by Ron Sewell
She brushed her hair from her eyes. “Like life things evolve.”
“Have you transferred my money?”
Antarah nodded.
Confident and sure of herself, Linda placed her new laptop on the desk. “Check your account.”
Roberto pressed the keys. “The signal is not strong.” From memory, he keyed in his account details and smiled. “Paid in full.”
“I'll need a signature from you reassigning the ownership of this vessel. Later you can locate an honest lawyer and complete the paperwork.” She pointed at the old man. “Tell him when and where and I’ll be there.”
“When do you hope to sail?”
“When I have my crew. Until then, I’ll pay the old man fifty American dollars a day to stay and act as a watchman.”
“I accept,” said the old man, smiling as he left the cabin.
“He’s a good man,” said Roberto.
“He knows this ship and before I take this vessel to sea, I will learn from him. The moment we cast off the ropes it’s too late to ask questions.”
The old man entered the cabin carrying a tray. “Thought we might as well toast the new owner.” He poured four cups and handed one to each person. “Milk and sugar?”
Everyone drank it black.
“Old man, do you have a name?”
“My mother named me William but to my friends, I’m Billy.”
“I’m Linda Liu and I need you to go ashore for provisions. As from tonight, I’ll be using this cabin and will eat my meals onboard. I assume you can cook.”
Billy nodded.
“At least I won’t starve. Take a taxi and buy food and bedding. Roberto, unless you have any further business, goodbye.”
“I will arrange the transfer and contact you when the documentation is ready.” He held out his hand.
Linda smiled and shook it with a firm grip. When they left, she grabbed Antarah’s arm. “I have a contact who will supply an armed team as our crew. I’ll pay up front but in return you refund my expenses and a bonus before we sail or I walk.”
He grimaced. “How far can you go with a bullet in your head?”
“Who will fire the gun? You don’t have the guts.” She glared. “I’ve more balls than you and I’m a woman. Do something useful, sort the money.”
His hate-filled stare did not alter as he got the message. “You insult me and my God. One day...
“One day you’ll die. If you are that desperate to fuck your virgins, tell your boss the truth.”
He shuffled from the cabin to the sound of her laughter.
12
Rono awoke before eight, dressed and left the hotel for a power walk before breakfast. The sun shone and sweat soaked his shirt. As he entered his tiny room, his foot kicked an envelope. He picked it up and read the message.
The woman you seek and her associates are dead and buried. Theywill never bother youagain.Go home. Havea safeflight.
Attached were two tickets. One economy class to Cairo and the other a first class to Cape Town. He strolled to the window and peered at the sprawling mass of Tripoli. “I wish life was that easy,” he muttered.
Alone, he pondered the death of Linda Liu. It made no sense. Rono required space to think. He packed his bag and checked out of the hotel. For an hour, he strolled around the city. From a side street, David appeared, drew close and strolled by his side. This time he dressed as a businessperson in a dark grey suit and carrying a briefcase.
“You will miss your flight. Come, my car’s parked not far away. I guess you would like to ask me a few questions.”
“More than a few. Who are you and what happened to Linda Liu?” “You ask two questions.” He pointed to a large black Mercedes saloon. “I’ll answer one. Your choice. Company car, recline in the passenger seat.”
In two minutes, they left the side street and raced along the road to the airport.
“Who are you?” asked Rono again.
“You don’t want to know. I could be a security consultant, an American asset and many other things. Thankfully, you didn’t ask stupid questions in the wrong places. Isis desires clerics to govern. At this moment, rival factions are trying to manipulate this country for their own gain. The conflict between the elected Libyan Government and General Khalifa Haftar continues. The Muslim Brotherhood and Isis help the General. President Obama admitted that not being ready for a post-Gaddafi Libya was a mistake.
