Gold Sharks

by Albert Able

  “Well wouldn’t you know, I’m invited for tea but it looks as though I have to buy my own?” The voice announced the presence of a bearded man, wearing a shabby raincoat.

  Alex looked up.

  “I thought you would manage with a glass of tap water.”

  He sipped from the paper cup wincing at the taste of the bitter liquid.

  “In fact, I’m certain you’d be making the best choice!” he smiled.

  “Thanks all the same but I have a taxi waiting by the path. We should move away from here; it’s not guaranteed to be secure. Follow me please,” the tramp replied brusquely.

  “Christ, you’re as paranoid as the Boss!” Alex muttered, walking obediently just behind the tramp to the waiting cab. They travelled in silence to Park Lane and across into Curzon Street. As the taxi stopped in Shepherds Market the tramp indicated to Alex with his thumb.

  “This is it.”

  They left the cab and crossed into a cobbled alley. Alex noted that the driver hadn’t waited to be paid. At the end of the narrow alley, the tramp opened a tatty-looking door and beckoned Alex inside. The dimly lit lobby revealed a second, equally battered looking door but when it was opened a completely different scene appeared.

  “In here I guarantee we are safe and free of all types of bugging devices.”

  “Hans you old scoundrel! Just what have you got in here?” Alex replied, agog with genuine amazement.

  “It’s a long story but you have to hear it. Fancy a cup of genuine coffee?” He poured a handful of fresh coffee beans into an antique coffee grinder. “Won’t seem as good as your instant stuff I don’t suppose. But it suits me.” He gave an exaggerated wink as he expertly cranked the little handle.

  Hans de Wolf had telephoned Alex in Alaska, inviting him to the meeting in London. The call had come just minutes after the Boss had persuaded him to consider taking on the latest contract. Alex confirmed that had been speculative about the sudden coincidental contact from his old friend.

  Hans had served in the Royal Navy with Alex and lost his leg in a terrorist attack on a popular café, where they had stopped to watch the world go by and enjoy a morning drink. The bomb had killed several of the sailors as well as some civilians. Alex had undoubtedly saved Hans’s life by controlling the flow of blood from the shattered stump of his leg.

  Following the incident they were invalided out of the navy. Alex used the opportunity to join the Boss and SONIC while Hans had gone on to further his true calling as a diamond specialist and was eventually to become the only gentile member of the exclusive International Diamond Council.

  It was after the Syndicate’s failed attempt on his life that Hans decided to team up with another old ex navy friend, Kurt Finley, a specialist in hi-tech security. The partnership blossomed and now they were able to offer selected clients the most advanced and sophisticated security systems available in Europe.

  It was the Boss who gave them their first big break when he supported their proposed contract to set up a more effective security screen at SONIC’s offices. In addition they were contracted to provide support, wherever practical, for outside missions.

  Alex had always secretly hoped that his old friend would end up safely somewhere. He was delighted therefore when the Boss had briefly explained Hans’s new security procedures. It had all sounded like the stuff of science fiction at the time; now, as he stood in Hans’s lair, he gazed in wonder at the installation.

  “I don’t know how much the Boss has told you, but after Antwerp, Kurt and I moved over here and set up a secret security business.”

  He waved his hand around the room, indicating the battery of screens and illuminated technical equipment.

  “I knew that the Boss was always paranoid about security and the constant fear of infiltration. I too am paranoid about the Syndicate and decided to dedicate the rest of my useful life to destroying them and any other organisation like them. Did you know that they very nearly destroyed SONIC, as well as me?”

  Alex looked surprised.

  “I had no idea”

  “No - well that’s another story but we have them by the balls now!” He grinned with unusual satisfaction.

  “When I sold the diamonds for those earthquake survivors of yours, I used the agreed commission and my life insurance money to set this all up. We do have some of the most sophisticated equipment in existence. We have a thriving commercial side, operated by Kurt, but I spend all my time trying to track Syndicate activities.” He paused for breath and sipped his almost cold coffee. He put the cup back on its saucer. “I have acted as a watch dog on several SONIC operations over the last couple of years - including a couple of yours!”

