Black Reef

by Nick Elliott

  ‘Why don’t you get him to do some discreet probing now? Don’t let him get in harm’s way though. He’s not even on our books.’

  ‘Is anyone on our books? Anyway, it’s an idea. The bank needs to be checked out even if only to cross them off the list of suspects. We can’t ignore the link that Benny Carasso provided from the letter of credit for the Trabzon arms shipment.’

  ‘That’s what I was following up on. That’s why she told me about her boss spending so much time in Zurich. But I don’t want her in harm’s way either.’

  ‘Okay. She may be perfectly harmless, in which case we don’t want to compromise her. But she may be involved, in which case she’s poison.’

  ‘It’s highly unlikely that she’s involved in anything nasty. That’s my belief.’

  ‘Nevertheless, Claire, I think whoever ran you off the road knew about your dinner appointment with her.’

  ‘So she’s being watched, you think? And she came to see me here.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Summers about tightening up your security.’

  We talked on and when I was leaving I hugged her gently. ‘Give me a proper hug,’ she said. ‘I won’t break into tiny pieces.’ I pulled her closer to me.

  ***

  That evening I had dinner with Pedro at another of his Fado haunts in Alfama. Now he knew I was a fan he was eager to show me more. I told him of the failed coup, which was already big news in Lisbon. He knew of Loma’s execution and Mendesa’s failed attempt to seize power. And he knew of Nzinga’s accession of course – the news had been full of it. I told him of Mariana’s part in it all. And then I told him about Maria Da Rosa, the contact Claire had made at Banco Imperio before she’d been hit.

  ‘Pedro, you told me weeks ago to stay away from the bank but they are part of this whole business, I’m sure of it. I need to find out what their agenda is, their hidden agenda I mean. They’re playing a bigger part in this game than we’ve realised.’ I told him about the Banco Imperio’s gold deposits being stored in Porto.

  He gave a low whistle and then nodded thoughtfully. ‘Actually, it makes sense. There were good gold smelting facilities in Porto after the war, and no questions asked. Okay, leave it with me. I’ll do some digging. What did Claire say to this woman?’

  ‘She sounded her out as to the bank’s interest in taking a stake in Dalmatia Shipping. They need a serious investor to bail them out. The woman said she’d mentioned it to her boss, who’d been travelling to Zurich a lot in recent weeks. But there’s no need for you to meet her, Pedro. We don’t want her exposed to any risk over this.’

  Chapter 26

  I’d been to Hartside House before. It was a black site detention centre run by the IMTF and other intelligence agencies to interrogate people who had secrets they were reluctant to disclose. Situated in the Buckinghamshire countryside and surrounded by a hundred acres of woods and parkland, the late eighteenth-century mansion looked like just another of England’s many old country piles. Built by an officer of the Honourable East India Company who had made good on the back of the opium trade with China, it had been requisitioned in the Second World War by the War Office and remained in the hands of the state ever since.

  I was transported to this place of dubious purposes in an unmarked Jaguar. I sat beside the driver but we didn’t talk much. The heater created a cosy fug and as the wipers swept monotonously across the windscreen I felt myself drifting off. It was early December and the trees and hedgerows were bare. Rain slanted across this bleak landscape driven in by a cold north-easterly wind off the Russian Steppe. I woke up as we slowed down in front of a pair of huge wrought-iron gates. The security check at the lodge house was conducted by a burly man in his late fifties with a bald head and a military moustache. He was accompanied by an unfriendly Alsatian who tried to get at me through the passenger window. When we arrived at the house Amber Dove was standing on the steps at the front door. She was wearing a black quilted overcoat with a fur hood. Amber was noticeably slimmer than when I’d last seen her, and I wondered whether the weight loss was due to stress or diet. Her manner was brusque but friendly.

  ‘Welcome once again, Angus!’ she exclaimed, gripping my hand. ‘And before you ask, I’m back running the show; at least this case I mean. Then off to Tuscany never to be heard of again.’

  ‘You deserve a rest, Amber, but I’m glad you’re in on this one. Who else is here?’

  ‘Ben Wood who you’ll remember from last time, and a couple of specialists. And Claire of course, on the video link, poor girl. How did you find her? I went down to see her in Lisbon you know, when you were in Kazunda. She was being well looked after.’

