The Devil's Trinity

by Michael Parker

  “When the bombs explode, the resultant tidal wave, a Tsunami, would overrun the whole of the State of Florida as far south as the Keys. It would engulf most of the Gulf of Mexico Seaboard, Central America; places like Guatemala, Belize, Eastern Mexico. Coastlines and low lying countries like Cuba, Puerto Rico and all of the West Indies would be devastated. The tsunami that struck Indonesia and killed two hundred and thirty thousand people in 2004 would be small fry in comparison.”

  “The energy pulse from the three bombs would silence all communication, cell phones, air traffic control systems, public transport, computer highways, the internet, everything. Anything that relied on telecommunications would cease to work within a two hundred mile radius. Everything!”

  He dropped the report on to his desk. The two men remained silent. Schofield continued.

  “Khan is attacking the soft, underbelly of America. There are nearly four thousand oil and gas rigs in the Gulf of Mexico supplying almost thirty percent of our domestic oil and gas. Our economy could be wrecked. The knock-on effect for the other Western economies would be disastrous. The death toll in the Gulf alone would reach well over a million; to say nothing of the total devastation and havoc brought down on the survivors.”

  He paused, letting it sink in. Starling and Francesini sat there impassively; the expressions almost wooden.

  “Gentlemen,” the professor said gravely. “You must stop this madman. If you do not, you are looking at a doomsday scenario of apocalyptic proportions.”

  Chapter 16

  The lines on Francesini’s face looked as though they had been painted on with an artist’s brush. They were deeply etched into his expression and showed the considerable pressure he was under. Since his meeting with Professor Schofeld at the Woods Hole Institute, he had been subjected to a very uncomfortable meeting with the President’s National Security Adviser who had wasted no time in trying to reduce him to a nervous wreck by an ingenuous attack on his character, his department, his appalling efforts to stop the madman, Hakeem Khan, and anything else he could lay his political tongue too.

  James Starling had allowed himself a wry smile after the disastrous meeting and offered the opinion that he was glad to have men like Francesini in his department who could take the flak from career politicians. He also told Francesini that he would still be in a job even after the National Security Adviser had joined the ranks of ex Senators and become part of the after dinner speaking circuit, albeit earning large sums of money.

  Starling’s levity did little to appease Francesini’s demeanour because his own worries were genuine; he really feared for the safety of the millions who lived within the killing zone of those three bombs. And the devil of it was, he now knew exactly what Khan was up to but, ludicrous as it was to even consider, he felt might be too late to stop him.

  He was now standing in a room at the Guantanamo Naval Base set aside for him by the commanding officer of the Base. He had flown down with James Starling immediately after the meeting with the President’s National Security Adviser. Although there was no change in the time zones, both of them were feeling distinctly jet lagged.

  In the room with Francesini and the admiral were eight men. They were seated in two rows and facing the two C.I.A. men. In the front row was the big, black Lieutenant Santos, the Navy Seal who had boarded the Taliba. The eight men had just finished settling themselves into the chairs when Francesini stood up.

  On the wall behind him, pinned to a white board, were several photographs. None of them had identifying labels. He pushed his own thoughts of Armageddon to the back of his mind and addressed the men,

  “Gentlemen, your brief is straightforward and one which I am sure you have all been asked to do before, but unlike a lot of your missions, we cannot contemplate failure on this. I will not go into details why, although I know Lieutenant Santos is aware of the reasons. His urgent desire to go on this mission should convey sufficiently to you all just how vitally important success is.”

  He did not really believe that these men, all experts in their field of covert operations should need convincing, but he laid it on the line for them more for his own sake than theirs. He turned to the photographs and touched one with a collapsible pointer.

  “This is the oceanographic survey vessel Taliba. At the moment we understand she is sheltering in Cuban waters. Anywhere else and this meeting would not have been necessary. We are pursuing diplomatic channels of course, and have asked the Cuban government to impound the ship, but as you all know, President Castro is no friend of the Americans.”