  “The hospital in Athens!” Alex interrupted, suddenly remembering. “It had to be you?”

  “Yes it was. Also Antwerp - when you evacuated the safe house, remember?”

  “Thank God you were there. Looks as though I owe you for real!” Alex was serious.

  “You don’t owe me anything Alex. After all I wouldn’t be here but for you!” he replied and paused, changing his tone. “Anyway the purpose of blowing my cover to you is because you are going to need lots of day-to-day assistance with this Syndicate arms smuggling operation.”

  He picked up a small hand set from the table.

  “ Here.” He handed Alex the instrument. “This is a special mobile telephone.”

  It looked exactly like any other mobile phone to Alex.

  “This one has a few improved features,” he smiled. “Telephone and Internet are standard; the next model will have visual. However, this one is also a GPS receiver and will transmit a unique signal of your location, which can only be picked up by our receiver here!”

  He pointed to the array of winking lights on the panels before them.

  “If by any chance it is taken from you, the receiver will know because it recognised your specific body signature and will report the change!” he smiled triumphantly. “Good yes?”

  Alex took the tiny instrument and wondered at modern technology. “I’ve only just stopped using the quill pen Hans. Is it difficult to operate?”

  “You’ll be given some lessons, don’t worry,” Hans assured him.

  Alex delayed his return for twenty-four hours. He and Hans had a lot of ground to cover. The following day Alex flew back to Alaska. He had to ‘tidy his desk’ there before travelling on to the Far East where he intended to intercept and destroy the Syndicate weapon smuggling trail.

  Rosie his wife and their energetic nine-month-old son met him at the airport. They drove, Alex holding the boy on his lap.

  “You wouldn’t do anything to spoil his fishing and sailing lessons in the future?” Rosie asked quietly.

  It was rare for her to question Alex’s activities; she knew from personal experience just how dangerous his missions could be. Alex looked across at the beautiful woman he was so proud to share his life with; he knew how hard this was going to be for her.

  “This time my darling it’s little more than a milk run, so don’t you go worrying your beautiful head over it please. As for you Tiger,” he squeezed his son lovingly, “we are definitely going to teach you all the masculine things to do in this life!”

  “We’ll have to see about that. I don’t want my son corrupted with all his fathers habits!” Rosie laughed lightly, her eyes watering slightly with emotion; she knew he was bluffing.

  That night as they lay in bed, Rosie’s head snuggled onto his shoulder; the passion of their loving had left them relaxed and calm.

  “Will it be a long mission?” she whispered, snuggling even closer.

  He hugged her and kissed her shiny black hair. Despite the mission’s danger, his only real apprehension was of leaving them both alone.

  “I assure you it’s a relatively easy job and I promise to be careful. The Boss has promised to call occasionally, so you don’t have to worry,” he lied; it was never simple and always dangerous.

  Rosie also knew the truth but they pref
erred to play out their little charade, seeking a strange kind of comfort from it.

  Early the next morning, Alex caught a flight from Anchorage direct to Tokyo. He stopped there to exchange information with his old friend, Rosie’s distant uncle, Tokyo’s Chief of Police. The meeting was brief but friendly.

  “The list of contacts should be enough but if you need anything you must call at once, yes?” the ageing officer insisted. “I wish I was going with you!”

  He gripped Alex’s hand firmly, the merest twinkle of excitement in the eyes of the otherwise deadpan expression.

  f

  The sample shipment of arms and equipment had been approved; now the balance of the huge order could be shipped to the eager customers in the Philippines. It was essential that they arrive, before the contingent of US Special Forces established themselves in the islands. Their mission was to train the Filipino army in the art of weeding out and destroying terrorists; the best defence against their often-suicidal methods.