“My men and I rectify mistakes and create problems for the Muslim Brotherhood. At this moment, these factions mix with their own kind. If we can use rumours, twist and shape them into a believable truth they end up killing each other. The more they fight amongst themselves the better for my country. Our tasks are to lie, cheat, kill and make use of disinformation. The act of deception is the basis of intelligence activity. Propaganda works even when it’s not the truth. This we originate to influence those competing factions. We mix the truth and surveillance with lies. You would not believe how well it works in a disorganised society. If we succeed, Isis and others like them will lose credibility and fade. We cannot defeat them but we can out think them.”
The car came to a halt at the airport departure entrance. “Here we are. Enjoy your flight.”
Rono, with bag in hand, jumped out. As he turned to say thank you and goodbye, the car raced away. He shrugged. “It’s a funny old world.”
The flight to Cairo was short and fast. In the first class lounge, he studied the itinerary for his next flight. Departure eighteen-forty from Cairo to Dubai. He’d spend four hours in Dubai then a direct flight to Cape Town. With luck, he might manage a few hours sleep.
The Emirates flight to Cape Town landed on time. Rono slept from takeoff until a member of the cabin crew woke him ten minutes before landing.
First off the plane, he stretched his legs by speed walking. Immigration and passport control were a formality. Outside he joined the queue for a taxi. “Take me to the block of flats next to the fountain roundabout.”
The driver scribbled the address on his pad and drove away.
“You must be rich,” said the driver.
“I wish,” said Rono. “I’m visiting a friend. Made his money writing computer games for kids.”
The driver nodded as he weaved through city centre traffic. “Here we are, sir.”
Rono gave the man a few rand as a tip and took the proffered card. “Thanks.”
As he sauntered into the building, the security guard raised his head. “Good morning, sir.”
Rono nodded and waved as he stepped into the stainless-steel box. Ten seconds later, he arrived at the office. “Did you enjoy your time in Libya?” asked Anna as her fingers drummed the keyboard.
“Welcome back,” said Eric. “Learn anything?” Rono dumped his bag on his empty desk. “Linda Liu is dead. Will that do?”
Anna’s eyes widened. “Did you see the body?” He looked hard at Anna and shivered. “The chameleon leader of a mean group of security consultants informed me and I believed him.”
She shook her head. “We heard the same rumour and continued digging. Park your backside and pay attention.” Two men and two women sat around the table. Eric’s face tightened. “As of yesterday, Linda is alive or someone is stealing from her. The latest is a deposit of ten million US Dollars.” He shrugged. “I must be in the wrong job.”
Rono frowned. “Are we sure? Is it a fact?” Anna placed her hands on the table. “My computers have a ferreting capability second to none. The payment originated in the Central bank of Yemen. From there it shifted to Spain, ran around Europe and stopped in Cape Town. But we don’t have a depositor’s name.”
Eric churched his fingers. “We continue and assume she’s alive. What do the whispers tell us?”
Anna’s eyes roamed across their faces. “I haven’t identified what we’re foraging for but we’ve missed something. We start again from the beginning.”
“So you believe there’s much more happening,” said Eric.
Rono�
�s eyes came to rest on Anna’s bosom. “What do you make of this?” He recited the dead prisoner’s words from memory. “The infidel will die in their thousands. Allah’s fire will ravage the ground on which they trespass.” Eric leant forward. “Who told you this?”
“It was rather messy at the time but those were the words of a captive Isis soldier.”
“It’s simple,” said George.
“Are you going to tell us or is it twenty questions? Out of interest, what's the prize if I get it right?” asked Rono. “The prize is the end of the world. Armageddon,” said George. Her eyes sparkled but her voice was harsh. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” said Eric.
“I am, Isis is desperate to create a hard-line Islamic caliphate. A thorn in their side is Israel. Get rid of the Jews and Isis will rule unchallenged.”
“Before he died, the prisoner mentioned they needed to buy a ship,” said Rono.
Eric rested his elbows on the table. “Each of you tosses an idea into the ring. I found this worked rather well in an earlier life. Let’s imagine Isis has worked out how to end the State of Israel. Anna?”
