Tanker (A Tim Burr Thriller Book 1)

by Nicholas E Watkins

  “Yes, that, yes we did. Seems some junior Minister in the Foreign Office called in a favour from a friend in the London section. Rap over the knuckles all round, sorted now. Sorry for treading on your toes though.”

  Successfully brushed under the carpet thought Elaine, old boy network at its finest but held her tongue. “You have read the Intel on the Nord Viking and the likely threat?” she prompted.

  “I agree it is an MI6 matter but I am not sure what we can do really.”

  “Send someone to get to the bottom of it and nullify the threat.”

  “There is not a great deal of appetite at the Foreign Office to get mixed up with the Iraqis and the Iranians. We have already had a fuck up there and do not really want to go back, thank you,” he said.

  “Pity we didn’t apply the same logic to Afghanistan,” quipped Elaine.

  Ignoring the comment Waverly continued,” To be perfectly frank we don’t have the budget or the resources to get involved. The Navy is there as part of CTF 150 and it must be left to them to deal with the threat.”

  Her next appointment was with the Home Secretary an hour later. It went along the same lines with the added statement that it was not a matter for MI5 as there was no threat to UK security. On the other hand it would be greatly appreciated if she could somehow prevent the UK insurance industry taking a bath and avoid a financial meltdown.

  “We drop it then,” said Jeff.

  “No real choice,” replied Elaine.

  Chapter 30

  Stiles had had a busy few days. Ironically he found himself working closely with Mr Midas, John the husband of Tim’s ex wife. He was chairman of the Lloyds’ Marine Underwriters Association and he, along with the head of the International Underwriting Association London, represented virtually all those that stood to lose if the Nord Viking were to sunk.

  Stiles had arranged for both of them to sign and be bound by the Official Secrets Act. The problem was how to avoid paying a fortune to ISIS under the Tonnage contracts written by the members of the two Associations. They were given an office at Thames House to ensure security while a plan was devised.

  “We could just cancel the contracts,” suggested Sir Harry Fletch, Chairman of the IUA. Harry was a no nonsense bruiser who had worked his way up through the ranks of the world’s largest insurance company outside the US. He was now a non executive Director of several big companies as well as the Chief executive of the insurance company he had worked for all his life.

  “You know we can’t do that,” said John.

  There was no way of voiding the contracts. The contracts had been taken out in good faith and they would need proof positive that the insured were connected to the possibility of an attack on the Nord Viking. If such a connection to terrorist funding could have been established these companies would have been part of an international ban. In any event the ISIS threat could not be publicly revealed if they wished to avoid prosecution under the Official Secret Act they had both just signed.

  “We can easily reduce our exposure by reinsuring the risk into the US market,” said John.

  “That is not really the objective,” said Stiles. “We do not want ISIS picking up billions of dollars, do we? I shall leave you gentlemen to come up with a solution that does not help ISIS profit from the sinking of the oil tanker.” The two began to discuss matters and work through ideas.

  In the meantime Stiles walked to Tim’s office. He found him looking rather depressed starring out the window. “Cheer up,” he said as he entered.

  “Right,” said Tim,” It just seems such a bloody mess. People died, you know, now we are going let that scumbag Mehmet, get away with it and probably let him claim the credit if we do manage to stop this plot.”

  “It is the nature of this business. We get our hands dirty so that everyone else can sleep safe at night. If we stop one bomb going off on a tube or bus we have done something worthwhile. “

  “It is whole different moral perspective and I find it hard to adjust to. Take the CIA they know people may die in the Nord Viking and that the UK based insurance companies could be paying billions of dollars into ISIS coffers but still they wash their hand of it.”

  “Well to be fair the Foreign Secretary has made it pretty clear that we don’t want to get entangled in it either.”

  “I am not saying that the USA is any worse that the UK, just that morality seems to have slipped off the agenda,” said Tim.

