Marine D SBS

by Peter Cave

  Selina, it was true, was gorgeous. She was probably around twenty-six, Bright figured, although her smouldering Mediterranean looks made her look younger. A pair of full, pouting red lips and two sultry brown eyes stood out strikingly in a golden-olive, high-cheekboned face which was a perfection of symmetry. All this was topped by a shining mane of jet-black hair cascading over a body which made statues of Aphrodite look bloated by comparison.

  Bright strode over to the sofa, smiling warmly and holding out his hand. ‘Hi, pleased to meet you.’

  Selina rose slowly, with all the sensuous grace of a cat. She took Bright’s hand in a warm, firm grip and shook it formally.

  ‘Hello, Mr Bright. Randy has told me a lot about you.’

  ‘Mike – please,’ Bright insisted. The girl acknowledged the informality with a faint toss of her head.

  ‘Mike,’ she corrected. ‘So you’re the man who made Randy a champion?’

  Bright shrugged off the compliment. ‘He did that himself,’ he muttered, ‘I just supply the hardware.’ He expected Selina to sit down again, but she carefully smoothed out her skirt as though preparing to leave. ‘I expect you have a lot to discuss with your friend,’ she murmured politely to Bright. ‘I’ll leave you alone together.’ With nothing more than another warm smile, she left the room.

  Randy stared after her with the adoring eyes of a Labrador puppy. He was obviously badly smitten, Bright thought. Not an unusual occurrence, since he tended to fall in and out of love almost as regularly as the cycles of the moon.

  ‘Who is she?’ Bright asked, as Selina closed the door behind her.

  Randy grinned. ‘You name it, she’s it,’ he said. ‘Sort of a resident chalet maid, I suppose you’d say. She’s just here to cater to our every need – cooking, cleaning, that sort of thing.’ He paused, letting out a regretful sigh. ‘Well, not every need, of course – but I’m working on that.’

  Bright digested this information apparently stoically, although his brain had already registered the fact that the girl somehow didn’t seem to fit the picture. She hardly seemed the chalet-maid type. It was a job usually reserved for fairly simple peasant types, or at least girls of fairly limited education. Yet Selina had spoken to him in flawless English, suggesting a high degree of both education and intelligence. Her very bearing, too, exuded a degree of sophistication which seemed out of keeping with such a lowly occupation.

  But for now, it was just another tiny piece of the general puzzle. Bright pushed the girl out of his mind and turned his attention back to Randy.

  ‘OK, so what have you managed to get us both into?’ he demanded.

  Randy looked defensive. ‘Hey, look, Mike. This wasn’t my idea. I was just trying to win a race, for Christ’s sake. First thing I knew about it was when these guys intercepted me out at sea and cut me dead in the water. Next thing I know I’m being hauled into some kind of fast patrol boat and told there’s an urgent message from my old man.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Here, read it for yourself,’ Randy replied, pulling a crumpled fax from the back pocket of his trousers.

  Bright took the single sheet and smoothed it out. The message was fairly brief: ‘Dear Randy, I would deem it a great personal favour if you would cooperate with Lieutenant-Colonel Martin and his men. My appreciation will be reflected in next month’s allowance. Regards, JR.’

  Bright handed the paper back. ‘JR?’ he queried.

  Randy grinned sheepishly. ‘Jason Richard. The old man likes to use the abbreviation.’

  ‘And that’s it?’ Bright asked, a trifle indignantly. ‘All this cloak-and-dagger stuff is on the strength of one brief note from your father?’

  Randy looked a little embarrassed. ‘Perhaps you don’t appreciate the significance of that last line,’ he pointed out. ‘Dad can express his disapproval as well as his appreciation through my allowance.’ He paused, looking more serious. ‘Anyway, there’s a bit more to it than that. They brought me ashore, took me into Samos to buy some clothes and then I phoned home for some further explanation. Basically, it seems the old man made some sort of promise to one of his cronies in the Foreign Office.’

  So the mystery had already progressed from the British military to the British Government, Bright thought, his head reeling. He eyed Randy curiously. ‘Listen, Randy, I know your old man is a powerful financier and all that. But I didn’t realize his connections went that high.’

