Finally it was time to leave work. The distance to the hotel was relatively short but the crowded platforms and pavements made the journey time disproportionate. He finally struggled up the Street and entered the lobby. He handed over his fake credit card in the name of Mr Sparks. Just one of the many cards Yosuf had unintentionally bequeathed him. He stood there and took a deep breath. He felt the next step he would take would change his way of life forever and change him as a person. He calmed himself and walked to the stairwell.
The walk along the corridor brought memories flooding back of his lone return, here with blood spatter on his clothes and his person. He felt his legs seemingly grow heavier as he walked to room twenty two. He inserted the key card and entered. He stood still in the middle of the room. The curtains were drawn and a small shaft of light penetrated the semi gloom. He stood as before looking at the patterns the small dust particles made as the swilled up and down.
He had stopped at a Robert Dyas, the hardware store on his way here and bought a screwdriver. He removed it from his pocket and waked to the bathroom. This time he was equipped with the right tool and soon unscrewed the access hatch in the tiling. He reached in and felt the Makarov cold and heavy in his hand. He retrieved it and placed it in his jacket pocket.
He left the hotel and felt the weight of the gun in is pocket and the weight of his decision in his heart. The die was cast and he knew he needed to do this but it was with the sense that he might just be adding to the sum total of evil in the world.
Chapter 33
Captain Stanley Jones sat at the head of the wardroom table with the first officer and staff off the HMS Defender. He had in front of him the briefing from MI6. The Steward finished, serving a round of coffees. Jones was self assured confident and in his early forties, fit with dark brown hair and an intelligent looking face, which at this moment carried a deep frown, as he studied the documents in front of him.
“Gentlemen, it would seem, if this briefing is correct, that there is to be a terrorist attack on an oil tanker as she passes through the Gulf.” He read the details of the proposed attack on the Nord Viking. “She is pulling into port as we speak to begin loading her cargo of oil.” HMS defender, a type 45 destroyer, with a compliment, of just over one hundred and ninety crew, was one of the most advanced air defence ships in the world. In addition to its Sea Viper air defence system, its array of guns ranging from a 4.5” Mark 8 Mod to six general purpose machine guns, it had the capacity to fly two Lynx HMA8 helicopters. It was powered by two Rolls Royce gas turbine engines.
“Engines first,” he said.
“Fine at the moment.” replied the Chief Engineer, “but we need to be mindful of any dramatic increases in external temperature.” The engines had a problem in coping with the heat in the Gulf had a history of breaking down and poor performance.
“Let us turn to how we propose to respond to this bit of intelligence,” said Jones. There were a number of options available. HMS Defender could sail north and escort the Nord Viking all the way south, through the Hormuz Strait and onward. It could stay in the vicinity of the Strait until its arrival. Finally it could continue routine patrols and rely on its speed of approximately thirty knots to respond rapidly to any threat.
“How confident are we in the source of the intelligence? I cannot see how any terrorist group would have the capability to significantly damage the tanker let alone sink it. The construction, double skinned as it is, is a formidable barrier to sinking it and this report shows that the owners have hired a large private security force on border to shepherd it through the Gulf,” said the First Officer.
“MI6 stress the immediacy and credibility of the threat but do not give any indication on how the attack is to be mounted. If we were dealing with Somali pirates the attackers will try and board the vessel and take control. In this instance the object is to sink her. They could still attempt a boarding and plant explosives,” said Jones.
“It would be easier to plant a bomb or attach explosives to her hull while she is docked, surely?”
“Security is very high at the terminal and well established. It would be virtually impossible to get a device into the port and getting it aboard even harder. In any event we are not concerned with ships in port we deal with the maritime threat,” said Jones
“I honestly cannot see how a tanker of that size could be sunk by a small group of terrorists in a small boat or a big boat for that matter. I mean this is one hell of a big bit of floating metal. You would need to torpedo it. No group has the means to do this.”
“I have to admit I would dismiss this if it wasn’t for the credibility of the threat the Secret Service attaches to it. I accept that on the face of it no group has the capability to prosecute such an attack, but we do need to treat it as a credible threat and consider our response.”
“Exploring our options, if we sail north we leave this area under resourced. What is the likely outcome?” asked the Intelligence Officer.
“Not much really, the smugglers bringing goods into Iran would just have a bit of an easier time sanction busting, I suppose,” Jones replied.
“We could stick to our routine pattern of patrolling.”
“I am not overly enamoured with that option. If they do damage or sink the bugger I should not like to stand in front of a Board of Inquiry and in answer to the question, “how did you respond to the threat?” give the answer,” nothing we carried on as usual”.”
