Almond was caught totally unawares by this enquiry. Perhaps it had been the large scotch he had consumed in the bar at 5pm?
‘No, sir, it's nothing too complex. ‘Alpha’ for everything OK, ‘Zulu’ for a problem – and then the Stormtroopers come and get me! Simple really.’
The Captain nodded to the First Mate, who pulled a gun from under his jacket.
‘Do nothing silly. Mr Almond. My radio operator is now going to remove your weapon. Be assured, now that we know the codes, whether you live or die is of no consequence. You have been most cooperative. You will be escorted to your cabin and confined there for the duration. We will feed you and allow limited escorted exercise, but please – no heroics Mr Almond, my men will shoot you if you try any nonsense. A guard will be stationed outside your room at all times, and if you insist on being silly, we will handcuff you to your bunk. There are books to read and a radio, so you won’t be bored. Now, please go with the First Mate.’
Almond was furious with himself. He had made a basic schoolboy error and would now pay the full price. He considered an immediate break for freedom – but where would he go? He was on a hostile ship in the middle of the English Channel. No, he would have to consider his options in slow time.
He was taken to his temporary cell, and the door was firmly shut and locked behind him.
There was little that he could do – except hope that the radio operator in Brussels recognised that it wasn’t him making the daily transmission.
Apart from that, he was caught like a rat in a trap!
***
At 2030 hours on the 25th of January, the first RAF Chinook appeared on the horizon off the Isle of Wight after it's forty minute flight, and its captain requested permission to land.
‘Papa-Quebec, Auric zero-one, request approach and landing.’
‘Roger, Auric zero-one, you are clear to approach for helipad two – at the rear.’
The Chinook slowed as it approached the static ship.
‘Roger, helipad two in thirty seconds.’
The Chinook landed safely, as HMS Richmond monitored the procedure from its station about five hundred metres away. Its guns and missiles had been trained on the helicopter to ensure that it was not hostile, and to be ready in case an interception was attempted. Although, the Royal Navy Frigate was enforcing a five-mile ‘no-fly’ zone around the two ships, the captain of the Richmond was taking no chances. Every approach and departure would be monitored.
As the Chinook shut down its engines, the rear ramp lowered and the side cabin door opened. Two heavily armed soldiers appeared from both exits and covered the aircraft, taking up defensive positions. When an ‘all clear’ signal was given, an officer and SNCO walked down the ramp and were met by the First Mate and Captain, who introduced themselves.
This procedure had been rehearsed by the Pretoria crew, and they requested permission to proceed from the UKRA officer. When granted, two deckhands climbed into the Chinook and another drove a mini-forklift to remove the first half-ton pallet, and then transferred it carefully to the deck. A crane hook then lowered, was attached to the pallet and lifted it off the deck, swung through ninety degrees and lowered it into hold number three, amidships. More men inside the hold freed the pallet, and the crane operator repeated the procedure twenty-three more times until all the gold was safely below decks. The RAF officer gained a signature from the First Mate, gave him a copy of the receipt, and re-entered the helicopter. Five minutes later, the chopper was lifting away from the Pretoria and was making its way back to the French mainland base for refuelling and a nightstop. Whilst it had been airborne a replacement Chinook had flown into London and taken up its station for the next day’s extraction and loading process.
Day One was complete and a thorough success.
Well, almost.
They hadn’t managed to extract the full thirty pallets, but Ross was confident that the upload would speed up as the days passed. In any case, two more teams of twenty-four civilian volunteer divers were on their way to the French base and would be available on Monday to join the primary team. They would be used as necessary, if and when the SAS/SBS boys became fatigued.
He phoned Dame Ann with the news at midnight and she congratulated him.
‘Good job, Ross. But keep at it. We need to get that gold out ASAP, and prove to the world that we can readily access the rest of it lying down there. We are already negotiating with its owners for a ‘finder’s fee!’
‘Yes ma'am, if that's all, I'm going to hit the sack – it's been a long day.’
