The Iranian Blockade

by Stephen Makk

  “It’s all on there.” Her contact was in deep cover she knew. It was likely that even the Mabahith or the Maslahat didn’t know what he did. He was Mossad no doubt.

  “It needs your close attention. We’d like to do it ourselves but.” He shrugged and held his palms upwards.

  “How did you come to learn this?”

  “Come on Anupa we both have assets where they shouldn’t be.” Josh drummed his fingers. “All I can say is that she has a scientific skill and lives in Tehran. You need know nothing more than that.”

  He leaned closer. “If you wish to ask her any questions I may pass these on. It’ll be sometime before you get an answer.” Anupa smirked, “I’ll read what you’ve passed to us and I’ll let you know what, if anything we’ll do about it.”

  “You won’t like it.” Josh got up to leave, then turned to her.

  “Anupa. I expect your cousins will be knocking on your door soon. We know they read anything we pass through them, but that’s encrypted with the codes that you have, they can’t read it.” He held his hand up.

  “I know what you’re thinking. No, the NSA can’t read it, we know that.” He smiled at her. “Anupa, they do more than Gaming or Pinterest out in the Negev. IDF Unit 8200; I assume you’ll have heard of this?”

  He left walking off down the shady street. She had heard of Unit 8200, the Israeli equivalent of GCHQ or the NSA.

  She frowned. “Why us and not the Americans?”

  They know we’ll pass the information on to them? If they really wanted to, they could have sneaked it to us via a cargo shipment, hidden on a ship. Or on a plant attending the Haj. There was always a remote crossing of the dunes out on the border with UAE or Iraq. It had been done before. In recent years, documents, photos and recordings had been carried into the Kingdom from offshore by drones. Anupa paid and made her way back to the MI6 safe house. It was time to see what goodies the Israeli Intelligence Service had passed on.

  Chapter 2

  London.

  IMMEDIATELY THE TURKISH Airlines flight from Riyadh via Istanbul landed at Heathrow, Anupa made her way across London to Vauxhall. She entered the SIS building. She took the elevator to the second floor and made her way to the Middle East section. A man dressed in a scruffy tee shirt and oil stained jeans stood by the coffee station.

  “Hi Crutch, how are you doing? Riyadh all hot and bothered as normal? Excuse the scruffs but I’m helping 5 with a job. They wanted an Arabic speaker who could keep his mouth shut.”

  “And they picked you Astrix? Must have been desperate.” She made herself a tea.

  “You still a tea snob? Or have you been converted out there?”

  “There’s nowt like a good brew, baht sugar. Mind you, Astrix.” She waved her finger.

  “Assam, if it’s around.” He snorted.

  “You Northern git.”

  She walked off down to Silk Purse’s office.

  “Hi.” Her boss looked pleased to see her.

  “Hi, I looked at the info you passed on from the Israelis. Interesting.” Anupa nodded.

  “As you can imagine, that’s what I’m here about.”

  “I had a word with Rudolph about it. Come on sit, and shut the door.”

  She sat and looked around the office, it was clear much of her weekends were spent on her canal longboat.

  Silk Purse looked at her quizzically. “Any verbal clues from him?”

  “Not really, it was just, here you are, have a look. They know a lot more than they’re saying of course.”

  “I know, they can be infuriating. But they do pass on some good take.” Silk Purse stared at her and raised her left eyebrow.

  “You have any idea who’s involved?” Silk Purse held up her hand.

  “Before you say anything Rudolph thinks it may be the Turks or Egypt.”

  Anupa smiled. “That’s his Pact side talking. Always a deeper conspiracy. He looks too far into things at times.

  The crescent moon and star mob like to think they’re always three steps ahead, but they usually aren’t. I think you’d have to be short upstairs not to think Iran.” Silk Purse nodded.

  “Yeah, we are talking Israel. Nothing gets their undies in a twist like the Iranians do.” Anupa sipped her tea.

  “Any info from our lot?”

  “No. Two are placed in the right sector, but nothing fits the bill. Rudolph is right though, it’s obvious we need more info” Anupa nodded.

