Chapter 3
Dartmouth, England, July 1995
The helicopter was bucking about in the turbulence thrown up from the surface of the sea, a mere fifty feet away, by its own rotors. The four officers on board looked nothing like Customs and Excise officers, dressed as they were in full blue coveralls, bullet proof vests and Kevlar helmets with the chinstraps buckled tightly. More like an American police SWAT team. All four were clinging grimly to the grab handles provided in an effort to stop themselves being thrown about like rag dolls, while the noise of the engine and slipstream through the open doors made ordinary speech impossible. Only the built in microphones held just in front of each man's lips allowed any communication.
The helicopter was banking and turning as it stayed grimly on the tail of the large plastic hulled inflatable, while the inflatable twisted and turned and tried to escape. It was practically dark and the co-pilot switched on the big searchlight mounted beneath the main cabin. Ropell spoke to the pilot through the intercom, the excitement of the chase obvious in his voice.
"Ye Gods! How fast is that thing going, Willie?"
The laconic voice of the pilot, as relaxed as if he was out for a Sunday drive in his private car, came back to him through the headphones.
"About seventy knots when he is in a straight line, which isn't often. He has three fucking great big one hundred and fifty horsepower Mercury outboards screwed to the back of that thing you know. They will push that inflated condom along at a fair lick."
The last was an understatement. Ropell clicked on his intercom again.
"What do you think he is trying to achieve'"
Willie's voice came back in his ear.
"They haven’t given up all hope of saving the cargo. It is nearly fully dark now and if they can make the last two miles to the shore they will be on them before we can grab them. What he is after now is to try and get inshore somewhere they can just abandon the inflatable. Somewhere quiet where they can split up and make a run for it. If they get far enough from the boat we will have a hard job proving it is theirs. It will all be down to forensics as the cargo will be long gone."
"Can't we stop them?"
"I can land this bloody thing on top of them if you like, but if they have one of those nice little Israeli machine guns on board they will probably use it and we are not armoured, old son. Do you want me to get closer?"
"No." Reluctantly.
The aircraft suddenly settled into a straight line.
"Here we go," said Willie, "The dash for shore."
It was now pitch black and the inflatable was heading in a dead straight line directly for the shore. Ropell thought about what the three on board were trying to do and hoped they would hit a buoy or something on the way in. Save a lot of trouble chasing about in the dark. As the inflatable craft headed straight into the mouth of the River Fowey their aircraft rose to two hundred feet. As it turned slightly in the darkness at the limit of the searchlight's range he could see one of the occupants waving to them. Ropell clicked his intercom.
"What the bloody hell are you doing, Willie? The bastards will get clean away."
Willie's voice sounded in his ear again. No reaction to Ropell's outburst noticeable.
"The bastards have got away. He is heading into Fowey. With only about an hour to go to full tide he can get a fair way up the river and can abandon ship anywhere. The cost of the inflatable will be nothing compared to the value of a few kilos of Cocaine. They can be ashore and in a pub by the time I land this thing and you all get out."
Ropell was furious and it showed.
"From this height of course they can. Why didn't you stay on the deck with him."
Willies manner didn't change.
"For the first thing Its against the regulations, old man. Built up area and all that. But the main reason is I like flying this old girl and would like to do it for a bit longer. Can't do that if we are wrapped around a high tension cable or a bloody great tree or a block of flats, you see."
Ropell knew he was being given a message in the nicest possible way. He might be in charge of tonight's mission, his first as leader, but Willie was in charge of the helicopter and where it went. He gave the order reluctantly.
"Back to base, Willie, but radio the local fuzz and Coastguard and see if we can at least confiscate the boat before they can spirit it away. No sense in leaving it to make another run."
The other three men in the rear cabin relaxed visibly. Ropell smacked his hand down on the edge of his seat in frustration.
"Bloody Bollocks."
In his ear Willie's voice came again.
"Beginning to learn the language again I see, Jack."
Ropell Snapped off the intercom.
Cocaine Page 4