  He moved to the next photograph. “This is Hakeem Khan, the vessel’s owner. He was never considered an extremist, quite the opposite in fact; but we now suspect that he is a member of Al Qaeda, the extreme Islamic terrorist organisation.”

  He moved to the next photograph. “This is Abdul Malik, Khan’s bodyguard. He is a killer, nothing more, nothing less.” He left the rest unsaid. The men in that room were also killers, but only out of expediency.

  Lieutenant Santos nodded to himself softly. Not because he had seen Malik when he boarded the Taliba, but because he hoped he would meet Malik face to face.

  “This photograph,” Francesini continued, “is of Doctor Harry Marsham, to give him his full title. He is known as Marsh to all his friends. If you speak to him, call him by that name. He’s probably forgotten his real name by now.”

  A chuckle spread through the men. Even Starling allowed himself a smile.

  “And this woman,” he said finally, “is Helen Walsh. What this young woman has been through you wouldn’t wish upon your worst enemy. Handle her very carefully gentlemen; she could be at breaking point.”

  He turned and looked at the admiral who nodded. He sat down and James Starling took over.

  “Your brief, gentlemen,” Starling began, “is to board the Taliba the moment she leaves Cuban waters. We want Hakeem Khan alive. We also want Marsh and the woman, Helen Walsh. Malik is to be eliminated. Charges are to be placed below the water line and the Taliba sunk immediately.” He emphasised the word ‘immediately’.

  “If there is armed resistance to the point where the mission could be jeopardised, Khan must be snatched and the Taliba sunk. All others on board are forfeit. I repeat: ‘all others’. There are details of the vessel for you to peruse, courtesy of the Naval Architects department in the C.I.A.”

  “At the moment the weather, as you can tell just by looking out of the windows, is against us. We expect the Taliba to leave Cuban waters soon. We have been unable to track her successfully by satellite because of the unusually deep cloud cover and the fact that we believe she has had some temporary structural alterations to confuse our satellites. There is a forecast of a hurricane moving into the Caribbean, although we don’t expect it to track too closely to the Taliba’s position. But in any event, whether the hurricane changes course or not, we do not have time on our side. We have land based agents in place and they will inform us as soon as the Taliba puts to sea. If there are no questions gentlemen, I wish you all good hunting.”

  *

  Marsh had been ordered forward to Challenger. It was barely midnight and the order puzzled him, but he had learned not to ask questions. The directive had been very clear; the Challenger was to be made ready for a dive.

  He found the task very unrewarding. Working at night seemed to demand stealth where in fact it was quite unnecessary. Strangely though, he was aware that the rest of the crew were moving about on deck with an almost tangible feeling of anticipation, accompanied by a worrying silence.

  This feeling edged its way into his mind and he knew that something extraordinary was going to happen; something to which he was not privy. It troubled Marsh because he knew this was to be the last dive, the last chance to do something. He felt hopeless and helpless, and tried losing himself in the task of readying the submersible, but found even that could not dispel the gnawing fear that was burning away inside him.

  Suddenly an order came down from the
bridge to extinguish all lights. Marsh climbed out of the Challenger’s open cockpit door and dropped down on to the deck. There was no moon or starlight because of the cloud cover and the order to extinguish all lights did not make sense. He knew they were anchored in Cuban waters, but none of the crew had been allowed ashore.

  Malik appeared almost ghostlike beside Marsh and put his finger to his lips. Marsh frowned at the gesture, although he understood clearly what Malik was saying; the warning was pure and menacing. Malik the pointed towards the side of the Taliba and Marsh became aware of the shape of a cargo ship looming up on their starboard side.

  He glanced up at the Taliba’s bridge as the red and green navigation lights went out. There was a sudden grumbling noise as the anchor chain was pulled up, and the deck trembled slightly beneath his feet.

