by Peter Cave
‘What about tracking the ship in the dark?’ Willerbey asked. ‘Even with PNGs, it’s going to be like looking for a needle in a very big haystack.’
Martin smiled. ‘The Greek authorities are helping us out on that one,’ he said confidently. ‘Since it is impossible to negotiate the Aegean and stay in international waters, the Russian ship is going to have to stray into Greek territorial water. This will provide a perfectly reasonable excuse for a Greek coastguard vessel to approach the freighter close enough to plant a small homing transmitter on the hull. It will be pre-set to a very specific tight-band frequency that the Russian naval vessels are highly unlikely to notice, even if they pick it up accidentally. That should take care of any tracking problems.’
It solved the problem right enough, Willerbey thought. But there was still one thing he didn’t fully understand. ‘Why should the Greeks be so willing to help us?’ he asked. ‘They usually take a pretty low profile on anything which might have international repercussions.’
Martin grinned. ‘A favour owed,’ he muttered. ‘The Greek islanders – and particularly the residents of Samos – have links with the SBS which go back a long way. Right back to 1941, in case you don’t know your history.’ He turned his attention back to the rest of the men. ‘So, that’s just about it for now. Obviously we’ll discuss a more concerted plan of attack for once you board the freighter at a later date – after Pavlaski has briefed you all on layout and crew deployment. Thank you, gentlemen.’
The ensuing silence, as Martin gathered together his notes, gave everyone a chance to air their particular assessment of the operation.
‘Well, you did warn us it was a wild scheme, boss,’ Sooty put in. ‘But I’ve got to admit – it’s so bloody crazy it might just work.’
‘A beautiful irony, too,’ Bailey pointed out. ‘The sheer gall of putting some crude, botched-up, wind-powered contraption up against the ultimate in high-tech computer surveillance systems. It’s a work of sheer bloody art.’
Martin was in full agreement. ‘Something our glorious founder would have been proud of,’ he said, referring to the guiding light behind the formation of the original Special Boat Sections of the Army Commandos, direct forebears of the modern SBS. ‘In fact, his legendary motto could have been coined specifically for this mission. “Excreta Tauri Astutos Frustrantur”.’
The comment provoked a belly-laugh all round. Every SBS man was familiar with the story of how Roger Courtney had approached a Classics don at Oxford for a motto which would sum up the whole ethos of his fledgling unit. The result, sounding extremely impressive in the original Latin, had a very simple, very direct, translation: ‘Bullshit Baffles Brains’.
As Martin had so wisely pointed out, it fitted their current mission as comfortably as a favourite old sock.
13
With the preliminary briefing of his men out of the way, and the enthusiastic cooperation of his civilian volunteers assured, Lieutenant-Colonel Martin felt a little happier. He felt quietly confident that he had managed to make the briefing itself as upbeat as possible, and had not conveyed to his men any of his personal misgivings about the mission.
Much as he tried to analyse his own feelings, Martin was still unsure about the true basis for his doubts, or indeed what those doubts actually were. It was surely not the concept of the microlight/surfboard itself, he rationalized to himself. The use of unconventional and experimental craft was probably the oldest tradition of the SBS, if not the actual basis on which it had been founded. From the Folboat canoes of World War II, the men of the Special Boat Squadron had acted as guinea-pigs for any number of bizarre maritime experiments, from riding the manned submersible torpedoes with detachable warheads nicknamed ‘chariots’ to being sealed alive within the claustrophobic nightmare of the early ‘sardine can’ one-man submarines. Compared to that, piloting a ‘flying surfboard’, as Bright had described it, seemed almost tame.
Nor were the SBS strangers to operations of a sensitive political nature. In fact, the vast majority of their missions were conceived and executed in such complete secrecy that, for official purposes at least, they were deemed to have never happened. So it was certainly not that aspect of Operation Windswept which Martin found disquieting.
As for the more direct risks involved, the plan was dangerous, but hardly suicidal. When the time for the final briefing came, Martin was perfectly clear about what his orders would be. Direct engagement with Russian military personnel was to be avoided at all costs. There would be no shooting, for it would be made physically impossible. Apart from carrying a small amount of plastic explosive for blowing security bulkheads or hatch doors, his men would go in unarmed. It was one little detail of the operation which he had continued to withhold from them, and he was fully aware that they would be far from happy about it, but it was for their own protection as much as for diplomatic reasons.
Britain could ill afford direct confrontation with the Soviet navy, and the rest of the world would never sanction the murder of innocent Merchant Marine personnel – of any nationality. Nobody in official circles had been quite sure about what the current Soviet penalty for international piracy was, but it seemed unlikely that any of the men would be executed if they were unfortunate enough to be captured. It seemed far more likely that the Russians would attempt to cover the whole thing up by clapping them in the Lubyanka. After that it would be up to the diplomats to sort out some kind of a deal behind the scenes.
With this final thought, Martin forced himself to think more positively, to concentrate on the many preparations which still had to be made. Whatever it was about Operation Windswept that was bothering him, it was little more than pure intuition, and far too vague and ill-defined to waste time worrying about. If something more tangible finally did surface from his subconscious, he would face it then, and make whatever decisions seemed appropriate at the time.