With that, the connection was broken and Ross took to his bed. Another long and monotonous day lay ahead. One of many!
Ann Fletcher was relieved and gave Suzi the good news before calling Patric up to her office to drive her home.
In another three weeks all of this would be over – one way or another.
***
On board the Pretoria Queen, the First Mate descended into the bowels of the ship to oversee the first day’s cleaning and crating process.
His men were carefully transferring the bars into a tank of fresh aerated water, which rinsed the filthy gold. It was then transferred, after fifteen minutes of this vigourous bubbling, into a fairly strong solution of bleach, which was designed to kill off any microorganisms transferred by the water in the vault, which had been contaminated by decomposing human and animal flesh.
The bars were then transferred into a final third tank of pure fresh water. Finally, the bars were placed on a bench under strong infra-red lamps to dry.
Then deckhands, wearing soft white gloves, moved each dried bar into a bonded crate. Forty bars in each - US$1 million dollars’ worth of gold per box, layered five deep and eight across, lengthways. A forklift then stacked the boxes in an adjacent empty hold ready for lift out and transfer.
The crew worked through the night, as they would be obliged to do for the next three weeks or so, in order that the cargo was ready for lift out and transfer to Guernsey the next morning at 0900 hours.
***
The next morning, at precisely 0900, the Pretoria Queen had another visitor.
‘Papa Quebec, this is Auric-Two requesting approach and landing.’
Permission was granted and the Chinook once again landed safely. The rear ramp lowered and the reverse loading process commenced. The ship’s crane lifted the bonded and sealed crates out of the central hold and lowered them onto the heli-deck. A forklift picked up the boxes, and transferred them into the belly of the chopper.
The twenty-four crates took just over two hours to load up and after giving the ship’s captain a receipt, the crew lifted away and set off for Guernsey and a waiting Andrew Brady.
It was exactly one hundred nautical miles to St Peter Port, and at a comfortable cruising speed of one hundred and twenty knots, the flight time was fifty minutes.
It was just after noon when the Chinook captain called Guernsey ATC.
‘Guernsey, this is Auric two requesting approach and landing at the Alpha pad.’
Guernsey tower replied instantaneously, gave the weather conditions and permission to approach and land. They then radioed to Andy Brady to confirm the arrival.
Naturally, he was already on standby, as were the army detachment, which immediately stepped up a gear and deployed into prepared defensive positions surrounding the compound. The civilian security team was ready and waiting with forklifts inside the gated and barbed wire compound.
The chopper approached from the south, circled round to the east of the airfield, avoided overflying the terminal, and landed at the compound, which was isolated in the northeastern corner. It manoeuvred in the hover, placing its ramp pointing directly at the compound entrance, finally touching down at about twenty metres distant.
It immediately shut down its engines, and around a dozen armed troops had surrounded the aircraft within thirty seconds. Another thirty covered the adjoining areas.
When Brady gave the signal, the ramp lowered and t
he compound gates opened. Four forklifts trundled out and took up positions awaiting their turn to transport a crate directly into the compound secure internal storage area. Brady supervised the entire operation with the security manager, and in less than thirty minutes, the twenty- four crates were lying in the internal bay.
As the Chinook started engines, sought permission to take-off and then soared away back to France, Brady double checked each numbered crate, ensuring that the seals were intact. Each one was weighed to ensure that the contents were indeed gold, and not some other substance, and then re-stacked in numerical order at the rear of the store.
The inner doors were sealed and two soldiers were posted on a twenty-four hour guard. Brady then locked the outer doors, where two more armed squaddies were also stationed. He then cleared the compound of personnel and sealed the outer gates, and yet two more armed soldiers were positioned.
It was only then that he relaxed a tad. He spoke to the Lieutenant, reminded him of his responsibilities, and walked away to report to Ross Bryant.
‘The first twenty-four crates are in store, Ross. It all went very smoothly, as rehearsed.’
‘Excellent, Andy, I will let Her Majesty, sorry, Dame Ann know straight away. Maybe she’ll get off my back now!’