  Randy shrugged awkwardly. ‘Probably just one of his gin-and-tonic drinking buddies at White’s,’ he said. ‘At a guess, I’d say someone in a position to get him a few brownie points towards the knighthood he wants so much. Sort of a “scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours” deal, I guess.’

  Bright wasn’t up in the ways of the City’s old boy network, but Randy’s explanation sounded reasonable enough. Not that it took him anywhere nearer to understanding what was going on, he reflected. ‘So what’s the deal?’ he asked hopefully.

  Randy spread his hands, a blank look on his face. ‘Now you know as much as I do,’ he muttered apologetically. ‘We’re both just going to have to wait until Martin is ready to fill us in with the details.’

  Disappointed, Bright realized that once again everything came right back to Gerald Martin. He remained the single key which could unlock the mystery box. Whether or not it would turn out to be a Pandora’s box remained to be seen.

  Frustration demanded action of some kind. ‘Shit, I’m going for a stroll along the beach,’ Bright announced irritably. It was a statement and not an invitation. He needed to be alone for a while.

  A sudden thought struck him. ‘I take it we are free to come and go as we please? I mean, we’re not prisoners here or anything?’

  ‘Not prisoners, exactly,’ replied Randy, ‘although the goon squad don’t seem too keen on people wandering around too much.’

  ‘Goon squad?’ Bright looked blank.

  ‘The rest of Martin’s men. Our own personal security patrol. I take it you haven’t met them yet?’

  Bright was silent for a few seconds, trying to take it in. ‘Are you telling me that we’re all here under armed guard?’ he blurted out eventually.

  Randy grinned. ‘Hell, no, not really,’ he said cheerily. ‘Sure, they carry guns around – but I’m sure it’s just for effect more than anything else. You know what these guys are like – all that macho stuff. Cagey, too – that’s why Martin is so tight-lipped about everything.’

  Suddenly, Bright had the distinct impression that Randy knew more than he was letting on. Perhaps it was a trick he had learned from his father. He stared him straight in the eye.

  ‘What are you talking about – these guys?’ he snapped. ‘And what macho image?’

  Randy’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. ‘You really don’t know what these guys are, do you?’

  Bright could only shake his head dumbly, waiting for further explanation.

  ‘They’re SBS – Special Boat Squadron,’ Randy went on. ‘Hell, Mike, I thought you’d figured that out by now.’

  Bright was dumbstruck for several moments, finally letting out his breath in a long, deep sigh. ‘No,’ he said heavily. ‘I hadn’t.’

  7

  Bright got the chance to assess the full strength of Martin’s force over lunch, served in one of the villas, which had had all its interior walls knocked out to form a mess hall.

  He counted five Marines besides Martin himself. Although they were dressed in a variety of nondescript clothing, from casual fatigues to T-shirts and chinos, it was still possible to identify them as a military unit, a small but highly trained and disciplined fighting force. Assuming that the pilot of the Rigid Raider was one of the group, and that at least one other man had been placed on guard duty while the others ate, it brought the full complement to eight, Bright figured.

  Perhaps deliberately, Martin had arranged things so that he himself sat at the far end of the long single table with Bright, Mallory, Randy and Janice all isolated at the other.
He made no attempt to introduce his men, or indeed to start any sort of a conversation at all as Selina bustled about serving what turned out to be an excellent lunch, even if the gathering was not particularly animated. It did not escape Bright’s attention that she conversed apparently quite freely with Pavlaski in his native language while serving him, further confirming his theory that she was an educated young lady. He wondered, idly, how many other languages she spoke fluently and what other secret talents she possessed.

  The meal over, Martin stood up somewhat stiffly. ‘Well, perhaps we can all adjourn to the common room for coffee,’ he suggested.

  It was the signal for the five Marines to melt away back into the secretive little world of their own, leaving their lieutenant-colonel with the civilians.

  ‘I wanted this to be as informal as possible,’ Martin started, once they were all assembled in the common room. ‘So I thought this would be the best place to hold a preliminary discussion.’

  ‘Don’t you mean preliminary briefing?’ Bright called out, in a distinctly challenging tone. ‘That is the correct term for a military operation, is it not?’