“Why? Syria is in the middle of a war. Jordon is battling Isis and supports the Americans. Egypt has its own problems although the Islamic Brotherhood could cause an upset or two. Lebanon is recovering from its own internal difficulties. Hezbollah sits on Israel’s northern border. That leaves the Gaza strip and from their position, it would be a suicide mission. I can’t see how anyone can defeat Israel. Any attacker would suffer horrific loses.”
George gave them an odd glance. “You’ve missed the point. There’s a mountain of difference between the two. To defeat, you wield force. To get rid of is to purge forever.” A shudder ran down Eric’s spine as he glanced at the digital clock on the wall. “Time to take a breather and I could murder a cup of coffee.”
George smiled. “I’ll go to the deli and buy a plateful of filled rolls from the petty cash. It’s called miscellaneous expenditure.”
“Beef for me, please,” said Rono.
She checked the time. “It’ll be Hobson’s choice and beggars take what they get given.”
“Rono, you can brew the coffee,” said Eric. “We have the luxury of a percolator but don’t touch the governor’s coffee. He gets upset.”
In fifteen minutes, a pot of coffee and four mugs sat on the table.
George dropped a bag of filled rolls on the table next to the mugs. She placed another paper bag on her desk. “There’s egg mayo, salad, pepperoni.” She chose one and tossed it towards Rono. “One beef for his lordship.” “What’s in the bag?” asked Anna.
“Doughnuts for tea.”
For a while, no one said a word as they munched on the rolls and sipped the coffee.
Anna gathered the cling film wrappings and Rono, the mugs and empty coffee pot.
Eric paused. “If we’re going to figure out how and when, we’d better make a start.”
Rono thumped the table. “They wouldn’t dare but then Isis is mad enough.”
“You’ve come up with the answer?” asked Eric. Rono nodded. “I hope not.”
“What kind of answer is that?”
“A nuclear bomb might defeat and eliminate at the same time.” As Rono expected, silence filled the room. “I don’t like it either.”
“Have they the expertise?” asked Anna.
“You can Google it,” said Eric.
Rono stifled a yarn. “Forgive me, the flight from Dubai. No matter how comfortable those beds in the air might be, I never sleep. Anyway, back to making a bomb. With a lathe or milling machine and a well-equipped garage, it’s possible to build a weapon of mass destruction. Well, as long as you can steal enough plutonium.” He chuckled. “These days you can buy anything on the web.”
“Not funny,” said Eric. “Okay, they can produce a dirty one if they locate the right plutonium. How do they deliver?”
“Use a boat,” said Rono. “One night, they can park it on the beach next to the Carlton Hotel in Tel Aviv and boom.”
“There’re too many variables,” said George. “Size matters and the detonation characteristic, submarine, surface or air.”
Eric gave a curt nod. “Thank you, George. Rather than discuss the consequences of a bomb I’d prefer it never happened. We must locate this ship. Rono, you will go back to Tripoli and if she’s alive, catch Linda Lui. If you confirm she’s dead, locate the ship. Anna, browse the records for ship sales during the last year. George, unearth every source of plutonium, who owns it and better still, have they lost any? I will follow the money. Between us we end this or kiss goodbye to the civilised world.”
“Eric, I’m going to London,” said Anna. “I have friends in the shipping business who track ship sales for fun.” “I don’t care how, but get the information and I’ll not complain,” said Eric. “As soon as you have anything, tell me. George, book their tickets, economy.”
Anna shrugged. “I don’t need a hotel. If I have any spare time, I’ll stay with a friend.”
“Male or female?” asked Rono grinning.
She twisted her chair and faced him. “A heterosexual male with a three bed flat in central London and a big comfortable bed.”
“Too much information.”
“Anna, Rono, your economy tickets are available from the check in desk. You can select your own hotel.”
13
London. England.
Anna, wheeling her suitcase, strolled out of the terminal at Heathrow airport. At the drop-off point, two armed police officers stood next to a black Jaguar.