  ‘She’s good. It’ll take time but you know Claire, she’s nothing if not resolute.’

  ‘And thank God for that. Come on in and I’ll introduce you.’

  Four people were standing around in the conference room drinking coffee and talking among themselves.

  ‘Ben Wood you’ll remember from the last time,’ said Amber, interrupting the group. I still had no idea if Ben Wood was his real name. He’d been assigned from MI6 as an observer on the last IMTF case I’d been involved in, but there had been little doubt in anyone’s mind that his real purpose was to uncover weaknesses within the IMTF in preparation for a takeover. And that was what I thought had transpired, with Amber Dove being the scapegoat. Only Amber Dove was back in charge – for now, at least. Ben had tamed his mountain-man beard into a neat goatee since I’d last seen him, but was still wearing a suit that looked several sizes too small for him.

  Amber continued the introductions. ‘Now then, Captain Bob Fraser commands HMS Buttress. I suspect you’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other from now on and I’ll let Bob tell you all about his wonderful ship in due course.

  ‘And Lieutenant Commander George Conway here is in command of the SBS’s C Squadron. I thought it would be useful to get his take on all these goings-on, and again, we’ll be in need of his services before long. Likewise with Lieutenant Kate Henderson here. Kate is from 18 UKSF Signal Regiment. She is also acting as liaison officer on this case between the intelligence services, including GCHQ, and the military.’

  They were both in civilian clothing. Kate Henderson was a serious young woman who I’d encountered once before. She’d told me she lived in Herefordshire close to the Special Forces home base at Stirling Lines where her own regiment also operated from, but spent a lot of time in Cheltenham with GCHQ, which was only forty miles away.

  George Conway, who I hadn’t met before, was a cheerful individual with an intelligent face and hair long enough to give a sergeant major apoplexy. I estimated he was over six and a half foot tall.

  By contrast Bob Fraser, an equally amiable Scot, was short and broad with a bald head that shone under the light.

  We all shook hands. I poured myself a coffee and we sat down round the table facing the top of the room where three large screens were positioned. As we were settling down one of the screens came alive and there was Claire sitting in her hospital room. She waved and we all clapped. She laughed, looking embarrassed.

  ‘So, to business,’ said Amber Dove. ‘Angus, I believe Claire has told you that we now have eyes on Mendesa. He boarded a ship in the Spanish enclave of Ceuta on the Mediterranean side of the Moroccan coast. The ship replenished bunkers there and Mendesa took delivery of her onto timecharter on behalf of this West Africa Development Factoring outfit you uncovered. The agent has confirmed all of this. For Immigration clearances purposes, Jawad Mendesa was signed on the crew articles as a supernumerary, so he wasn’t being particularly careful.

  ‘The ship passed through the Straits of Gibraltar about six hours ago and is headed north, destination unknown.’ She activated one of the screens with a remote control and a picture of a roll-on roll-off ship appeared. ‘This is the vessel, a ro-ro: the Poseidon Pioneer. Her AIS is off of course, but we’re tracking her by our own eye in the sky.’

  ‘Any cargo on board?’ I asked.

&nb
sp; ‘No cargo was declared when she entered and cleared Ceuta but that doesn’t mean a lot. We’re still waiting for Lloyd’s to give us her previous ports of call and cargo particulars. They’ve promised to have an answer for us by 1400 today, Kate says, so within the next hour or so.

  ‘This ship seems to have popped up out of nowhere; probably re-registered and renamed prior to her arrival in Ceuta.’

  Ro-ro ships have large external doors close to the waterline and open vehicle decks with few internal bulkheads, making it a high-risk design which had led to several well-publicised casualties. If the loading door-cum-ramp isn’t properly closed, once at sea the ship can take on water, which will slop around the vehicle deck and set up a free surface effect making the ship unstable and prone to capsizing.

  ‘For now though,’ Amber continued, ‘I want everyone to be aware of what we know so far. So Angus, would you like to pull it all together for us?’