For the rest of the day he busied himself organizing the delivery of the most important items of equipment and materials on the list which Mallory, Bright and Janice had given him. That evening he ate alone in his room and assigned himself to night-time guard duty on the beach patrol. He was fully prepared for further trouble, but the night passed quietly, with no more nocturnal incursions into the bay.
Perhaps it had been no more than an isolated event, quite coincidental, he found himself thinking, as the brilliant dawn sun came up over his left shoulder, turning the surface of the sea to liquid fire.
14
Selina woke the CO at midday, with a light brunch of pitta bread, hummus and feta cheese salad – and the message that Bright and Mallory wanted to see him in the common room at his earliest convenience.
Martin propped himself up on his single pillow, cradling the breakfast tray across his lap. He looked up at Selina questioningly.
‘How do they seem today, our civilian guests?’
The girl’s dark eyes flashed with amusement. ‘Excited, like little boys with a new toy,’ she told him. ‘You seem to have captured their imaginations with this little project of yours – whatever it is for.’
The short rider at the end of the statement was a covert attempt to elicit information, but Martin was astute enough to realize that more than mere curiosity was involved. He ignored it. ‘Perhaps you’d be good enough to tell them I’ll be with them in about half an hour,’ he said, starting to tuck into his food.
Selina showed no sign that she was in any way disappointed. She was good, bloody good, Martin reminded himself. He wondered briefly just how much of the mission she had already pieced together for herself. She would be aware of the cooperation of the Greek Coastguard Authority in tagging the Russian freighter, of course – and there was no way of knowing how much information she might have prised out of Pavlaski.
Much depended on what actual brief her Greek Intelligence bosses had given her. Although her presence had been a prerequisite of the cooperation agreement, Martin suspected that her role was more that of an observer than a proper s
py. Indeed it was more than likely that the Greek authorities didn’t really want to know too much detail, for their own protection. The less they actually knew, the easier it might be for them to extricate themselves from an embarrassing situation if the shit hit the fan. As Corporal Willerbey had pointed out, the Greeks were not particularly noted for their willingness to get involved with international politics.
It was not worth worrying about, Martin decided. He finished his meal, rose, had a quick shower and shave and got dressed before going to join Bright and Mallory. As Selina had said, both men appeared to be in high spirits.
‘You’ve made a bit of progress, I take it?’ Martin asked.
Mallory grinned at him, pride showing on his face. ‘Damn right,’ he said emphatically. ‘The more I think about this baby, the better she gets. We’ve even come up with a few ideas that should particularly please you.’
‘Such as?’
Mallory picked up a sheaf of his latest design sketches from the nearby table. ‘Remember you were concerned about radar surveillance?’ he said. ‘Well, we may have solved that particular little problem.’
The young man’s enthusiasm was infectious. Martin felt a growing sense of excitement as Mallory began to expound on his ideas.
‘The conventional microlight is built with an aluminium tube frame and steel cable rigging wires,’ Mallory explained. ‘Mainly for the sake of safety, durability and rigidity in rigging and de-rigging the wings. But of course for a strictly one-trip disposable craft, we don’t really need any of those things. Once I realized that, of course, it opened up a whole new way of looking at this thing, and a completely different approach to construction and materials.’
‘So what are you actually telling me?’ Martin asked.
‘That I can build this bird using nylon tubing, carbon fibre and Kevlar,’ Mallory said proudly. ‘Apart from the small engine and a few bolts and bracing struts, it can be more or less metal-free – thus virtually no radar trace.’
The American had been right, Martin thought. It was good news – although there was one minor problem.
‘It’s a great idea,’ he said warmly. ‘But what about when the microlight assembly is dismantled? Plastic isn’t going to sink, and I’m not too keen on the idea of a load of tell-tale debris left floating about on the water.’
Mallory frowned slightly. It was something he hadn’t even considered. He thought about it now for a few moments. Then his face brightened. ‘No problem,’ he announced with a grin. ‘We simply lash all the extraneous parts to the engine housing. The weight of that alone should take everything to the bottom.’
It was a crude but effective solution to the problem, which Martin accepted. He turned his attention to Bright. ‘How’s the second stage working out?’
Bright was as optimistic as his colleague. ‘Great,’ he said, without reservation. ‘No problems at all with the functional side of things, and like Jim said, by applying a little lateral thinking there’s several things we can do to make the windsurfer as inconspicuous as possible.’
‘How inconspicuous?’
Bright grinned. ‘How about damn near invisible?’ he asked. ‘From aerial surveillance, at least.’ He broke off to eye Martin curiously. ‘I assume that somebody might be looking for these things from the air?’
Martin smiled faintly. ‘They might,’ he conceded. ‘So how do you propose to overcome that potential problem?’
Bright shrugged. ‘Designers have always made windsurfers bright and colourful because that’s the way the customers want and expect them,’ he explained. ‘You need something different – you can have it. There’s no reason at all why I can’t form the hull out of perfectly clear polyurethane. Janice can make the wings and sail out of transparent plastic sheeting. It’s not the most robust of materials, but it’s more than adequate for one trip. With the boom, mast and your men’s wetsuits in a nice neutral blue, they’d be near impossible to spot from anything but a very low-flying and very slow plane.’ Bright paused. ‘Oh, and I came up with one other nice little gimmick to help fool anyone who might want to take a more careful look.’