  A thin, grudging smile tugged at the corners of Martin’s mouth. ‘Yes, Mr Bright, that is indeed the correct term’. He scanned the room, flashing everyone in turn a look of apology. ‘Very well,’ he said eventually, with a faint sigh. ‘Your first question answered. Yes, this is a military operation – fully sanctioned by Her Majesty’s Government, by the way – and all of you have been co-opted as civilian advisers.’

  If Martin had thought that the frank admission would help to defuse Bright’s sense of curiosity, he had underestimated the man. Bright had the bit between his teeth now, and he wasn’t prepared to settle for anything except the whole truth.

  ‘Kind of unusual for you guys, isn’t it?’ he said pointedly. ‘The SBS using civilians?’

  A faintly annoyed expression crossed Martin’s face for a second. Then he managed to smile again. ‘Forget what you’ve seen in the movies,’ he said to Bright. ‘We’re not the guys who wear our underpants outside our trousers. We don’t leap over tall buildings at a single bound. What we do do is to use the finest men, provide the best training and use the finest equipment available to get the job done, whatever it is. Sometimes that means picking the brains of the best specialists and experts that we can get hold of. Which is where you all come in. Our sources tell us that in your particular fields, you’re the best there is.’

  Bright was still sceptical. ‘All very flattering,’ he said. ‘But what exactly are you asking us to get involved in?’

  It was Mallory’s turn to demand some answers. He glanced at Bright rather than Martin, a confused look on his face. ‘What are you getting at?’ he asked. ‘And what’s this SBS outfit, for a start?’

  Bright shrugged. ‘I guess you guys would call them Seals,’ he ventured, thinking of the nearest American equivalent.

  Mallory whistled through his teeth, a look approaching awe on his face. ‘Wow, those bastards are dangerous,’ he said. ‘They play rough.’

  There was a hint of triumph on Bright’s face as he faced Martin directly again. ‘Exactly my point,’ he said quietly. ‘Well, Lieutenant-Colonel?’

  Martin was silent for a long while, apparently thinking deeply. Then he drew a deep breath and studied them all with a somewhat resigned expression on his face. ‘Look, I think you’re all letting things get a little out of perspective here,’ he pointed out. ‘Let’s just forget the adventure comics for a while and look at the simple realities, shall we?’

  Bright and Mallory exchanged a brief glance of acquiescence. It seemed only fair to give Martin the chance to explain things fully at last. Janice, who up to that point had remained silent, spoke for them all.

  ‘Well, I never got round to reading Boys’ Own adventures,’ she put in. ‘So I for one am quite willing to listen to the Lieutenant-Colonel’s little scenario.’

  Martin shot her a grateful expression. ‘At the risk of sounding sexist,’ he said, ‘let me make the point right now that neither I nor any government department would condone the presence of a woman if there was any question of risk or danger involved.’

  Janice thought the remark was sexist, but she let it go, assuming that Martin was talking from a sense of chivalry more than anything else.

  ‘Your purpose here is basically very simple,’ Martin went on. ‘Each of you has a particular and specific talent. What we are hoping is that those talents can be combined in a unique way to tackle a unique challenge. Quite simply, we have three days in which to discuss the feasibility of a rather unusual piece of equipment. And, if we decide that the idea is feasible, to come up with some preliminary designs.’

  ‘And what would be the purpose of this piece of equipment?’ Mallory asked. ‘I don’t know about the rest of you people, but there’s no way I’m willing to work on anything that might have military applications.’

  Martin regarded the young man with a slightly mocking expression on his face. ‘A pacifist, Mr Mallory? And an American, no less. You surprise me. I always imagined you people were raised on aggression and violence.’

  Mallory chose not to take the observation as an insult. He merely fixed Martin with a look of sullen defiance. ‘Yeah, well maybe Vietnam changed a lot of people’s outlook on things,’ he replied.

  It was a point which Martin took to heart. His expression softened. ‘Yes, I understand. But I think I can put your mind at rest. What we have in mind would have absolutely no offensive capability – you have my full assurance of that.’

  ‘But it would have military application?’ Bright put in, wishing to clarify an issue which he felt Martin had sidestepped rather neatly.