Dame Ann was pleased to hear from Ross Bryant, yet didn’t miss the opportunity to let him know that she expected at least thirty crates to be stored tomorrow.
Ross sighed inwardly and hung up.
Would the bloody woman never cease her constant harassment!
Day 44
Monday 27th January
Brussels
‘That bloody woman’ was booked in to visit Dr John Stubbins at his office-cum-consulting rooms on the Monday morning. John was monitoring the minor procedure she had undertaken the week before, and Patric picked her up early for an 8am appointment.
Dr John was ready for her and greeted Patric warmly, but guardedly, when they met in John’s secretary’s office.
‘Oh, I didn’t realise that you and the Commander knew each other, Doctor?’ queried Ann in her normal inquisitive manner.
‘Yes, we played golf together in the old days, and we met up again on board ship when his wife came aboard with pneumonia.’
Ann smiled thoughtfully. Did she smell a rat? All these people seemed to know each other – Silver, Bryant, Stubbins – was it just a coincidence?
‘Oh yes, the lovely Julie,’ once again deliberately mispronouncing her name.
‘That’s right, Joanie; we've dined since at the CSC where I met your daughter and her father.’ corrected John innocently.
Ann was aghast at this comment and her brain went into overdrive as John continued with his examination. Now they all knew Brady as well!!!
He was inspecting his handiwork on Ann’s neck, and was pleased with the result of the cosmetic surgery.
‘It's looking very nice, ma'am,’ he confirmed, ‘in a few months it will be totally unnoticeable and a good tan will make it disappear altogether. A very good job if I say so myself.’
‘Thank you, doctor. You say you’ve met my daughter and her father. If you mean Andrew Brady, he's not actually her father. There was a huge mix-up, which has all been resolved now. If that's all, do I need to see you again?’
John Stubbins was madly deliberating and examining his conscience - and came to a hard fought decision. Clearly, there was something strange going on, and it was more than just personal friction between Dame Ann and Brady, Bryant and Patric Silver.
‘No, ma'am, you are all clear medically as far as I'm concerned, but I need to talk to you briefly about something else – concerning Mr Brady, Ross Bryant and the Commander. You’ve been so kind to me and my family that I feel I should tell you what I suspect. I see it as my public duty – after all you are the deputy Prime Minister.’
Ann was intrigued, alarmed and more than somewhat concerned by John’s pending declaration. She could smell trouble!
‘By all means, Doctor. If you need to pass on information that concerns the good offices of State – then speak up. It will be totally confidential,’ she lied easily.
John took a deep breath and told her in detail what he knew and had assumed. He related events from the dinner party at the CSC, from the buffet supper at Patric’s, and from when he saw the three men at the same flat just a few days before. He explained that he couldn’t understand why these people seemed to hold such a grudge against Dame Ann, when all she’d been was kind and generous to him.
‘I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn, ma'am?’ he spluttered, standing just in front of her.
‘Not at all, John. I'm extremely grateful for your loyalty and as you know I always reward devotion and fidelity.’
At this, from her sitting position, she grabbed Dr John’s buttock with her left hand, pulling him towards her, whilst her right hand stroked the front of his trousers.
John was non-plussed and stood immobile – in a state of semi-shock.
Ann unzipped his fly and drew out his rapidly expanding penis, grasped it firmly and thrust the engorged bell-end hungrily into her mouth.
You could have knocked John over with a feather. All he could do was grasp Ann’s head with both hands to steady himself.
Ann removed her left hand from his buttock and slipped it into the ‘v’ of her blouse and extracted her large, pink right breast. It just dangled there, quivering erotically, John’s eyes glued to it, and Ann used both hands now to manipulate his extensive cock, whilst sucking ferociously.
It didn’t take long.
Ann knew precisely what she was doing – she’d done it many, many times before for aging politicians and diplomats, who spent the rest of their lives her eternal slave, hoping for a second experience which never came. It also gave Ann a convenient source of moral blackmail.
There were many rueful men in senior positions who would now happily throttle her!