  “We are doing our best. I am sure those two will come up will a solution to the insurance problem.”

  “There’s another issue. They are really no different to the bankers that gambled us into a global financial crisis. They have written a pile of dodgy contracts that when you actually analyse it are just a gamble on big ships sinking. It stinks I get a pile of dosh, if it doesn’t you get to keep my stake money. Now tell me what has that to do with insurance?”

  “There is one bit of good news, Jason Delonge ”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s resigned, jumped before he was pushed and no Knight Hood.”

  Tim thoughts strayed to the video he still had in his possession. Delonge was a paedophile and a child murderer and his punishment was to miss out on a Knighthood. He wanted to expose him but he knew if he gave the USB stick to MI5 it would be quietly covered up. He knew ultimately he had to do something to get the bastard but for now he waited his time.

  “That’s something,” he said.

  The two esteemed leaders of the London marine insurance underwriters sat in Elaine’s office “You have a solution? She asked

  “We do and we think you will like it” said John.

  “So tell me,” she prompted.

  “Here goes,” said Harry. “We couldn’t cancel the contracts as the British Courts would eventually force us to pay up. So we put together a contract of our own with John’s Syndicate and my Company fronting it. We have contacted all the underwriters who have written the tonnage contacts and reinsured them with us so we have assumed one hundred percent of their risk. “

  Seeing Elaine looked a bit puzzled, John interrupted. “Our two concerns now have the sole liability to pay out if the Nord Viking or any other large ships sinks. All the rest of the market is off the hook and we offered them a small profit to ensure they all transferred the risk to us.”

  “I do not see how that really helps. To my mind your two businesses are still liable to pay these terrorist linked insurance companies billions. Are you not?” said Elaine

  “That is correct but we squared the circle so to speak. We reinsured the total risk back with these same ISIS sponsored companies,” said John

  “Even better due to what is called the reinsurance spiral effect, if and when they claim for the loss of the Nord Viking we will be claiming about fifty per cent more from them,” said Harry.

  “Surely they don’t have enough funds to pay you?” she said.

  “Of course not, but it doesn’t matter. We apply our right of set off. That is to say we deduct what we owe them from what the owe us and leave them owing a billion to us. We pass the money round amongst ourselves in the London market so no one gains or looses here.”

  “The bonus is that these dodgy ISIS sponsored insurers go bust having paid up for the loss of the Nord Viking and are no longer able to launder money for them.”

  “Unbelievable, you really are as bad as the bankers,” said Elaine.

  “Well that is praise indeed. Thank you,” laughed Mr Midas.

  Chapter 31

  Istanbul was as busy as ever and just as hot and clammy as anywhere could be. Annubis sat opposite the carpet shop. It was not a tourist shop with the fake Persian rugs imported all the way from India but of the domestic kind with rolls of broadloom fitted carpet in the window. Just along the street was the colourful window of the material shop, with its rolls of highly patterned and vivid curtain and dress making fabrics on display.

  Between the two shops was a gap over which a brick arch had been erected. I
t was a very tatty arch and looked like it would collapse at any moment, if it were not soon re-pointed. The sign to the left of the arch was in Turkish and read “Hamam” and the sign on the left was in English and read “Turkish baths.”

  Annubis had identified that the only real opportunity to get to Mehmet without his bodyguards was on his regular visits to these baths. The problem being that although his visits were often, they followed no pattern. He could not spend all day everyday sat in the steam room on the off chance Mehmet would drop in. He had therefore formulated a different approach.

  He waited outside the carpet shop until a young man walked through the archway. Seeing his opportunity Annubis turned and bumped into him. The young man was about nineteen and delicately built with deep brown eyes and a very pale skin for a Turk. His body was taught and slim and his tight fitting T-shirt outlined the muscular definition of his torso. He slacks were off-white and tight fitting emphasising the outline of his firm bottom and he wore soft beige leather moccasins. Annubis recognised the typical look of a rent boy from his own experiences when much younger, he had been forced into that way of life to survive.

