by Peter Cave
Mallory laughed openly. ‘Why not an anti-gravity machine with a time-travel option thrown in? Or would you care for a gizmo with an interstellar capability? You’re talking fantasy stuff, Martin. The sort of shit fifth-grade schoolkids doodle on the back of their exercise books.’
Martin remained cool in the face of Mallory’s ridicule. ‘Think about it,’ he urged. ‘Really think about it. Obviously it wouldn’t have to perform all these functions simultaneously. But how about one thing at a time? Some way in which it could then be stripped down and modified to meet the next requirement? Some sort of modular design . . . a multi-purpose kit, if you like.’
Mallory fell silent. Bright glanced up at Martin, a thoughtful look on his face. ‘So what you want basically is a flying surfboard?’ he said.
Martin scratched his chin. ‘That’s probably a wild understatement, but, yes, you have the general idea.’ He looked towards Mallory. ‘Well? Are we still in the realms of fantasy?’
The American was not overenthusiastic, although his expression showed that he had at least started to consider the concept. ‘Even if the idea was workable, what possible use would it be?’ he asked.
It was a thinly disguised probe for further information, and Martin evaded it. ‘That’s not your problem,’ he said flatly.
‘With respect, Martin, it most certainly is our problem,’ Bright interjected suddenly. ‘How can we even start to design the thing unless we have a pretty fair idea of what it’s going to be called on to do? We’ll need a full list of functions, the sequence of those functions, and at least a rough guide to performance specifications.’
‘And that’s only for starters,’ Mallory added. ‘There are a thousand and one other factors in a design project that you guys don’t seem to have even considered.’
Martin felt an inner glow of satisfaction, which he fought to keep from showing on his face. It seemed that the project had passed its first major hurdle. He had their interest now, and they were all rising to the challenge just as he had hoped they would. It was now surely only a short step before that interest could be whipped up into full-blooded enthusiasm. Now was the time to let a couple more tantalizing little snippets of information out of the bag, he decided.
‘Let’s make the basic assumption that this craft starts out its life as a powered hang-glider. Its first task would be to fly out over the open sea, preferably no more than twenty or thirty feet above the water.’
‘How far?’ Mallory interrupted. ‘I’d need to know what sort of distance it’d have to cover.’
Martin looked a little surprised. ‘Surely that’s simply a question of how much fuel it starts out with, isn’t it? The actual range of this hypothetical craft is something I would rather not be specific about at this stage.’
Mallory shook his head slowly from side to side, like a schoolteacher admonishing a backward child. ‘It’s not quite as simple as that,’ he pointed out. ‘Fuel/weight/range ratios have to be carefully calibrated at the initial design stage.’
Martin considered this for a few seconds. ‘Then let’s leave the whole question until such time as we do move towards an actual design,’ he suggested. ‘Remember – for the present, we’re merely discussing feasibility.’
Mallory shrugged, accepting the compromise. Despite himself, he was already starting to become fascinated by the idea, and wanted to hear more. ‘OK, so what next?’ he asked.
‘Our craft would then be required to make a landing on open water,’ Martin continued. ‘At which stage the engine would be detached and jettisoned, and the basic frame materials and wings stripped down and reassembled into the mast, boom and rigging of a windsurfer. With all extraneous parts dumped in the sea, it should then be able to complete its journey under wind-power alone, as efficiently and as inconspicuously as possible.’
Martin fell silent, leaving a hush in the room which lasted for nearly a minute.
‘You’re not really asking us for a pure feasibility study, are you?’ Bright said at last, making the question sound like an accusation. ‘Someone has already thought this thing through, haven’t they?’
If he’d been caught out, Martin didn’t show it, merely giving Bright a curt nod. ‘In theory, yes,’ he admitted. ‘Our boffins came up with some rough sketches, but we decided we needed the help of experienced and specialist designers such as yourselves. Help that we’re prepared to pay for, as I’ve already told you.’
‘So, are there any other little tricks expected of this Heath Robinson contraption?’ Mallory put in.
