by John Day
“Are we going to this party or what?” She exclaimed.
Max felt around the window frame to see if it was loose, but it was fixed shut.
It would be unwise to force it, because it was probably wired to an alarm, so he took out his pocket knife and cut away the crumbling putty that held in the glass. One by one, he eased out the glass panes and finally broke away the thin glazing bars. Slipping in through the opening, he soundlessly dropped to the floor. Carla’s lithe body dropped alongside him and they peered through the gloom, listening for voices.
In the distance, a beam of light shone through the glass panel of a door, and they carefully picked their way past boxes of machinery and electronic parts, towards it. The faint sound of voices speaking in Russian could be heard from the other side. Listening for a few more minutes they could make out an American’s voice; he was called John. As they listened, their hearts nearly stopped beating with shock. John had tracked down James, Max’s son in Dorset, and had arranged a computer expert to shut down the Project Oracle system James had set up. As soon as Gregor was sure it was shut down successfully, he would tell John to instruct his man to kill James.
They were startled again by the deep boom of a ship’s horn that sounded just outside on the dock. A cargo ship from Murmansk had just arrived. Voices and movement coming towards the solid front access door made Max and Carla look for a hiding place, when suddenly all the warehouse lights came on in banks. The contrast of darkness and bright lights blinded them for a few precious seconds. Where could they hide?
Someone had reached the door and was turning the key to unlock it.
Carla streaked across the floor like a gazelle, took a leap up to the open window and like a gymnast over a bar, slipped through. Max took cover under an empty crate, by tipping it upside down, over him.
Men unlocked and pulled open the large sliding doors facing the ship, and through joins in the crate, Max could see the cargo ship lit up as its final docking procedures were completed.
Forklift trucks revved and clanked out onto the brightly lit dock ready to receive goods from the ship.
Panic swept through Max as he realised he was now trapped in the busy warehouse and somewhere in Dorset, a man was about to kill his son. What could he do?
Chapter - Trapped in the warehouse.
A docker walked up to the crate Max was hiding under and turned it over. He was going to break it up and use the space. When he saw Max crouching there, he opened his mouth and gawked. Max leapt up, grabbed the man’s jacket lapels and dragged him over the crate and smashed the man’s head on the floor. Pulling off the man’s coat, Max put it on and picked up the man’s greasy cap to complete the disguise. He rolled the man into the crate and proceeded to drag it to the shadows further into the building. Now he had to find Gregor and get him to stop James’s execution.
Cap pulled low, Max opened the glazed door and strode through. The room was a small office; nearly everyone had walked out onto the dock to watch the unloading. Gregor was out on the dock surrounded by his men, so Max could not get to him and was also prevented from escaping.
Still the precious minutes ticked by.
Max slipped away again into the shadows away from the others and for the next hour, tried to look busy. When Gregor walked back to the office on his own, Max saw his chance. Picking up a Dockers hook Max calmly came up behind Gregor and pulled the point of the hook into Gregor’s throat. Gregor went rigid, unable to move with Max’s grip on his collar.
Max said in a low, firm voice. “One bad move and you’re a dead man.”
Gregor started to say, “You’re the dead man” but stopped in a gurgle of pain as the point of the hook drew blood.
“I want you to call off your man who has orders to kill my son James.”
“I don’t have his phone number” replied Gregor “I need to get it from my colleague.”
“Call him over and tell him to let James go.”
Gregor called out “John!” and beckoned him. John saw at once that Gregor had a hook in his throat, but walked closer until Max told him what he had to do. The man disconcertingly smiled and slowly reached into his pocket. As his hand withdrew, he flipped open a small phone and tapped its buttons. After a few rings, someone at the other end answered.
“Nikolai, this is John. There has been a change of plan.” He paused and Max waited expectantly for the order to let James go.
“Kill the man now!” shouted John.
Max was shocked and unable to comprehend what he had heard. John held the phone close to Max’s face.
Two shots were fired at the other end, and John took the phone way.
Max’s world collapsed around him, his mouth fell open, and every muscle in his body went weak and limp. His innards churned over, and as the shock took hold blackness closed in around him as blood drained from his brain.
Gregor turned rapidly and rammed his elbow hard into Max’s gut, winding him. Pulling hard on the hook did no damage to Gregor because it was now around his neck like a shepherd’s crook, around the neck of a sheep. Max fell to the floor, a beaten man. He hardly felt Gregor’s polished brogue shoe as it smacked into the side of his head. Blackness fully engulfed him.
Chapter - Max and the cylinder.
When Max slowly regained consciousness, he could hear voices nearby laughing and joking, the rhythmic sound of a large diesel pump and the distant pulsing gush of water. He focused his mind on what the men were saying. A meeting was due to take place that afternoon and buyers for the weapons would come from many countries to take what they wanted. They must have a way of transporting the weapons back to their own countries surmised Max
A large gantry crane rumbled across, high above him as he opened his eyes and tried to focus them. He saw the large steel hook descend to a relatively new square patch of concrete floor. Men connected chains to steel eyes set in the corners of the slab and to the main hook. The hook slowly ascended and finally raised the slab a little above the floor.