  As the freighter slipped alongside, Marsh could feel the Taliba’s screws thrashing the water, and she began to move slowly. The freighter was now almost stationary. Marsh knew then that the Taliba was under way. Khan was slipping out under the cover of the freighter.

  The crew were all, metaphorically, holding their breath, and Marsh realised then that they had all been warned of what was about to happen. He also knew that Khan must be playing a very dangerous game now and wondered if he suspected that the Navy Seals had paid him a visit twenty four hours earlier. But he dismissed the notion as soon as it entered his head; there was no way Kahn could even suspect that the United States Navy had actually been on board the Taliba.

  He looked at Malik. “Why the subterfuge?” he whispered, ignoring Malik’s earlier warning. “Why are we leaving like thieves in the night?”

  Malik’s look of surprise was not apparent in the darkness.

  “Thieves in the night?” he repeated. Then he pointed towards the aft end of the Taliba as a smile spread across his face. “Look.”

  Marsh followed his direction. The Taliba was beginning to turn away from the freighter. Just aft he could see another ship. It was about the same size as the Taliba. He could not see the superstructure too clearly, but she appeared to have moved up in the shadow of the cargo ship. She was coming alongside the freighter.

  And then it came to him: Khan had pulled a switch! The ship behind them had taken up position exactly where the Taliba had been anchored. Marsh realised then that Khan was deliberately trying to confuse any observer on the Cuban shore. And it would be dawn at the earliest before the switch was noticed. By then the third bomb would be in place and Khan would have won. Marsh felt a spill of fear trickle through his veins and he wanted to vomit.

  He turned to Malik and let out a burst of uncontrollable anger at him.

  “You evil bastards,” he snarled. “If you think I’m going to plant your fucking bomb, you’re badly mistaken.” He turned swiftly and went to walk away from Malik, but before he could take two steps, Malik had him by the neck and almost twisted his head from his shoulders.

  “The woman still has a chance, Marsh,” Malik whispered angrily in his ear. “But if you refuse to take Challenger down, I will kill her, I promise.” He gave Marsh’s neck a painful twist. “Do you hear me Marsh?”

  “Yes, I hear you. Now let me go,” he pleaded.

  “But do you understand? If you do not cooperate, your woman will die in front of you.”

  Marsh knew Malik was the kind of man who carried out his promises and this would be no exception. He had no choice, as weak as he felt and as abysmal as he felt, Helen’s life was of paramount importance to him.

  “Yes Malik, I understand. I will take Challenger down,” he assured him. “Now let me go.”

  As Malik let him go, he noticed that the freighter was turning too. And then he understood that the two ships, the freighter and the Taliba would sail alongside each other to avoid detection from radar. And he understood the cunning and the sheer bravado of the man they were up against.

  The two ships sailed together for three hours until they eventually separated. Within minutes the freighter was lost in the darkness and the Taliba was alone. The task of keeping the two ships separated in the badly deteriorating weather had called for a high class of seamanship, and Marsh knew that Captain de Leon possessed that in spades. That was the reason Khan hired men of that calibre.

  The wind had freshened to twenty knots, normally too high to launch the submersible. This added to Marsh’s fears but was small beer compared to the fear he had for his own life. He knew that the high wind speed would not stop Khan from launching the Challenger, but it could seriously jeopardise recovery. At the rate the wind was freshening, it could reach moderate to gale force by the time the dive was over.

  And the devil of it was he knew they were sailing into the edge of a hurricane.

  Working in almost total darkness was dangerous and stressful, particularly when the load going into the submersible was a nuclear bomb. Marsh found it difficult to maintain a level conversation with Batista and Zienkovitch; their responses often seemed careful and guarded. He had expected to see Khan but the man did not even venture down to oversee the loading operation. In fact, everyone was on edge.

  The one, bright moment during the lengthy night was Helen’s appearance. She told Marsh that she had insisted on seeing him. Had he not seen her before the dive, it would have added to the inexplicable feeling of being a condemned man.

  With barely minutes to go before he was due to shut himself in Challenger’s cockpit, Helen put her arms around him and drew him in close.