‘Just one,’ Martin answered. ‘At all stages of its life it would suit our purpose if this craft were as indetectable as possible by all forms of surveillance, including radar.’ He paused, allowing himself a wry grin. ‘Invisible would be nice.’
It was the first time Martin had shown any sign of a sense of humour, Bright thought. Assuming he was joking, of course.
‘I’m going to have to think about this,’ he said. ‘We all are.’
‘Naturally.’ Martin began to rise to his feet. ‘I’ll leave you to talk it over amongst yourselves. Let’s discuss it again tomorrow morning after breakfast, shall we?’
He moved towards the door, then paused. ‘Oh, by the way. You’re all free to move around the village as you like, but I would prefer it if no one ventured on to the beach after dark.’
‘Prefer?’ Janice queried.
‘It could be dangerous,’ Martin replied. ‘My men will be on patrol, and they’re fully armed. A case of mistaken identity could be nasty.’
It was the first clear admission from Martin that the project was being treated as a full-scale military operation, and it gave them all food for thought.
‘Are we expecting visitors?’ Randy asked, half jokingly.
‘I sincerely hope not,’ Martin said firmly – and there was not the faintest trace of humour in his tone. He walked out of the room, leaving a puzzled silence behind him.
8
Martin snapped back to full consciousness abruptly, torn out of a crazy dream in which he had been flying on giant wings made from eagle feathers directly into the face of the blazing sun.
Awake now, he was in darkness, but just able to make out the vague shape of ‘Sooty’ Sweep bending over his bunk. The Marine’s face was grim, though he managed a thin, apologetic smile.
‘Sorry to wake you up, boss – but we might have a spot of bother.’
Martin threw his legs over the side of the bunk and jumped quickly to his feet. Automatically, he reached for his clothes folded neatly over the back of his bedside chair then paused. ‘Outside?’ he asked.
Sooty nodded. Changing his mind, Martin crossed the room and opened the small wardrobe. He chose a pair of dark trousers and a black polo-neck sweater, and pulled them on over his pyjamas, completing the impromptu outfit with a black Balaclava. His 9mm Browning High Power handgun was under his pillow, as it always was. Not bothering with the shoulder holster and harness, Martin tucked the gun directly into the waistband of his trousers and scooped out half a dozen spare clips from his bedside locker, and stuffed them into his pockets.
Having slipped on a pair of sturdy shoes, he was ready. The whole operation had taken less than thirty seconds. He turned to face Sooty again. ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked, moving towards the door.
Sooty was already ahead of him as he answered. ‘Maybe nothing – but there’s some offshore activity up at the far end of the cove which could be a bit sussy. I thought it best to wake you and let you know.’
Martin nodded reassuringly. ‘Yes, you did the right thing.’ Following Sooty, he stepped out of the villa into the night air and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Who else is on beach patrol with you?’
‘Just Williams and Graham,’ Sooty whispered back. ‘Want me to alert any of the others?’
Martin shook his head. ‘No, let’s keep this as discreet as we can for the moment,’ he said, thinking of the civilians asleep in two of the other villas, just yards away. ‘
As you say, it might be nothing. Just a bunch of trippers picking a bad spot to come ashore for a beach party.’ He glanced down at his luminous watch as he spoke. It was three-fifteen in the morning, he realized. A bit late for a barbecue, and too early for breakfast.
They had reached the beach. Martin took the lead, treading lightly across the shingle towards the dim shapes of Colin Graham and Gareth Williams, who stood on the shoreline, both looking out over the dark water through night-vision binoculars.
‘Anything happening?’ Martin said quietly, aware that sound carried a long way over open water, especially at night.
Williams lowered his binoculars, passed them over his head and handed them to his commanding officer. ‘Take a look for yourself,’ he said. ‘It’s about a forty-footer, around eighty metres offshore to the right of the point. Haven’t heard another sound since she cut engines and Sooty went to fetch you.’