  Amber sat down as I stood and moved to the top of the room. I’d submitted a full report to both Amber and Claire the previous evening. Now I ran through it, covering pretty much everything from Claire’s original investigation into Dalmatia Shipping, to Babic’s suicide, or murder, the attempts on our lives, and the events in Kazunda leading to Nzinga’s investiture as president. I covered Grant’s role as senior case officer but made no mention of anyone’s culpability or of Grant’s equivocal position vis-á-vis the IMTF, SIS and CIA which, in my view, clearly had a direct bearing on this case. That was a question for Amber if anyone asked. I just spelled out the events as they’d occurred, including Claire’s account of her meetings with Maria da Rosa.

  I went into the assistance provided by Benny Carasso and Gudrun Sandmeier in uncovering the link between Mendesa’s WADF sovereign wealth fund, Credit Sud of Zurich and Banco Imperio, and the transfer of gold from Germany via Switzerland to the Portuguese bank during and after the war, firstly in payment for the purchase of tungsten exports to Nazi Germany and secondly, after the war, to fund ODESSA.

  And although I’d never met Jawad Mendesa, I recounted what I’d heard from Cordeiro and others regarding his psychopathic behaviour and his alleged responsibility for war crimes, including rape and murder, committed against Kazundan citizens.

  I detailed Horvat’s role as a GRU agent and the ambiguity over whether he was directing Mendesa, or vice versa, commenting that I felt the most likely explanation was that Mendesa was Russia’s useful idiot, or at least their stalking horse as Cordeiro had maintained, and Horvat was there to manage the operation. That had been the plan, but neither of them had acted according to that plan. By any measure it had been a botched operation. Horvat was typical of the ham-fisted kind of GRU agent we had seen too much of in recent times, and Mendesa was a clever but dangerous head case. It was not a match made in heaven but nonetheless the Russians were behind it, although Mendesa had his own agenda. In part it was a case of mutual interests being upset by clashing personalities, and the overall incompetence of those directing it from the GRU’s headquarters in Moscow.

  ‘But make no mistake,’ I said, ‘the big play was by the Russians, in fulfilment of their strategic aims in Africa, which were unsuccessfully countered by our Cousins in Langley.’

  I speculated that the missile attack on the Sea-En Resolution came from a Russian submarine out in the Atlantic, and asked whether this had been verified. It had. And I described Cordeiro’s role, his political leanings and his murder by parties unknown, pointing out that both the CIA and the GRU had cause for grievance against him.

  Finally, I went back to Claire’s finding that gold bullion held by Banco Imperio was apparently stored in vaults in the port city of Porto.

  ‘Banco Imperio’s role in this case has not been fully exposed or understood yet,’ I concluded, ‘but it is said that Portugal is still sitting on most of the gold it received in payment for its tungsten sales to Nazi Germany. Some say there’s still four hundred tons of it stashed away both in Portugal and elsewhere. My best guess is that Banco Imperio is offshoring its share well away from the prying eyes of those who wish to see it surrendered – returned to whoever the Nazis looted it from. It’s a divisive issue in Portugal today but Antonio Salazar always maintained the gold was legitimate payment for the tungsten sales. Squirrelled away somewhere in Africa where it can be used to acquire arms and materiel, for bribing corrupt politicians or funding coups, would make sense. The bank’s business plan is focused on investment in Portugal’s former African colonies, legitimately or otherwise. And it’s also my guess that they’re playing footsie with the Kremlin along the way.’

  I’d drawn a diagram. It remained for them to join the dots. And as if on cue, Kate Henderson received a signal on her phone, got up and left the room returning a few minutes later. ‘Lloyd’s say the ship loaded trucks and other equipment in the Black Sea port of Trabzon.’

  ‘Where the Dalmatia Star loaded,’ said Amber. ‘I don’t suppose they knew her final destination. Do we know her latest position?’

  ‘Passing Lisbon now, still heading north.’

  And you didn’t need to be a psychic to know where the Poseidon Pioneer was headed.

  There followed hours of discussion during which everyone had their say. We sketched out differing scenarios and argued the details of the operation inside out. Only Claire left the meeting. She had suddenly looked worn out.