  “Look Anupa could you get anything more from this Josh? I know he’s Mossad, but you might want to try to get closer to him?”

  “What are you suggesting Silk Purse? That I suck his Jimmy Jock?” She pretended to be insulted. Silk Purse shrugged.

  “No, if I tried that, it wouldn’t work. He’s an uphill gardener. Try a few of the chaps around here. I’m sure they’ll be interested.” Anupa smiled she knew, they’d do almost anything but that.

  “You know what’s next, don’t you? A visit. Rudolph has given it the OK.”

  “Yeah. I thought so.”

  “You need to take a new guy with you Anupa. Start them off. Any ideas?”

  Anupa had thought this would come up.

  “Yes, I’ll take Tosser, she’s not a bad sort.”

  Silk Purse grinned. “At least she’ll be used to the cold. From Aberdeen, I believe.

  Get your things ready, you’ll be cooped up with one hundred and eighty five men. Mostly men anyway. Lucky bitch. You’ll join HMS Montrose, she’ll meet you in Durban. See the downstairs guys for your gear.”

  THE SOUTHERN INDIAN Ocean.

  SHE WALKED UP THE GANGWAY and on the deck. Tosser was just behind her.

  “My first time on one of these things. I expect it’s going to be cramped. What do we do?”

  “It’s my first time too. Here, he looks like he’s heading this way,” said Anupa. An Officer walked over to them. He wore his Naval whites with shorts.

  “Lieutenant Commander Leon. Welcome aboard Montrose. I’ll be your contact on ship.”

  “I’m Crutch and this is Tosser.” He looked at them, half smirking.

  “We use aliases, not our real names.”

  “I’m told that you work for the civil service.”

  “I think we all know that’s not really true,” smiled Anupa.

  “That’s what I was told. I must admit it seemed odd that you’d be spending time on the ship.”

  “We’re both with the Secret Int... With MI6.” He looked surprised.

  “Let me show you your racks.” They were led down below decks to a cabin.

  “Help yourself to a rack. You’ll have the cabin to yourselves. Come on now. I’ll show you the heads and galley.” They spent twenty minutes getting to know the essentials of the ship. At least the parts they’d need to know.

  “Lieutenant Commander Leon,” said Tosser, “what kind of ship is this, I’ve not been on one before.”

  “It’s a type 23 Frigate. A general warship. Would you like to see the important bits. What we do, and what we’re here for?”

  “Ah ah. Love to,” she smiled. They were both taken on a quick tour of the control room. Saw the Harpoon and Sea Wolf missile systems and the main 4.5 inch gun.

  “I’m curious,” said the Naval Officer, turning to Tosser.

  “How did you get your alias name?”

  “Well, you can tell by my accent I’m Scottish.” He nodded.

  “It comes from the highland games, tossing the caber. So they called me Tosser.”

  He laughed. “OK, we’ll sail anytime now. The galley will be serving at seventeen hundred hours.”

  Over the next several days they got accustomed to the daily routine on board. The weather got steadily colder and colder.

  ONE MORNING ANUPA WAS laid asleep in her rack.

  “Crutch, come on. On the foredeck. We can see it.” Anupa yawned.

  “OK, let me get my coat on. Where are you?”

  “For’d the main gun.”

  “You’ve gone all nauti
cal Tosser.” Anupa made her way onto the deck. It was cold and the breeze blew with a harsh cutting chill. A typical morning in the Southern Ocean.

  “There Crutch.” Tosser pointed off the starboard bow. On the horizon was a white line. It was unmistakably land and was intermittently visible against the grey swell as the ship pitched up and down. She couldn’t judge the distance, but it was obviously several miles away.

  “So, that’s it,” grinned Tosser, “Antarctica. Wow.”

  “It’s bloody cold,” said Anupa.

  “What did you expect?”

  “This, I suppose. I’m used to Riyadh and blazing sun. I’m going below. Get me some scran in the galley.”

  “Crutch?” She turned to Tosser who stared bright eyed at the distant land, a few blond locks of hair protruded from her hood.

  “When we go ashore, do you think we’ll see Penguins?”

  “I suppose so.” Tosser grinned at this. She stopped a passing sailor.