  “Sorry,” he said ensuring his gaze lingered on the young man.

  The young man’s gaydar kicked in and seeing before him a fit confident and very well dressed man in his late twenties, he responded with a smile. “Hi.” Annubis found no difficulty in engaging him in conversation and he readily agreed to share a coffee. He took the young man to a very up market bar and made sure to give the impression of being a successful business man on short trip to Istanbul. The conversation progressed easily and they parted with a date arranged for a night club later.

  Annubis arrived at the Tekyon Club in Siraselviler Caddesi, at one thirty and made his way to the rear garden area. He paused on route to watch the male belly dancers and smiling he made his way outside. The area was popular with smokers. A very effeminate waiter took his order and with a wiggle of his bottom disappeared in the direction of the bar. Baris, the masseur from the Hamam waived as he spotted him in the garden. He came up to Annubis and flirtatiously kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  The evening progressed with Baris introducing him to his mix of transgender and gay friends. For a brief period Annubis almost felt as a human being but underlying his exterior there was no real warmth and no real depth of feeling. His was not homosexual, heterosexual or bisexual. He became what he had to become to do what he had to do.

  The bears belly dancing was a site to behold. There was a small man in his twenties that was hairier than a real bear and his ability to wobble his body parts was spectacular. Baris and Annubis left the club laughing and managed to get a taxi back to Annubis’ luxury hotel.

  Annubis ordered champagne to be delivered to the room even though it was past three in the morning. He poured Baris a glass and settled on the sofa. They toasted and sipped slowly. He lent in and placing his hand behind Boris’s neck pulled him gently forward and kissed him. The kiss developed and passion rose. They got up from the sofa and headed to the bedroom.

  The love making was passionate with Annubis taking the dominant role. Baris satisfied and exhausted feel into semi drunken sleep. Annubis silently rose from the bed and made his way to the lounge area where Basis’s clothing lay scattered. He soon found Baris’ phone. It was and old iPhone model. He scrolled through the call log and saw that Mehmet would phone to book his appointment directly with Baris. Annubis smiled.

  They ate breakfast in bed and made love one more time. Annubis played the part of the smitten, rich businessman and Baris left mid morning to return to his flat to change and then go in for his shift at the Hamam.

  As soon as he left Annubis dressed and calling a cab headed into Istanbul. His first port of call was the Apple Store where he purchased the latest top of the range phone. He then took a taxi to a small electrical shop.

  Annubis pushed the door open and entered. The bell on the door alerted the shopkeeper to his arrival. “Hello, my friend, I have not seen you in a very long time,” said the owner. “You require something special?” Annubis handed him the phone.

  That evening Annubis took a taxi to Baris’s flat in a poor run down section of town. Baris ran from the flat to the waiting cab and settled in beside Annubis. They drove to a beautiful restaurant up in the hills over looking the Bosphorus. Annubis had booked a table on the terrace. The setting was romantic with the Moon shinning and looking down they could see the bridge fully illuminated, the glow of the taillights of the cars heading east and their headlights as they headed west. No more clearly than at that moment did they feel that they were in a truly romantic setting where the World lay at their feet, the crossroads where Europe met Asia.

  A small candle flickered on the table half illuminating their faces. Annubis lent forward and took Baris’s hand and looked into his eyes. He looked back and the affection in his face was plain to see. “I know we have only known one another for a short while but I feel we have made an unique connection,” said Annubis.

  “I feel the same. You are very dear and special to me.” Now whether Baris was playing Annubis for a sucker and stinging him along in the hope of milking a rich business man for all he could get was hard to determine. To Annubis it mattered not in the least. He had no real interest in this young man just in his connection to Mehmet,

  He placed the gift wrapped box that he had held all evening on the table between them, “A little gift for you.” Baris made all the right noises, no need, you shouldn’t have and of course he took it anyway.