  The meeting turned into an informal war games exercise in which we projected every possible eventuality given what scant information we had as to the Poseidon Pioneer’s future movements. We could be reasonably certain that the ship, with Mendesa on board, was heading for Porto, presumably to load some or all of Banco Imperio’s gold bullion. What then? It was unlikely the ship would continue northbound or westward across the Atlantic so we focused our attention on her southbound options – either eastward back into the Med or south down the African coast. But to where?

  Chapter 27

  ‘So,’ Amber announced, addressing George Conway and myself after the others had left. ‘There’ll be an navy Puma arriving to pick the two of you up from here at 0700 tomorrow. It will drop you aboard the Buttress as she’s leaving Devonport. Thereafter you’ll be kept informed of developments as we receive further intel ourselves. Don’t underestimate the opposition. Just because they failed last time doesn’t mean they will again. And remember, the GRU are behind this. Covertly perhaps: they can’t afford to have their involvement broadcast. But rest assured we will know more of their intentions than they know of ours, and to maintain that position the element of surprise is crucial. Remember the advice from Sun Tzu’s The Art of War: “Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”’ It was the kind of rousing quote the philosopher general was known for though it sounded slightly incongruous coming from Amber Dove.

  Conway and I stayed at Hartside that night. After dinner we had a couple of drinks in the bar and turned in early. We’d talked of many things, but not the operation that lay ahead. We were getting the measure of each other I guess.

  The Puma landed on the lawn outside the house where a large H had been marked out in yellow to guide it in. The rain had turned to sleet overnight and the wind had strengthened. I’d developed an aversion to helicopters since the ditching episode off Kazunda. The Puma was more substantial than the little Robinson we’d gone down in, but that didn’t make me feel any more confident.

  We took off into the buffeting wind, skimming the tall chimneypots of the old house and heading west. It took us just under two hours’ flying time at an altitude of twelve hundred feet and the strong headwind before we began our descent onto the flight deck of HMS Buttress as she was sailing past the breakwaters on her way out of Plymouth Sound. The Puma landed with a thump and as I slowly released my vice-like grip on the armrests, Conway looked across the aisle and treated me to a relaxed smile. The flight deck crew beckoned us over to the control island, where I was greeted by the officer of the day who introduced himself a
s Lieutenant Gordon Jenkins. ‘This ship’s our very own Swiss Army knife,’ he announced in a confident Welsh accent as we made our way forward to the captain’s quarters. ‘Does anything and everything.’

  Captain Bob Fraser had returned the previous night. ‘Welcome aboard,’ he said as we entered his dayroom. ‘Coffee?’ He waved us over to two armchairs and sat down opposite us.

  After the steward had brought in the coffee another officer entered the room. ‘Ah,’ said Fraser getting up. ‘Commander Geoff Williams. Geoff is equivalent to your Chief Officer, Angus. Thought it would be useful for the four of us to have a chat about the operation.

  ‘First I’ll give you a quick rundown on the ship. We’re a landing platform dock, or LPD. Our role is to support the Royal Marines, the SBS included of course, ashore, by air and by sea - and in a big way. We’ve got boats in the landing dock in the belly of the ship. We’ve got assault helicopters on the flight deck. We can carry 256 troops with their vehicles and combat supplies – up to 405 troops when necessary. George here will show you those parts of the ship relevant to the mission. Anything you need to know, just ask.’

  We spent the next hour running through the role HMS Buttress would play as we sailed south tracking the Poseidon Pioneer. Then the steward was summoned back to show us to our cabins, each comprising a single bed, metal wardrobe and cupboard, and a washbasin. The showers and heads were down the passageway.

  Yet another lieutenant took me down to the dock, which was the part of the ship that interested me the most. And it was here that Conway’s sixteen-man troop was introduced one by one. They were all burly guys, all bearded and dressed in jeans and T-shirts despite the near freezing temperature.

  Occupying the dock was an array of vehicles and equipment, including four landing craft, or LCUs. ‘Very similar to what were used for the D-Day landings,’ explained Conway, ‘except the wheelhouse is on the starboard side nowadays so we drive on through the stern door and off through the bow. Buttress’ primary role is to transfer personnel, vehicles and equipment onto hostile shores - perfect for our little job. Flat-bottomed of course, so bloody uncomfortable at sea. No bow or stern thrusters – they make too much noise: a sub could hear them miles away.’