  “Can you take our photograph?”

  “Ok,” He used her cell phone.

  Anupa pulled her towards a hatchway. “Come on down below, you’ll freeze your tits off over there soon enough.”

  LATER THAT DAY THE Captain called a meeting in the Wardroom. Sat around the table were Captain Jacques, Lieutenant Commander Leon, Anupa and Tosser.

  “We’re nearly there, fifteen hundred miles southeast of Durban,” said the Captain. “We’re just sixty miles west of the insertion point, we need to plan your excursion Crutch. Who came up with these bloody names?”

  “Captain, it’s MI6 culture,” said Crutch; Anupa.

  “OK, well let us know where you wish to go ashore.” Crutch pulled up a chart of the area.

  She pointed to a headland. “This is Cape Ann, it’s dominated by Mount Codrington, to the west is Edward VIII Bay. That’s Edward the eight to the uneducated. The whole area is known as Enderby Land and is technically claimed by Australia. In truth, it’s a snowy and Icey waste where few have ventured.”

  “Bloody brassic then,” said Leon.

  “Yes,” said Crutch, “it’s freezing city over there. But nestling under the cliffs on the western side of Edward VIII Bay is something we’d like to take a good look at.

  Captain Jacques sat back and smirked.

  “So, MI6 wants to have a good look at something tucked away in a remote Antarctic Bay.” He leaned forward.

  “And in their infinite wisdom, the MOD picks us. Montrose is despatched to carry two young women, who should be down at the local pub; to take a look. What is it, and how the bloody hell did you find out about it?” Crutch stared at him.

  “It’s above your clearance level.”

  “And I’m to put my crew in jeopardy to put you ashore. I suppose we’ll have to rescue you if you get into trouble. What is it, and how did you find out about it?”

  “Captain. How do I put this delicately?” said Crutch.

  “The truth is, you don’t fucking need to know. Just put us ashore and get us out. That’s it, end of.” The Captain threw his hands up. Crotch stood, placed her knuckles on the desk and stared at the Captain.

  “We’re both here at Her Majesty the Queen’s pleasure. Captain, you know what she said to me. I want to know what’s going on in my Australian Antarctic territory, so get your sweet Asian ass down there. Use one of my fucking warships if you need to.” Captain Jacques sighed.

  “Right then. I suppose we’ll do it.”

  “I knew you’d agree Captain,” said Crutch. “We’ll need to be inserted by your Lynx Helicopter around here.” She pointed to a position on the foothills of Mt Codrington.

  “We’ll ski inland and make our way to the target. We’ll try to get back to the same extraction point, but that may not be possible.”

  Leon passed over two handheld radios.

  “We can keep in contact via these, I’ll get a communications PO to show you how they work.”

  “How long will you be ashore?”

  “What will we find there, Lieutenant Commander?” asked Crutch.

  “I don’t know. How would I?”

  “Then you’ve answered the question yourself. We’ll take a tent and bivvy bags. Some food. But it’s a guess, let’s say two, three days.”

  CAPE ANN. ANTARCTICA.

  THE NEXT DAY WAS UNUSUAL in Antarctica at this time of year, it started out bright and sunny.

  Crutch and Tosser made their way to the hanger deck and climbed into the rear of the Lynx, a crewman handed up their backpacks and skis. The Helicopter’s Rolls Royce Gem 42-200 engines spooled up and the rotors spun in a rushing blur, flooding the hanger deck with a biting cold downdraught. The Officer of the deck waved his batons, two crew members pulled the restraints from the undercarriage. The revs increased, and the Lynx pulled up and into the air. It turned and headed off towards the white mountainous land several miles away. Anupa looked out at the peak of Mt Codrington, the summit was clear. Further down cloud covered the slopes. The landscape was a white snow covered uneven blanket with dark areas of rock in places. They banked and flew to the left of the peak. She looked across at Tosser. She gave Anupa a half smile, she didn’t seem comfortable with the relatively low flying. The headset she wore sparked into life.

