Chapter 5
Near Valencia, Spain, February 1997
By even Mediterranean standards, it was a beautiful night. At one o'clock in the morning the moon had not yet risen, although the stars were truly brilliant. There were no waves, just the slightest of swells. With the total lack of any breeze, you would have expected the sea to look like a mirror. Instead, it had that peculiar frosted glass pattern only seen when the weather is exceptionally still.
The Panamanian registered freighter glided through the glassy water at a gentle four knots, only the line of phosphorescence, running from her bows to her stern and the soft low rumble of her diesels, betraying her presence. She was showing no lights despite the fact she was close to a major sea-lane. On her bridge the Captain and the First Officer were studying the read out from the Satellite Navigation system and comparing it to a chart spread out on the big table, the green light from the instruments reflected strangely on the gilt of their uniform buttons. The Captain checked the chart once more and then looked up into the face of the First Officer. He nodded once. The First Officer nodded back, picked up a two-way radio from the chart table and switching it on spoke one word.
"Now".
Down on the rear fantail deck four seamen dressed in grey coveralls were waiting along with the Junior Officer. Stacked beside them on the deck were eight, tea chest sized bundles wrapped in plasticised Hessian. They were linked together at intervals by good quality nylon rope, currently stacked in coils on the decking between the bundles. A gate in the ship's rail was open and hooked back.
On hearing the single word of command from his radio the Junior Officer brought his hand down in a chopping movement and the seamen swung quickly into action, tipping the eight bundles through the rail gate in rapid succession. Twenty seconds later, all eight were in the water. The Junior Officer closed and secured the rail gate and all five went back to their waiting bunks.
Once out of the wake of the freighter the bundles stopped their tumbling and turning and settled down in a group, floating just below the surface where they would not produce any form of radar outline. Then from one of the middle bundles a small radio buoy about the size of a pineapple was released. It popped to the surface and immediately started to transmit a high frequency radio signal, just strong enough to be detected over a fifteen-mile radius. By this time, the freighter had vanished into the night, heading for Marseilles and Its first landfall since leaving South American waters. Her crew was jointly richer by some five hundred thousand American dollars.
An hour later another unlit craft appeared out of the darkness, again disturbing the peace and tranquillity of the night. By the faint light of a newly risen crescent moon, it was just possible to make out her silhouette. She was an ugly brute of a craft, a forty-foot workboat. The wheelhouse was right at the front of the craft and the rest of her should have been open well, except the last third of her length was decked over to conceal the three-inboard/outboard Marine diesels. These were set in a V formation and capable of moving her though the water at over fifty knots. She was painted midnight blue throughout except for the identification number on her bow. This alone was in the regulation white, but if you had tried to trace it you would have had little luck as it had originally belonged to a three masted ketch sunk in the Bermuda Triangle five years before. Behind the wheelhouse was what looked like a power winch and crane arm, lowered and shrouded in its protective canvas cover. This particular winch was loaded with thirty millimetre cannon shells.
The boat was travelling at speed, but came down off the plane as the flow of fuel to her diesels was cut and she gradually slowed to a stop in the water. Even stopped she looked purposeful against the beauty of the Mediterranean night and more than a little sinister.
No lights showed anywhere on board except for the glow of a radar screen in the main cabin, Its soft orange light reflecting upwards giving a weird lighting to the faces of the two occupants. It was just enough light to allow them to see each other, despite the darkness and the black trousers and tee shirts they wore. The helmsman was concentrating hard on a Satellite Navigation display. His companion moved away from the light of the radar scanner now that he was satisfied they had no unwanted company and turned to a small, but powerful radio direction finder fixed to the bulkhead. Setting the frequency required he watched the display. He took from his pocket a small rectangular object which could have been a television remote control, but wasn't. He aimed it out into the night on the bearing indicated by the radio direction finder, switched on and pressed the button. Out in the darkness of the sea a small bright light appeared on the radio buoy and began flashing. The two men grinned at each other. There was a short sharp conversation and then they started their work. The language was Spanish.
An hour later the buoy and the bundles were safely stored in the main cabin. The boat turned its nose in the direction of the Spanish coast and with no noticeable difference in engine noise leapt up onto the plane and sped away. Once more the night returned to its beauty and silence.
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