Martin raised the binoculars to his eyes, peering through a dark-greenish mist until he finally identified the boat, which came into view like a semi-luminous ghost ship. It was, as Williams had estimated, around the forty-foot mark – too large to be one of the local caiques still used by the Greek fishermen, and with a low, flat superstructure unlike any pleasure cruiser Martin had ever seen. It definitely looked like a working boat of some kind, he thought – although what its crew could possibly be doing at this time of night he had no idea. He wondered briefly if the craft might be trawling for squid and octopus – an activity which often took place at night. But octopus fishermen invariably used bright lights to attract the creatures, and the boat was showing no illumination at all, either above or below decks. Besides, his cursory examination through the night binoculars had shown no signs of nets of any kind. So it was a mystery, and Martin didn’t like mysteries, not on his patch, and especially when his current mission was of such a highly sensitive nature.
Lowering the binoculars, he turned to Sooty. ‘They’re not tourists,’ he said confidently. ‘I’d stake my life on that.’ He directed his attention to Williams. ‘What first made you suspicious?’
Williams grinned. ‘All Welshmen are suspicious, boss. It’s one of our national traits.’ He adopted a more serious expression. ‘Actually it was the way she came in. Very slow, single diesel virtually no more than ticking over and very muted. It sounded like they’ve got a muffler over the engine housing, and that stinks for starters. Want a shrewd guess?’
‘Yes indeed,’ Martin said.
‘Six to four it’s a drug-smuggling run,’ Williams volunteered. ‘They’re probably just waiting for the buyers to show up and then they’ll ferry the stuff in by dinghy.’
It was an explanation which had already occurred to Martin. ‘Shit!’ he said under his breath. ‘That’s all we need. The bloody Greek military assured me that they had this part of the coast firmly under control now. That’s the main reason I leased this place as a base.’
‘Get it cheap, did you, boss?’ asked Williams. ‘You know what they say about accepting gifts from Greeks.’
The attempt at humour was not appreciated. ‘Not funny, trooper,’ Martin hissed. ‘So what are you suggesting we do about it? Let them unload their consignment of naughties and be on their merry way?’
The Welshman shrugged. ‘We could do worse, boss. It might save any fuss.’ He nodded his head back towards the villas. ‘Besides, we’ve got our guests to think of. I thought you didn’t want them spooked.’
It was a reminder that Martin didn’t need. ‘I don’t,’ he said firmly.
‘So why not let them dump the stuff and run?’ Williams suggested again. ‘It’s no real skin off our nose if another few kilos of hash finds its way into Greece. Besides, they’re unlikely to use the same drop-off point twice, so this will probably be the last we’ll see of them.’
Graham had been listening to the dialogue while keeping the boat under surveillance through his binoculars. Now he joined the conversation.
‘I’ve got some bad news for you both,’ he said quietly. ‘Something tells me this is a lot more than just a few kilos of wacky baccy. These bastards are toting SMGs.’
Martin snatched up the binoculars again, training them on the boat. Two or three shadowy figures could now be seen moving about on deck, and the short, stubby shapes hanging from their shoulders were unmistakable.
‘Shit,’ Martin groaned. ‘This could be heavy stuff.’ He whirled on Sooty. ‘Go and raise the rest of the men, as discreetly as you can,’ he hissed. ‘And tell Willerbey and Crewes to get into full scuba gear, just in case.’
‘And break out the MP5s, boss?’ Sooty asked, referring to the Heckler & Koch sub-machine-guns favoured by the SBS.
‘Damn right,’ Martin answered with a nod, viewing the safety of his men as his first priority. ‘But I want to avoid any shooting if at all possible.’
‘Got you, boss.’ As Sooty set off for the villas, Martin tapped Graham lightly on the shoulder. ‘How many?’ he hissed in the trooper’s ear.
Graham spoke without lowering the binoculars. ‘I’ve counted only three so far,’ he whispered back. ‘But there might be a couple more still below decks.’