  “Montrose Air from Blue Gull we are starting our descent onto WP1”

  “Copy Blue Gull.” The revs decreased, and the aircraft started to lose altitude. It soon entered cloud base. Outside of the windows, it was now a grey white fog. There was nothing to see or do, just trust the aircrew upfront.

  “Montrose Air from Blue Gull, altitude four hundred meters. We’re into the smoky water.” After a few minutes the revs increased, and the aircraft took up a nose high position. Anupa felt it landing. Outside it was a swirling white storm. The Observer Officer got out, opened the side door and helped with the backpacks and skis. The two women climbed out. The Observer leaned towards Anupa.

  “Enjoy your stay. Give us a call and we’ll be back. Rather you than me.”

  Crutch and Tosser did as they’d been told to and dragged their packs and skis several yards away and then hunkered down in the blowing maelstrom of white powder. The revs increased, and the helicopter pulled away.

  The world became quiet, the wind blew grey powder drift around. At times she could see the blue sky, below was snow, blown over the ground in sheets and tendrils.

  They both kicked in and clipped on the skis. She took out the compass and lined up.

  “This way.” The two kicked off and headed toward the inland edge of the bay. It was lean left, push, lean right push. Left and right the two of them moved on. The visibility was intermittent sometimes she could see the mountain and then the bay to her left. But for long minutes it was a blowing swirling whiteout. The landscape was falling away to the left, Anupa stayed to the right, she didn’t want to wander over a cliff edge. Easy to do in this semi whiteout. After more than an hour, the cloud cleared and there to the left just down the sloped where the ice floe covered waters of the bay. She turned left and descended, the wind decreased here and they soon stood on what would be the shoreline. It would be, without ice floes. She turned to Tosser who wore a tinted yellow snow mask and goggles.

  “Nice view isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, bitter wind. Let’s get there shall we? It’s up the shoreline, I think?”

  “Yeah, come on.” Anupa moved off, keeping the bay to her right. After half an hour she pulled up and took out the GPS. She waited, then there it was, the satellite signal.

  “We’re near, another few hundred yards.” They moved off. She wrapped her arms around her, tried as best she could to shield herself from the biting, bitter cold wind. What a fearsome place they’d come to. A white purgatory on Earth.

  Suddenly there it was. She’d been expecting a search but underfoot were long hewn timbers. Anupa looked at them and wondered. Yes, that was it, they were parts of a demolished jetty, she could see rope wrapped around in places to form protection for the ship’s hull. Som
e had been chaffed. She moved by them and onward, then there out of the white blowing snowfield was a large open dark void in the cliff. It was part natural and part man made. A large cave entered the cliff, it had been worked in places. A large wooden door hung to one side. Walls had been built. This was what they’d come all this way to see, to investigate. A dark maw in the Antarctic cliff face drew her in. Drew her into what?

  LONDON.

  “PINT OF SUSSEX BEST please?”

  The barman pulled a fresh pint of amber brown beer.

  “There you go, Sir.” He paid, turned, chose a free table and sat down. He’d met her before here it must have been a favourite pub. The Royal Oak, Borough; he sipped it, they did serve a good pint. He’d been posted to London just over a year now and was developing a taste for the “real ales.” It was a step up from the post posting Brasilia. Langley had decided it was time to rotate him to Europe; he’d expected Lisbon as he could now speak Portuguese, but they’d picked London.

  He looked around at the place. Regular British pub style, dark woods a few horse brasses. A poster of West Ham soccer team. The door opened and she walked in. She ordered a pint and sat next to him.

  “Afternoon George.”

  “Afternoon Silky.” The MI6 nickname culture was getting familiar. What would his nickname be if the CIA had the same habit?

  “I hear you’ve been away, back over to home. Am I right?”

  “Yes, I was back in Cleveland for a week. Good to see the folks.”

  “I’m due to go back to Norfolk in a few weeks. Same deal really, chill out see the family. Anyway, down to business, I’ve got something for you.” Silk Purse passed over an A4 envelope with several papers inside.

  “Read them first George and then we’ll talk.” He started on the first sheet. He spent ten or more minutes reading them, trying not to show any reaction. He’d learned that that’s the way things were done over here. He replaced them in the envelope, she took them and slid them back into her jacket.