  Martin nodded faintly. ‘It might or might not be used in some future military operation,’ he conceded. ‘But in a purely peaceful manner.’

  Having raised the issue, Mallory was unconvinced. ‘That’s probably what they told Einstein,’ he said with heavy sarcasm. ‘Sorry, Martin, but you’re gonna have to do better than that. I want to know exactly what this “special piece of equipment” is, what it’s supposed to do, and how you plan to use it.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to give you any specific details at this stage,’ Martin told him. It was not an apology, merely a statement.

  Mallory thought for a while. ‘Then we seem to have come to an impasse,’ he said finally. He rose to his feet, glancing down at Bright and Janice. ‘I can’t speak for you two, but this is as far as I go.’

  Martin let him get as far as the door. ‘Just one thing to keep in mind before you leave, Mr Mallory,’ he called out. ‘Hundreds, perhaps thousands of innocent people – mainly civilians – may die needlessly if you walk out of that door. I think you ought to know that.’

  Mallory stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Martin with a look of contempt on his face. ‘That’s the shiftiest form of blackmail I ever heard, man,’ he spat out.

  Martin shook his head. ‘No, that’s the reality of the situation. Your expertise is crucial to this project. Without it, we can go no further.’

  The American didn’t like being put on the defensive, and it showed on his face. ‘There are plenty of other designers in the world,’ he pointed out, rather resentfully.

  ‘Indeed there are,’ Martin conceded, with a grim nod. ‘But they’re not here, right now – and time is the one thing we don’t have much of.’

  His hand still on the door handle, Mallory glowered at the man. ‘You’re a bastard, Martin. You know that?’

  Martin allowed himself a wry grin. ‘So I’ve been told – frequently.’ He eyed Mallory like a hawk as he stood poised in the doorway, frozen in indecision.

  Much of the conversation had passed over Randy Havilland’s head – partly because it was in his nature not to examine anything too closely and partly because it was beyond his powers of imagination to visualize his own role in whatever was going on. However, Mallory’s imminent departure, and Martin’s reaction, warn
ed him that the little adventure was about to come to an abrupt end. It would not please his father – and past experience had taught him that Jason Havilland’s displeasure was invariably very expensive. He entered the discussion for the first time.

  ‘Look, why not at least give Lieutenant-Colonel Martin the chance to outline what he wants?’ he pleaded with Mallory. ‘What the hell have you got to lose?’ He glanced at Bright and Janice for support, a mute appeal on his face.

  There was a long and heavy silence in the room, during which all eyes were on Mallory. Eventually he caved in under the subtle pressure. Still glaring at Martin, he walked slowly back to his seat. ‘OK – as long as we’re still talking purely hypothetically, I’ll listen,’ he muttered.

  Martin’s relief was obvious. He paused for a while, marshalling his thoughts and reflecting on the severe limitations he was having to work under. It was a delicate assignment, and one that he had been loath to accept in the first place, but he was stuck with it. His orders had been clear – everyone was supposed to remain on a strict ‘need to know’ basis, including his own men. What had not been so clear was for how long he was expected to keep a bunch of naturally inquisitive and concerned civilians in the dark. Nor indeed how he was supposed to achieve such an impossible task. He felt a sense of gratitude towards Mallory as the young American opened up the conversation again himself, relieving some of Martin’s sense of impotence.

  ‘If you really need me for this little project, then you’re talking about some sort of flying machine . . . right?’ Mallory challenged.

  ‘Right.’ Martin confirmed this assessment with a curt nod. ‘But it’s not quite as simple as that.’

  ‘So where do the rest of us come in?’ Bright asked. ‘As far as I’m concerned, anything above sea level is strictly for the birds.’

  They had already reached the next rung in the ‘need to know’ ladder, Martin realized. It was time to ease things forward as subtly as he could.

  ‘For the moment, let’s just imagine that we were talking about some sort of hybrid, and purely hypothetical, type of craft,’ he said guardedly. ‘For the purposes of discussion, let’s further assume that it would be part microlight, part hang-glider, part windsurfer and part surfboard. At some point, however, it might have to serve all these functions, and perhaps even more.’