From the chair he was tied to, he could see he was in the main warehouse again. It was now quite full of crates, and the main doors were closed. The crane rumbled back until the slab was clear of the hole and then lowered the slab to the floor. The men slowly unhooked the slab and peered intently down into the water-filled hole.
There was a splashing sound and a grinding noise of metal on concrete from the hole. Lights appeared from the black water, and the top surface of an enormous black cylinder, big enough to house five long wheel base transit vans, nose to tail, rose slowly into view, as water was pumped into the chamber. The pumping stopped when the top of the cylinder was just above the level of the floor.
Divers wearing black wetsuits and dull black air cylinders clambered up metal steps, onto the warehouse floor.
As soon as decking around the cylinder was in place on the floor, men removed large bolted cover plates from the cylinder, to the sound of a vicious hissing of escaping compressed air, to access the cargo.
Power cables were connected up inside and the sound of machinery, possibly compressors emanated from inside.
Max watched in amazement as long missiles, and other weapons were manhandled, out through the small openings.
The cylinder was divided up into sealed compartments, to strengthen the hull against water pressure and safeguard the vessel in case of water leaks. Crates labelled as machine parts in the warehouse were assembled from their flat pack storage form, and the missiles, and other armaments concealed inside.
Eventually the cylinder was empty, and all but one of the cover plates were refitted. The man called John, and Gregor, approached Max and beckoned two burly Dockers to come, as well. The dockers lifted Max off the chair and leaving his hands and feet tied together, they carried him over and dropped him in the open chamber. It was a perfect way to dispose of a body and cause great suffering at the same time.
Before the cover plate was fitted he had time to see, in the gloom, large air cylinders and machinery w
ere fitted neatly to the end of the compartment. Then, with a soft clunk, the heavy cover plate was dropped onto its rubber seal. Darkness engulfed him, blacker than he had ever known; it felt thick enough to drown in.
The clanking of spanners on bolt heads slowly sealed his fate. He didn’t care anymore; his son was dead because of him. What was there to live for?
He lay on his stomach along the axis of the cylinder trying to get comfortable and reviewed his life. He particularly remembered the night he met Carla. He had wanted adventure, and from the moment she came into his life, he had got it.
He still couldn’t believe James was dead, he had heard the shots, but there is no closure in that. He knew he was in the denial phase; he had been there before when Janet, his wife died in his arms. Who was it who said, denial was not a river in Egypt. Whoever it was, it was Max’s kind of humour, although he was in no mood for it now. Anyway, he would be dead and out of his misery, soon.
Suddenly he felt very irked, why was he just giving up, there must be a way out of here?
But there wasn’t of course, even Houdini couldn’t get out, there were no tricks to pull or illusions to create in this sealed, steel coffin.
The cylinder settled and lurched as it sank back into the black hole.
Just enough water was left, to float the cylinder into position over its heavy ballast keel, where it would be reconnected. The buoyancy of the cylinder was adjustable from outside by the divers as they negotiated it through the underwater tunnel from the chamber and back under the hull of the cargo ship.
A year ago, when Gregor first saw the warehouse, he came up with the idea of excavating a chamber with a short tunnel to the sea. He consulted a civil engineer who explained that it was relatively simple to do with basic tools and normal building materials. Even the large cover plate over the entrance to the tunnel in the harbour wall was basic lock gate technology. As the water is pumped out of the chamber and tunnel, the water pressure from the sea would hold it in place and effectively seal it up, leak free. Because the dock was deep water, the large draft of the ship and cylinder under the keel was not a problem. The customs men had often searched the ship and checked under the hull, but never found a thing. Where the cylinder bolts to the hull, the holes were temporarily filled with imitation rivets of hard rubber.
In an emergency, the cylinder could be released and remain submerged several metres below the surface. Compressed air in the cylinder would counter hull pressure at the shallow depths involved.
Max’s bound hands were quite painful by now, so he decided to try and free them. He thought carefully about what he had seen in his compartment before the cover plate shut out the light. He sat up and slid along on his bottom to where the machinery and cylinders were attached. Standing up carefully he felt about for any sharp edges of metal and found one. A flame cut piece of steel angle, although smoothed by paint, was like a saw blade, so he used this to cut his bonds. Once his hands and feet were free he felt in his pocket for his phone. There was no signal of course, the cylinder prevented it, but the light from the screen was more than bright enough to see with, and he examined the equipment fixed to the bulkhead.
The power source was probably a bank of batteries in another compartment, but here at least were some motorised valves to regulate airflow and both water and air pumps. There was also a junction box with large capacity fuses and a light switch, presumably for maintenance.
The cylinder was on the move, on its way down the tunnel to the sea. Occasionally it grated and bumped against the concrete walls or roof as it was guided along.
Max felt the cylinder turn; the divers had got it out of the tunnel and were turning it through 90 degrees to line it up with the hull of the ship above.
A pump started up, and Max could hear water rushing in below him. The sensation of the cylinder sinking made him panic for a moment.
A valve opened and compressed air was bled into the chamber to equalise increasing water pressure outside.
