Read The Triangle and The Mountain: A Bermuda Triangle Adventure for Free Online

leave the course as it was.
    His thoughts refused to stay idle but returned to the thing
that burned him most over the last number of weeks: the thing that these three
guys had done. Which one of the three had the imagination to come up with such
a scheme?
    With a grin he remembered the reactions of the other yachtsmen
and their crews at the marina in Simpson’s Bay when he left. They had observed
him prepare for the journey. He made no secret of the fact that he was leaving
and where he was going. Many of them saw him throw off his mooring lines and
motor out towards the exit for the last time. There were some frowns amongst
his drinking pals and he could only guess what they were all thinking. He never
told anyone that he had figured out the truth, which was that there was no such
thing as the ‘Curse of the Mountain’. It was simply his three paid crew trying
to scare him into selling his yacht. If he was not a sportsman with a code he
would have exposed them as frauds. But who wanted his boat so bad? What was he
prepared to pay? And what was the buyer prepared to pay in ‘commission’ to his
three crew members? Those were the questions he still had no answers for. What
he was quite sure about was that he rejected with complete contempt the notion
that there could be any other explanation to the so-called ‘Curse of the
Mountain’. There was not more truth to that than to the Triangle thing.
    In the early hours of the morning Grant was distracted from
his creative attempts slash ruminations when there was a thumping noise in the
sails and then a harder one as something hit the deck. Immediately, he grabbed
the rubber bucket that they kept for just this purpose - and bailing, should it
ever be required. He scrambled forward with the flashlight in one hand and the
bucket in the other. The flying fish was flopping about on the deck, trying to fly
off but unable to launch itself without the water to give it speed.
    “In you go,” said Grant and scooped the fish into the
bucket. It look disappointingly small in the light of the torch. A few minutes
later the ritual repeated itself. Eventually he had four flying fishes for
breakfast, all small. Perhaps they just did not grow big in the Northern
Atlantic.
    It was hardest in the hour just before dawn, as it always is.
He longed for his bunk. He walked around on deck and decided to put a reef in
the mainsail to slow things down just a tad more for when he was sleeping,
which, by his reckoning was forty minutes away. Fine, it might mean that they
arrive at their destination one day later but they were not in a race.
    Day two announced itself in a golden glow that reflected
from the wavelets around the yacht. Just before sunrise Grant took his grimy
coffee mug into the galley and started preparing the fishes. All four fitted
into the pan.
    Maybe it was the sizzling noise that attracted her but
Madeleine appeared. Grant was pleased. Firstly, he now knew for sure that she
was still on the boat. Secondly, she appeared to be in better shape. There was
life in the hazel eyes that was not there the last time he saw her.
    “You look much better this morning,” he said, hoping against
hope that he was right. 
    “Oh, I do,” she said and lifted her arm. “This wrist band
works wonders.”
    Grant figured that keeping the gentle swells at right angles
to the boat had more to do with it but he kept his opinion to himself.
    “Are you hungry?” he asked.
    “Absolutely. What are you frying?”
    “Flying fishes. Fresh from last night. I’ll show you how to
catch them.”
    “I’ve never had flying fish before.”
    “They are nice. Where is your plate?”
    They had the fish and then decided on a full English
breakfast with eggs, bacon and croissants, which they had with butter imported
from the Netherlands and preserves made from a mix of French berries. For her
size, Madeleine had quite an appetite.
    Grant had called up a radar screen at the navigation station
and kept a casual