?”

“Uh . . . repeat the distress call.”

“That’s right. But this time by voice, just as Ling did.” Bugsy turned to Richie, who was gazing out the window with a blank expression. “Richie, what VHF channel should you transmit on?”

Richie fumbled for an answer. “Um . . . Ten?”

“No, Channel Sixteen!” snapped Bugsy, tapping the dial on the radio that clearly indicated this. “Pay attention. Just because you’re not going on this mission, Richie, doesn’t mean you won’t need this knowledge in the future. All distress, urgency and safety signals are transmitted by international agreement on VHF Channel Sixteen. Make a note of it.”

With a grudging effort, Richie opened his laptop and typed the information down.

Bugsy tutted at his student, then resumed his questioning. “So, Marc, what must you check before sending a verbal Mayday?”

Marc rubbed his temple, trying to jog his memory. Then he clicked his fingers as he remembered. “That the radio is switched to high power to transmit.”

Bugsy nodded. “Connor, what is the official format of the Mayday call?”

Connor didn’t need to check his notes this time. “Repeat ‘Mayday’ and the name of the vessel three times, then give your position, nature of the emergency, the number of people on board and what assistance you need, and finish by saying ‘over.’”

Bugsy fired more questions around the room, allowing no one the opportunity to tune out his lesson again. Once satisfied that Alpha team knew the protocol inside out, he announced, “One important proviso about VHF radios—they have a limited line-of-sight range. In real terms, that’s about forty miles from a coastal station, but only ten miles between two yachts. So, considering the size of the oceans, this is by no means a foolproof distress system.”

“How about using a smartphone instead?” Amir suggested.

Ling laughed. “You’re at sea, stupid! Where will you get a signal?”

“Actually, cell phones can be used for requesting help,” said Bugsy. “In areas of little or seemingly no signal, a text might still stand a good chance of getting through.”

Amir gave Ling a triumphant look and waved his cell phone in her face. “See! It would work.”

“Teacher’s pet,” she muttered, her eyes narrowing.

“Loser,” shot back Amir.

Ling made a grab for his smartphone. “Watch it or I’ll stick that phone where there’s definitely no signal!”

“Settle down, you two,” said Bugsy, wagging a finger at their childish squabbling. “Ling’s got a point, though. The signal range is limited to the coastal areas. Also, only one person hears your call, and a cell phone can’t be homed in on as easily as a VHF transmission.”

Ling stuck her tongue out at Amir in smug victory.

Bugsy frowned at her but continued with his lecture. “That’s why most boats are equipped with satellite systems featuring voice, data, fax and GMDSS capabilities.”

“What’s GMDSS?” asked Jason, struggling to make notes fast enough.

“Global Maritime Distress and Safety System. It’s a highly sophisticated worldwide distress system that delivers emergency, safety and other communications, such as weather warnings and search-and-rescue messages—”

The class bell rang for lunch, and like all schoolkids, Alpha team began to pack up with impatient urgency.

“Just one more thing,” said Bugsy, holding up a bright yellow plastic cylinder with a light and a short aerial at one end. “This is an emergency position–indicating radio beacon. It transmits a distress signal to satellites and relays the information to a rescue coordination center. EPIRBs are pretty cool gadgets, since they automatically activate upon immersion in water and have a float-free bracket if the vessel sinks.”

Bugsy placed the EPIRB on the desk for the class to examine. Then he stowed away his laptop, popped a piece of chewing gum into his mouth and headed out the door.

Alpha team gathered their belongings and filed past the EPIRB, giving it the once-over.

Jason picked it up and regarded Connor. “Let’s pray there aren’t any Maydays on your mission.”

“I’m with you there,” said Connor. Then he caught the odd expression on Jason’s face. “Hey, what do you mean by that?”

“Well, you got shot last time, didn’t you?”

Nettled by the implied criticism, Connor held his rival’s gaze. “And I heard that on your Caribbean assignment you got second-degree sunburn!”

A moment of tension hung between them. Then Jason’s mouth broke into a wide grin.

“Fair point,” he chuckled, putting down the EPIRB and clapping a meaty arm around Connor’s shoulders. “That was rather stupid of me, wasn’t it?” He glanced in Ling’s direction as she left the classroom with Amir, the two of them now laughing together. “Look, just watch Ling’s back for me. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I think she can look after herself,” replied Connor, indicating the faded shadow of his black eye from the previous week.

“Sure, she can,” agreed Jason, “but if something goes wrong . . . you’ve only got each other to depend on.” His earth-brown eyes searched Connor’s face as if looking for a weakness. Then, with a final encouraging squeeze of his arm, he let go and shouldered his bag. “I hear you and Ling are flying out to Australia to meet the girls before the trip?”

Connor nodded. “Yes, by request of Mr. Sterling.”

“Well, enjoy my home turf,” he said with genuine warmth, heading for lunch. He paused a moment in the doorway as if remembering something. “But watch out for dropbears.”

“Dropbears?” queried Connor.

“Yeah, vicious little creatures. Like koalas, only with teeth. My uncle was savaged by one last summer,” Jason explained. “They hang in treetops and attack their prey by dropping onto their heads from above. Just be careful is all I’m saying.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” said Connor.

“No worries,” replied Jason, smiling.