Martin was already impressed. Now he was intrigued. ‘Let’s hear it.’
‘No matter how well the craft is camouflaged, anything moving across the surface of the water is going to leave a wake,’ Bright explained. ‘Seen from an aircraft, they’re unmistakable. Your men might as well leave a trail of smoke flares behind them.’
It was something Martin had never thought about. He cursed himself mentally for the oversight. ‘And you think you can get around that?’
Bright nodded. ‘To an extent, yes. The problem is with the dagger-board, or keel. It not only stabilizes the board – it keeps it in line, thus creating a perfectly straight, unbroken wake trail. I plan to fit a couple of smaller spoiler fins to the rear underside of the hull. They shouldn’t affect the handling characteristics too much, but they will help to break up the wake trail into more irregular swirls. Four of them in a line could easily be mistaken for a pod of dolphins or something like that.’
Bright looked proud of himself. As well he might, Martin thought, with such an ingenious solution to a problem he hadn’t even known existed. He looked at Bright with undisguised admiration. ‘Any other little brainwaves?’
Bright smiled. ‘Just one. I was thinking about incorporating an emergency flood chamber into the hull. Just in case anyone came too close, your men could simply pull the plug and sink the entire craft to about three feet below the water level. Then, when the danger had passed, they would blow out the water ballast with a compressed-gas cartridge, replace the plug and be on their merry way again. It would only work once – but that might be the one chance you needed.’ He broke off, staring Martin in the eye. ‘Well, what do you think?’
Martin wasn’t very good at handing out compliments. ‘Just do it,’ he said. He was at something of a loss for further words. ‘How soon do you think we can get down to a final design?’ he asked finally.
Bright and Mallory exchanged a quick glance.
‘Just as soon as you’re prepared to give us the rest of the information we need,’ Mallory said. ‘I need the weight of each pilot, and we could both do with a fairly accurate idea of your final destination.’
Martin was immediately cagey. Up to that point everything had been going even better than he could have expected. Now he found himself back on potentially treacherous ground again, and he was far from happy about it. ‘Why do you need that information?’ he asked warily. ‘I’ve already made it clear that there are certain specific details of this project which I am not at liberty to reveal.’
Mallory spoke with exaggerated patience. ‘Think about it, man,’ he urged. ‘I have to work out payload and range.’ He paused to let the point sink in. ‘And it would be a great advantage if we had some sort of an idea what wind and weather conditions to plan for.’
Martin took the point, albeit grudgingly. ‘The weight of the pilots is no problem,’ he said. ‘I’ll have that for you by this evening. As far as destination is concerned, let’s just say somewhere around Cyprus, for the sake of argument.’
It was obviously the nearest thing to a precise answer he was likely to get, Mallory decided. In the absence of hard facts, it would have to do. He wondered momentarily how the man would react to the one delicate question which was still bothering him. ‘There is one last thing,’ he said. ‘There isn’t going to be any leeway for undisclosed factors on my final calculations. So if you’re planning any extra cargo you haven’t told us about, you’d better come clean now.’
Martin looked, and sounded, a little indignant. ‘I’m not sure I understand what you are suggesting,’ he protested, almost pompously.
Mallory’s lips curled in a thin, mirthless smile. ‘Cut the crap, Martin,’ he said wearily. ‘We both know these little beauties aren’t being built for your men to enjoy some R and R. So if you have any plans to increase your baggage allowance – with mines, some sort of warhe
ad or any shit like that – this is your last chance to tell us about it right now or forget it. The payload of these birds is going to be strictly limited, and totally inflexible.’
It was the last hurdle to cross, Martin realized. He looked Mallory straight in the eye, his face devoid of any guile. ‘You have my word that my men will be carrying no armaments of any kind,’ he said quietly and sincerely.
The American returned Martin’s gaze for several seconds, finally nodding thoughtfully. ‘OK, that’s good enough for me,’ he said. ‘Who could doubt the word of an English officer and gentleman?’
Martin could not mistake the sarcasm in this last comment, but he chose to ignore it. ‘Well, it would appear that we have all systems go,’ he observed, genuine satisfaction clearly registering in his tone. ‘The equipment and supplies you wanted are already on their way. Please let me know if there is anything else you require.’
Mallory grinned at him. ‘Yeah, you could try being human a bit more often. Believe it or not, it suits you.’
15
‘Well, what do you think?’ Willerbey asked Crewes as they headed from the villas down towards the beach to take up the late-afternoon patrol duty.
The man had been oddly withdrawn all day, Crewes thought. It wasn’t like him, and it caused Crewes to consider his reaction. His initial response was an attempt at humour – he let out something between a grunt and a snort of derision. ‘We don’t get paid to think,’ he replied. It was not the right thing to say. He caught a glimpse of the doubtful frown which flickered across Willerbey’s face and relented. ‘What do I think about what, anyway?’ he added, after a few seconds.