The tallest nodded and smiled as she approached. “Your company car and driver, Anna.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “You’re one of the best, Frank. I always swear by the rule, it’s not what you know but who.”
“No problem. The governor said the motor’s yours for as long as you’re in the country.”
“Two days.” She heaved her case into the back and slid into the front passenger seat. “It’s Mike Johnson, isn’t it? Lloyds shipping please.”
“I’m surprised you recognised me.”
“Never forget a face.”
Frank stared after her as the car eased from the kerb and drove away.
“You weren’t shagging her?” asked his partner.
“Chance would be a fine thing. I’d love to but the missus might complain. I was with her when we caught a gang of heavy-duty drug dealers. One of them held a knife to her throat. In the blink of an eye she had him on the ground with her foot pressed hard on his head.” He chuckled. “Oh, I forgot, she broke his nose.”
“Can handle herself then.”
Both men laughed and continued their patrol. ***
Anna punched in a number. “Steven Curruthers – Lloyds Register of Shipping.”
“Afternoon, Steve.”
“Anna, where the hell are you?”
“I’m leaving Heathrow and on my way to you. Fancy a drink? I’m buying?”
“I’ll meet you in The East India Arms, Fenchurch Street.”
“Done. See you in thirty minutes.”
Mike stared straight ahead. “I’ll drop you at the pub and park in the Tower Hotel car park. Ring me and I’ll come running.”
“You can relax and put your feet up for the rest of the day. I’ll ring you tomorrow morning.”
“You can ring me anytime day or night, Miss.”
Forty minutes later the car braked to a halt outside the pub. Anna climbed out and gave the East India Company plaque on the wall, a casual glance. Towing her suitcase, she entered the one-roomed public house.
She saw Steven seated on a bar stool with a coat on the next. “Is this seat taken?” she asked.
“Yes and I had the devil’s own keeping it. Mine’s a pint of Spitfire Gold bitter.”
Anna flashed her eyes at the barman who smiled. “What d’yer fancy, luv?”
“A pint of Gold and a gin and tonic, no ice or lemon, please.”
“Believe it or not the
barman is a student at the LSE. He puts on his phony cockney accent for the tourists and they love it.”
“One pint of Spitfire and a naked G and T.”
Anna handed over a ten-pound note. “Keep the change.”
Steven took a sip of his beer. “Is this business or pleasure?”
“I have time for both but that’s up to you.”
He grimaced. “This could be a long night. What do you want?”
“Not a lot. A list of ships sold or for sale in the last twelve months.”
“Any type?”
“Seaworthy, smallish crew, fifteen max and easy to operate.”
“Can I ask why?”
“No.”
“We need to visit my office and when we finish you can pay for dinner.”
Steven occupied a large windowless office in the basement of Lloyds. Framed pictures of ships old and new decorated every wall. With the subtle use of technology, two light panels gave the impression of windows. Someone had added curtains for good measure. Within a short time, he beavered away at his computer and produced two lists. As they came out of the printer, he handed one to Anna. “We check those sold against those for sale and verify the new owner. What you’re probing for might be in the dross.”
“There lies the problem.”
“You don’t make it easy. I’m sure you understand they come in all shapes and sizes. Let’s see what we can discover. Have you any idea what this vessel might be carrying? It might be useful if you tell me and to be fair, I don’t give a toss. This lot’s shredded before we vacate this room.”
“It’s a guess, but could be a nuclear bomb or two.”
He grinned. “Shit happens around you all the time. Okay, we can get rid of tankers, as they will need professional tank cleaning. I suggest a reasonable new dry cargo ship, medium size and can operate with a small crew.”
“Why?”
`No work required or at worst not a lot. I don’t suppose you perceive if they are clean and off the shelf or dirty.”
“I’d go for dirty.”
Steven deleted those that did not fit the criteria. When he finished, ships for sale totalled two hundred. Those recently sold, sixty-five”