  “I couldn’t help noticing how old your phone was. It is fully charged. All you need to do is pop your sim card in it.” Baris could not wait and unpacked the phone and inserted his card. When they returned to Annubis’ room, Baris showed his gratitude in bed. The sex was long and hard.

  In the morning before Baris left for work Annubis checked his phone. He was satisfied that all worked as well as his electronics friend had assured him it would. On the screen of his phone he could see all of Baris texts, call logs and he knew he would be able to listen in to all the calls he made or received. He of course needed to be within range, but he would be when the time came.

  Chapter 32

  Tim had settled into his job at MI5 and was even beginning to find his way around the maize of corridors in Thames House. He had to admit that life seemed a little tame after his recent adventure but his pay and grade was alright. He was assigned to assessing the threats posed from the Middle East and the various groups. The finale of his Turkish adventure had been to prepare an assessment of risk and exploration of the means that could or would be used by ISIS to attack the Nord Viking in the next few days and pass the available intelligence to the Navy.

  He was angry that all the players had walked away relative unscathed. Mehmet, was happily back in Turkey carrying on as normal. The Foreign Office had a little shake up with a junior Minister going. Jason was now employed by a multinational on a massive annual consultancy fee. The shooting in Wood Green had been passed off as the usual drug deal gone wrong. Yosuf was now forever branded as a drug dealer and not the real man that Tim knew. At least Tim would remember him as the true friend he was.

  The paedophilia perpetrators Mehmet and Jason would now escape any form of justice and be free to carry on as normal. A small boy raped and murdered would be forgotten along with so many other children suffering and abused around the Globe. What did it matter? They had no power and no one to speak up for them?

  Tim was suffering from the inner torment of guilt and powerlessness. The cold and calculated way Mehmet had killed Yosuf played out over and over in his head. The look of shock and pain on his friend’s face as he passed away just kept replaying in his head. The dreams were the worst of it. He would be running away from the firing, escaping. The means of escape was the nightmare. He would be running then he would be climbing an endless stairway to a pinpoint of light. He never got closer to the light as the stairway became soft and boggy. He would look down at his
feet and see that the stairs were a mass of children’s bodies, which morphed into a pile of dead Yosufs.

  He knew that he could not rid his mind of the images of Jason raping and killing the small boy with the Oval eyes. He picked up the phone and dialled the Premier Inn in Victoria where he and Yosuf had stayed.

  “Hello, my name is Mr John Sparks. Do you have a room available for tonight? Yes I do realise I can book on the internet. Yes I know that there is an online discount but I am not on the internet I am on the phone,” he was becoming irritated and took a deep breath. He did not want to antagonise the anonymous voice on the other end of the phone. He needed to get her onside.

  “I wish to stay in a particular room. I do understand that they are all the same quality with new upgraded mattresses for a sound nights sleep but really I would like a specific room.” He managed to keep his frustration under control as everything he said was met by a scripted reply which it was clear the operator was reading slowly from a computer screen in a monotone.

  “I should like to book into room twenty two,” he persisted. The operator explained that the central booking system did not allow her to allocate specific rooms but she could confirm his reservation by email and then if he contacted the hotel and spoke to the manager, he might be able to arrange something.

  Tim booked the room and phoned the hotel. The same mantra was repeated by the voice at the end of the phone.” I am sorry the computer allocates the rooms and handles of aspects of the booking experience.” The same system, the voice added “was award winning.”

  “Which room am I in anyway?” he said in frustration.

  There was a pause, “Just a moment while I check, Sir,” came the reply, “Number twenty two.” Tim resisted the urge to scream or swear and clicked the phone off.

  The day dragged and Tim found himself not concentrating on the work in hand but instead thinking of the course of action he was contemplating embarking upon. What he was about to do contravened his whole image of himself. Did he have the morale authority to make this decision? Was he really a man that should make a life and death decision? He was plagued by self doubt, revenge or justice?