  “I love you, Marsh” she whispered. “Remember; to have faith and hope is to survive.”

  He held her tight for a moment, and then kissed her passionately on her lips. They were soft and yielding; like tender pillows to cushion his anxiety.

  “I love you too, Helen.”

  He pulled away and looked over at Malik who, as ever, was never far away. He walked over to him and stood in such a way that Helen would not be able to see his face. Summoning as much strength and appeal in his voice as he could, he spoke to Malik through gritted teeth.

  “Don’t let anything happen to her, Malik. Make me that promise.”

  Malik nodded slowly. “You have my word.”

  Satisfied, Marsh turned away and climbed into the cockpit of the Challenger.

  *

  The young signals officer hovered beside James Starling; afraid to deliver the message that he was sure would bring down the world of Hades on his vulnerable, young shoulders. The admiral was sitting in an upright chair in the base commander’s office. He was talking earnestly to Francesini and was unaware of the young signals officer.

  The young man coughed. “Excuse me sir.”

  Starling stopped talking to Francesini and looked up at the officer. “Yes, what is it?”

  “I’m afraid we’ve lost the Taliba.”

  Starling said nothing for a few seconds. His expression darkened. “What did you say?”

  “It’s the Taliba, sir; I’m afraid we’ve lost her.”

  “Lost her?” Starling sprang to his feet. His chair toppled over behind him and crashed to the floor. Francesini couldn’t believe it. The might of the American security services had lost the Taliba again. He bent down and picked up the fallen chair.

  “Lost her? What the hell do you mean?” Starling asked angrily.

  “Simply that, sir,” the signals officer replied nervously. “Our observers have reported that the Taliba slipped out under the cover of darkness.”

  “Well dammit, man,” Starling bellowed. “We knew she would. That’s why we’ve been watching her.”

  “Yessir,” the young man agreed meekly. “But it would appear that the Taliba managed to leave a decoy ship in her place. That’s why the disappearance wasn’t noticed until first light this morning.”

  Starling continued to stare at the young officer. “What about the F16s we have on patrol?”

  “We contacted Homestead Base, sir. There are no reports of any changes to the situation. They were not aware of the Taliba’s disappearance until we
advised them.”

  Homestead Base was home to the National Air Reserve in Florida. It was America’s most southerly base.

  Starling hissed through closed teeth and nodded his head resignedly. “Damn you, Khan. Damn you and all your kind to hell.”

  His massive shoulders heaved and he looked at the signals officer from beneath his dark eyebrows. Looking at his watch he began to compute times and distances in his mind.

  “The observers noticed the switch at first light; about six a.m. We have to assume the switch was made at midnight. Six hours.”

  He turned his attention to Francesini knowing he would be automatically computing the figures with him. “If she makes twenty knots and is still under way, she could be one hundred and thirty miles out by now.”

  Francesini cut in. “But with the weather conditions deteriorating, we might have to assume half that speed and distance; seventy miles.”

  Starling swung back to the signals officer. “Contact Colonel Riddell at Homeland Base and ask him to scramble four F16s. I want them on a quartering search, one hundred and fifty miles north of Havana. As soon as contact is made, I want to know.”

  The signals officer thought that there might be more, but there wasn’t. Starling glared at him.

  “Now sonny, now!”

  The young man ran from the room and Starling shook his head and gazed into thin air.

  “Where are you, Khan? Where are you and your insidious crew?”

  Francesini stood beside him. His face seemed to be carved from stone as he let the awful truth sink in.

  *

  Once inside the polymer cockpit bubble, the outside world was shut away. Marsh was cocooned like an embryo in his own, silent world, feeding off the warm belly of the Challenger, but he was like the beating heart of the submersible.

  He went through his checks, robotic like, throwing switches, checking pressures, reading gauges. He checked the television monitor, peering unseen into the decompression chamber like an Orwellian overlord. He nodded his satisfaction.