  The cargo included thirty tripod-mounted SAM (surface to air) missiles, fifty hand-held missile launchers with various capabilities, hundreds of anti-tank grenades, over two thousand automatic rifles and a selection of other modern weapons. All this materiel was accompanied by millions of rounds of ammunition, hundreds of kilos of different explosives with a selection of fused timing devices and, to complete the package, a vast quantity of the very latest body armour, night vision and communications equipment.

  In the wrong hands, such an arsenal of ordnance would inevitably create a dangerously powerful enemy. Large enough hold to ransom a country as small as the Philippines with relative ease.

  w

  Based in Darwin. Northern Australia, the Deep Blue Oil Exploration Diving Company specialised in repairing damaged underwater oil well equipment. The work was invariably dangerous but because they only ever handled the complicated tasks in their own way and in their own time and never allowing themselves to be coerced by oil rig owners, who always want to be back in action ‘quickly and cheaply’, the company enjoyed an unblemished safety record. “You either do it our way and pay the rate, or it don’t get fixed by us!” Big J, the owner of the Diving Company, would insist.

  Few people argued with John Jameson who stood a full two meters tall and weighed in at a very fit ninety kilos. Also known as Big J: “But only to close friends!” as we was wont to scowl. Big J trained all his divers personally and insisted on maximum fitness and discipline. Their diving boat was a converted sea-going tug. He’d bought it from the Royal Navy when it disposed of much of its fleet of small vessels at the time when Hong Kong and New Territories were handed back to China. The vessel was over forty metres long and supplying power to its four bladed variable pitch propellers were two enormous diesel engines, enabling the ship to tug heavy loads effortlessly or to make a rapid passage in the open sea. It was the ideal dive platform, with plenty of deck space from which to launch and recover their extensive inventory of underwater vehicles.

  The contract -to repair a wellhead in deep water thirty miles off the Hong Kong coast - had been awarded to them conditional upon their accepting a second contract to train a local Chinese diving team in the art of “do it yourself repairs”.

  “Why teach them Big J?” one of the divers had asked. “Isn’t it doing us out of a job?”

  “Listen, if we don’t teach them, someone else will. So why not us?” He raised his eyebrows. “Anyway, we could do with the work, yes?”

  There was no more argument.

  It was the first time they had worked for the Chinese - so the negotiations had been long and detailed. But Big J had stolidly refused to compromise the quality of the job or the fee.

  He announced the acceptance to the crew with obvious pleasure.

  “The buggers have finally agreed to all our terms and even transferred the funds to our lawyer!”

  He waved the faxed confirmation to the men standing around on deck. “We sail in two days boys. OK with you?”

  “You’re bloody right it’s ok!” one shouted up to the bridge.

  “Good, then get off the lot of you and clear the decks with families girlfriends or whatever. We could be at least a month or six weeks out there, plus travelling time, I’d say another week each way, OK? Now off you go. I’ll see you here to sail at o-nine-hundred Thursday morning.”

  He turned to John Lawrence standing at his side.

  “Do you mind staying on for a bit to get everything else ready?”

  “My pleasure, I only live five minutes away; it’s no bother to me.”

  There was little time for John to be with his wife. Over the next two days, he and Big J checked over every bit of equipment and with the help of a couple of local lads, loaded and stored the huge mountain of supplies necessary for a long period at sea. Finally, late on the Wednesday evening with the vessel fully refuelled, Big J turned to John,

  “Well I don’t think there’s much more we can do here, so off you go and bid farewell or whatever to that lovely wife of yours.”

  John laughed, “OK, see you in the morning then. Goodnight”

  John Lawrence strolled along the dock to the edge of town to the cottage they had temporally rented while he served his time with Big J’s diving company.

  Nancy was obviously pleased to see him.

  “I was frightened you were going to have to work all night and I wouldn't see you,” she sighed, falling into his arms.

  “Steady now my darling,” he consoled her. “You don’t really think I would have sailed away for a month or so without saying au revoir to you both!”

  He patted her swollen tummy.

  “I’d have dragged you off that wretched boat if you’d tried,” she scolded, dragging him urgently towards the bedroom. “Time for bed young man!” She challenged him.