After five minutes of unexpected ecstasy, John exploded into Ann’s mouth gripping her head with pleasure, and she greedily swallowed the lot. And what a lot there was.
She licked his wilting penis clean, dabbed her mouth with a tissue from the desk, and placed his now flaccid tool back into his trousers and zipped him up.
Ann was as cool as a cucumber.
‘As I said, Doctor, I always reward my loyal servants. Be sure that you maintain a watch on the ‘three musketeers’, and report anything, anything at all, however insignificant you might think it to be, back to me. I want to know everything you see and hear.’
Poor old Dr John was propped up against his desk, legs weak and chest pounding. He could barely speak.
‘Y y y yes, ma'am. I mean, of course.’
‘Excellent Doctor. I’ll be hearing from you.’
At which she stood up, straightened her skirt, casually replaced her right breast into her lacy red bra, and flounced out of the office.
She had work to do.
Patric Silver was now much more than a light-hearted flirtation.
He could threaten the entire project!
***
The gold extraction in London continued apace.
The diving teams were reinforced with the extra civilian volunteers, and became more proficient at passing the gold bars to the surface. On day three, the twenty-seventh, they transferred twenty-eight pallets to the ship and by Thursday the thirtieth, the target of thirty half-ton pallets in one day had been met.
It took almost twelve hours to complete the daily task, and despite pressure from Ann Fletcher to speed up the process, Ross resisted her persistence resolutely.
‘Ma'am, if we ask these divers to spend too long under water, they may well suffer from diving related illnesses. If we start to over exert these men and women, we risk disrupting the entire programme, and your twenty-one days may well stretch into thirty.’ He exaggerated to keep Ann from acting wholly unreasonably.
‘Okay, Lieutenant, I get the picture. What is the current estimate for completing the upload
?’ she demanded.
‘Well, at fifteen tons per day and with three hundred and ten tons to extract – I reckon that comes to …..er… twenty-one days – which gives us a date of the fourteenth of February – St Valentine’s Day.’
Ann Fletcher was in no mood for levity.
‘What the fuck has that got to do with it, Lieutenant? Get a grip, man and just keep everyone at it. The country needs that gold out of that vault. If we can prove our capability to do this job, we can negotiate with other governments on the other 4500 tons down there!’
Ross ignored the rebuff.
‘Do I tell Brady to expect an inspection from the Swiss?’
‘No, I’ll deal with the Swiss, Bryant. You just get on with the job in hand!’
‘As you command, ma'am,’ he replied sarcastically, which wasn’t missed by Dame Ann. She rang off and contemplated her next move.
Whatever happened, Brady, Bryant and Patric Silver would pay a heavy price – she’d see to that if it was the last thing she did before jumping ship.
Day 46
Wednesday 29th January
Europe
Queen Elizabeth II had maintained a watching brief on the ever-changing situation, as had Prince Charles and other senior members of the Royal Family.
They were all utterly devastated by the state of a nation that had been a true world power for almost a thousand years.
The Prime Minister’s office had provided daily verbal and written updates relating to the destruction of the British landscape, the plans for relocating British refugees and financial implications for the United Kingdom.
It all made heart breaking reading and the Prime Minister had spoken forthrightly to Her Majesty on the telephone:
‘I appreciate that you want to maintain your position as monarch and head of the Church, but you should now be considering your short term options. To be perfectly honest, your Majesty, the UK is not going to be habitable or able to support human life on an industrial scale for at least twenty years – some are saying that it may be fifty years or more. You’ve seen the photographs and video of the conditions back home – it's truly appalling. Our current main priority is burying the dead, as the snow melts and the waters recede. The damage done to buildings and the natural landscape has been devastating. The task is overwhelming to say the least. Therefore, ma'am, like many of your family, you should consider finding a permanent home outside of the UK – perhaps Canada or another location in the Commonwealth. Really, there is precious little that you can do here. Naturally, you may have a part to play in the ‘hearts and minds’ arena, but actually, many refugees are more concerned with merely surviving than a Royal Visit!’
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