Martin took a certain amount of comfort from this assessment. Three amateur gunmen were no match for half a dozen highly trained Marines – under any circumstances. And for the moment, Martin and his men held the ace card in the element of surprise. There remained only the question of extra, unexpected visitors to consider. If the men on the boat were smugglers, then others would be coming to take delivery of their haul. As he waited for the rest of his men to turn out, Martin applied his mind to this aspect of the problem.
Corporal Bryan Bailey was patrolling the outer perimeter fence, he knew. Martin had enough trust in the man’s abilities to feel confident that nobody could sneak past him. So the cove was protected from that direction, at least. The only other access would be from over the headland on the far left-hand side. If reinforcements were coming in, it would be from that direction only.
Martin tapped Graham on the shoulder again. ‘I’ll take over surveillance, Colin,’ he whispered. ‘You and Gareth fall back over the headland to intercept anyone else coming in.’
‘Treat them as hostiles, boss?’ Williams asked.
Martin nodded grimly. ‘If they’re carrying weapons, neutralize them,’ he confirmed. ‘Only try to do it quietly.’
The two men nodded. Pausing only to unhook the night-vision binoculars from around his neck and hand them to Martin, Graham fell into place beside his companion and the pair of them crept off into the darkness.
Martin returned his attention to the boat, where activity up on the deck had assumed a more definite purpose. Three of the gunmen were bunched together at the stern of the vessel, apparently in the act of lowering something black and bulky into the water.
The faint crunch of footsteps on shingle alerted Martin to the return of Sooty, accompanied by Simon Willerbey and John Crewes clad in their black neoprene wetsuits and trooper Andy Donnelly bearing four MP5s, one of which he handed to Martin wordlessly. Sooty had brought a large and bulky bergen, which he dropped quietly on to the beach at Martin’s feet. ‘I brought a few extra goodies as well,’ he whispered. ‘Just in case.’
Martin returned his attention to the activity on board the mystery boat. The bulky object was now clearly a two-man inflatable boat, which was dropped over the side. A couple of the armed men clambered over the stern rail of the boat, lowering themselves down into the inflatable on ropes.
So, it would be only two men to face, Martin thought to himself with some satisfaction. It raised the chances of ending any possible confrontation without the need for gunfire. He turned to the two men in scuba gear.
‘There’s a couple of these jokers coming ashore in an inflatable. They’re carrying SMGs, so we can only assume them to be hostiles. You know what has to be done.’
Willerbey and Crewes nodded silently, both tapping the handles of the wicked-looking commando knives sheathed in thei
r weight belts with a meaningful gesture.
The unspoken message was clearly understood. Martin jerked his head towards the sea. ‘Let them get well clear of the boat,’ he hissed as a final order. ‘Just in case you’re bumped and someone left on the boat takes a pot-shot at you, we’ll have a clearer line of fire over your heads to cover you.’
The two frogmen pulled their masks down over their faces, adjusted their regulators and padded silently down the beach towards the dark mirror of the sea. Seconds later they had slipped into the water and were swallowed up in its inky blackness.
Sooty bent down, rummaging in the bergen and finally pulling out a powerful torch. He handed it to Martin.
‘Here, I thought we could use this to divert their attention when the lads are ready to attack,’ he said. ‘Just a couple of brief flashes should be enough to make them wonder what’s going on. They’ll be so busy watching the shore for another signal, they won’t know what’s hit them.’
Martin took the torch gratefully. It was good thinking on Sooty’s part. Although he had every confidence in Willerbey and Crewes making a successful surprise attack, it didn’t do any harm to give them an extra bit of edge. He glanced down at his watch, estimating the time it would take them to intercept the inflatable and mentally counting off the seconds.
Finally taking up the binoculars again, he trained them on the stern of the boat once again, then brought them down slowly in a direct line towards the shore. The inflatable was about thirty-five yards clear of the boat now, and nearly halfway towards the shore. Willerbey and Crewes should be closing in now, he thought – if they were not already in position. After counting a further ten seconds, Martin held the binoculars in one hand and raised the torch and pointed it out over the water.