  He didn’t resist, happily undoing his shirt in anticipation as he was towed towards the bedroom. They loved and teased with joy and tenderness. John stroked and kissed the swollen incubator of their rapidly growing child. Soon love and passion merged into a tender all-consuming embrace. Eventually they lay together, wallowing in the afterglow of their mutual bliss.

  “Please come home soon my darling. Every time you’re away I worry about the past catching up with us, you know what I mean?” Nancy said, gripping his hand until it hurt.

  “I’ll be back just as soon as the contract is complete - after all, where else can I find loving like that?” he teased.

  She reacted with a vicious thump with a clenched fist on his chest. “You date anyone else John Lawrence and you’ll never be loving anyone again!” Her hand slithered down and grabbed his now deflated “passion stick” as they had lovingly named it. She held it without actually hurting the softened tender organ, the fingers of her other hand miming the cutting action of a pair of scissors.

  “Fear not my love,” he replied in mock horror and pulled her close. She nuzzled her head on his shoulder. “In any case, I could only cope with one lover as passionate as you!”

  She thumped his chest again, “Too much for an old man eh?”

  He did not reply, just lay holding her close and secure.

  f

  The following morning every man reported in good time to sail with the tide at nine o’clock.

  “The weather is set fair so we should make good time,” Big J confidently predicted as they headed for the open sea.

  Ahead of them was a two thousand five hundred mile journey through some of the most difficult and treacherous waters in the world; at an average of sixteen knots it meant at least seven days at sea.

  At dawn one week later, exactly as estimated, they arrived at the disabled oilrig; work started almost immediately. The first two days was spent carefully assessing the hugely complex problem and another full day was needed to assemble the array of equipment they would need to replace part of the damaged wellhead.

  The sturdily constructed platform easily survived a battering by a heavy oil tanker in a severe storm but by s
ome freak, the heavy mooring chains, kedged out in the attempt to keep the tanker away from the platform, dragged and tangled with the valves at the wellhead, seventy metres below the surface.

  The valves are connected by a giant manifold, which in turn is clamped onto the numerous deep oil drills at the seabed. One of these connections had been almost completely pulled away and would have to be resealed - in addition to replacing at least two of the huge valves.

  Crude attempts to free the cables by the drilling rigs own crew had resulted in even more damage. Big J was surprised that the immense pressure was still being held back.

  Initially the rig crew had called for assistance from their own Oil Authority but already over-stretched, mainly through lack of trained crew, trying to repair three or four other damaged wells, they were in no position to help and so were reluctantly obliged to contract out this particularly difficult repair.

  The Chinese authorities believed that they could also use the opportunity to train more of their own desperately needed divers, thus avoiding having to trade with the “Capitalist Oil Corporations” in the future.

  Six Chinese novice divers had already been sent to the rig to participate in the repair.

  “You will be learning advanced critical techniques from the Australians,” they had been told - but the three youngest and least experienced had not waited for Big J and his team to arrive. Impatient and determined to prove that their skills were at least as good as those of the decadent westerners, they free-dived to the site, intending to make their own assessment of the damage.

  With only compressed air to breath, however, the time they could spend at that depth was limited. It was cold and murky at seventy metres; they knew they should not spend more than one or two minutes at that depth, if they were to surface without a long decompression and seriously risk their lives through the bends and narcosis.

  Undeterred, they sank gracefully towards the bottom in a cloud of bubbles as the air slowly released from their buoyancy aids, allowing their lead weights to take them down. Two of them stayed close together as they had been trained to but the other, ignoring the words of his mentor, drifted away and descended ahead of the others. The pressure built up in his sinuses; he tried to squeeze his nose and blow to ease the pain but it wouldn’t clear. The agonising pain increased - he could think of nothing else - and suddenly he hit the top of the rusting steel manifold. Stunned and disoriented in the murky water, he slithered down the side of the slippery metal wall and sank into the silt, kicking up a great cloud of mud.