Max felt the ceramic body of the fuses, only one was warm, most likely the water pump circuit.
An idea occurred to him. If he could control the buoyancy of the cylinder, he could make it surface. So at least someone would see it and investigate. It seemed to be his only chance of escape. Then another thought crossed his mind, if he surfaced between ship and dock rather than the other side, the cylinder would probably be crushed, leak and sink. He decided not to dwell on that, he was as good as a dead man anyway at the moment.
He looked for a chunk of metal he could use as an electrical bridge to divert current to the water pump and pump out the buoyancy tanks.
As a precaution, he pulled out the warm fuse to the inlet pump. Whatever else happened, he was not going down any deeper. A diver pressed the control button to descend, but without the fuse, the pump didn’t work. Max heard the clicking of a relay in another control box, in response to the diver’s button. Ah! He said to himself, if I can open up the relay box, I’ll have full control.
The tough plastic cover was too strong to break open with his bare hands, so he searched the pockets of the Dockers jacket for something useful. Apart from a dime coin, they were empty. Max tried the coin as a screwdriver, and it sort of worked. After a few minutes, he had the relay cover off. By trial and error he found the outlet pump relay and held it down. The delicately buoyed cylinder started to rise rapidly. Seconds later there was an almighty clang as the cylinder hit the ship’s hull. Rolling wildly it grated and shrieked against the hull as it continued to rise. As best he could tell above the din, he was on the seaward side of the hull.
Max decided to lower the internal air pressure of the hull to prevent it bursting. He was not sure which relay actually did this, and there was still one he hadn’t tried. He pressed it. There were six simultaneous explosions below him and the floor came up and hit him.
Chapter - Carla confesses to the FBI.
Carla made her escape from a warehouse with a graceful gymnastic pivot through the window. She dropped to the ground like a cat, looked quickly around and ran back to the car. She drove away frantically searching both sides of the road until she saw it; a phone box. She didn’t want to use her mobile phone and compromise her future security.
She called the FBI and asked for an agent, Steve Wilcox, but was put through to Mike Teal. “I need your help,” she demanded, ignoring his questions. She told him Gregor Yeltsin was at his dockside warehouse in Florida and that he had arranged to kill her friend’s son, James Fortune, within the hour. She gave all the addresses she knew of where James might be held. She said, “I am responsible for framing Yeltsin,” and briefly explained why, mentioning the murdered survey team.
“My friend is still trapped in the warehouse; if he is caught, he will be killed as well.”
She heard commands being issued in the background as she spoke, and knew things were happening, but what the outcome would be was anyone’s guess.
Teal ordered a local team to close in on the warehouse and called a contact in Scotland Yard. Within minutes, several armed response vehicles were mobilised and closed in on the addresses Carla had given.
James was held prisoner at the industrial unit where his computer system was being shut down, prior to dismantling and shipping, the furniture removal lorry was standing by for loading.
As the armed response vehicle team cautiously looked through the window they could see a man talking on his mobile phone, automatic pistol in hand, standing behind a young fair haired man, tied up in a chair.
The man lowered his phone and stepped back raising his pistol to the back of the young man’s head. Two fatal shots rang out, shattering the otherwise still evening air, the same shots Max heard.
Mike Teal and his team were whisked away to a waiting jet ready to fly to Florida. A helicopter would be standing by to meet him when he landed, to take him on to the dock.
Five hours later he was being brought up to date with the local team who had staked out the area.
“Apart from the unloading of the ship, nothing else has happened. Most of the Dock Labour had left. There is no sign of anyone being held prisoner that we could see, but we can’t get too close because of their security system. Gregor is still there though.”
“What cargo have they brought in?” questioned Mike Teal.
“Crates of machinery parts, just like the manifest said, according to the Customs check,” the man replied.
“I wonder why Gregor is here to watch a ship unload?” Continued Teal, thinking aloud.
“It’s got to be something important I guess,” the man replied.
“You know,” Teal went on, “This is all a fuck up; we aren’t ready to pounce on Gregor yet. We wanted the buyers and all their links before we moved in. This could also be another half-baked set up to frame Gregor.”
“Well the girl was right about the guy being whacked in England,” said Wilcox.
“Yes, I know, but nothing is happening here.”
The words hardly left his mouth when in the distance an enormous black shape seemed to rise from the dark shimmering water. As it rose, the sound of a huge bow wave roared across the quiet dock. The long black cylinder slid halfway out of the water at an angle of 45 degrees, its domed end striking the overhanging ship’s hull with a deafening clang and shriek of grinding metal. It fell back onto the surface of the water like a leaping whale and continued to glide towards them.
Just moments after the sound of the cylinder striking the ship’s hull, lights came on around the warehouse, and the main doors opened as Gregor and his men poured out to see what had happened. The moment they saw the cylinder charging along, away from the ship they assumed one of the divers had accidentally jettisoned the keel and ballast.
They had to sink the cylinder before anyone else saw it!
Chapter - Warehouse under attack.
Seizing the opportunity, Teal told his team to close in and arrest Gregor and his men, while they were surprised, and confused.