“Not good,” agreed the first officer.
“We hang about in the Strait and wait for her.”
“It looks a bit passive. “What did you do asks the Board?” My answer we sat about waiting.”
“Summing up then,” said Jones, “we don’t think there is a cat in hells chance of the Nord Viking being sunk unless the terrorists have bought a submarine. On the other hand we know we should ignore it and maintain our presence but we are fearful that even if the bloody thing manages to sink itself by crashing into the dock or running itself aground we would end up being blamed.”
“What are your orders then?” asked the first officer.
“Let’s play baby sitter. We sail to meet and escort her.”
Two hours later HMS defender was steaming north, Jones was on the bridge. He was drinking a midmorning cup of tea and enjoying a chocolate biscuit as he gazed out across the Gulf. He had to admit this was the best job ever, boys dream sailing your own warship about.
“Captain we’ve picked up the “Rust Bucket.” The Rust Bucket, not the real name of the vessel that was a regular customer of the Defender. She was a cargo vessel of around thirty thousand tons and usually up to no good, smuggling something or someone without the correct paper work.
“It’s her lucky day, maintain the heading,” said the Captain.
Chapter 34
The temperature on the tarmac was scorching as the plane from Tehran touched down at Baghdad airport. The flight had been on time leaving, the landing however was not. There was an incident at the airport described as a security alert. Since the retaking of Fallujah from ISIS, they had been determined to demonstrate that they were still a force to be reckoned with. The outcome was that the magnitude and severity of the bombings in the Capital had intensified.
Earlier in the month coordinated bombing attacks had been made across the city and casualties were large. A truck bomb had killed more than two hundred and fifty people when it exploded in the Karrada district where the population was mainly Shia Muslims. The bomb went off at midnight when the area was crowded with shoppers breaking their Ramadan fast.
Professor Javadi looked at the reports in the newspaper handed to him when he boarded and a small smile crossed his lips. He was a small man in his late fifties and wore thinned rimmed glasses. His teeth were stained from smoking as were the tips of the fingers where he held the cigarettes. He was a heavy smoker and was feeling the effects of nicotine depravation as he waited to get off the plane..
They did not disembark immediately but we
re kept waiting on the apron for a further forty minutes. The temperature in the plane started to rise as the sun beat down on the fuselage. He really felt he needed a cigarette as he stewed in the plane’s interior.
Thirty six years ago Professor Javadi had been a student and spent nearly over a year occupying the US Embassy in Tehran. The Shah had been overthrown and the Americans were humiliated. He and his fellow students had taken control of the Embassy and held fifty two American diplomats hostage.
An attempt to rescue the hostages, led by the then President of the US, Jimmy Carter had been a complete catalogue of errors and resulted in the deaths of eight American military personnel before they even set foot on Iranian soil. It sealed the fate of Jimmy Carter’s political career and he did not run for re-election in 1980.
The occupation of the embassy defined and influenced the relationship Iran had with the West for decades. Javadi remembered being on campus listening to the speeches and rhetoric of the student leaders. The Shah had been a puppet of the West, lining his pockets and living the life of an international playboy supported and put in power by the great powers of the day. In effect they kept him n power and in return he let them rape the Country of its natural resource, oil.
This was the era of the “student sit in” as a means of protest. Students would occupy various buildings and just stay there until the authorities gave into their demands or managed to remove them. The students marched on the Embassy to protest with a “sit in” planned over the Shah being given sanctuary in the West. They demanded his returned for trial. The “sit in” lasted for four hundred and forty four days and became increasingly more militant under the guidance of the religious leader Ayatollah Khomeini.
Javadi eventually finished his education and had gone onto great things. He was now a leading light in the Iranian nuclear programme, internationally renowned and respected in the field. He was also fervent in his fundamentalist beliefs and irreconcilable hatred of the West.
Eventually the steward gave the order to disembark. Javadi rose from his seat and banged his head on the overhead locker. With the yearning to smoke, the delay and now hitting his head he was in a foul mood by the time he reached the baggage reclaim area. After nearly an hours wait for his bag to turn up he was in an even worse mood as he left the airport building.
On exiting he immediately reached in his pocket and lit a cigarette. Having not had his nicotine dose in nearly seven hours he felt slightly giddy as he took his first drag. He had not experienced this effect from a cigarette since his was a thirteen years old feeling very grown up as he took an illicit puff on his elder brother’s cigarette.
Following the occupation of the American Embassy, Javadi had managed to resume his studies and obtained his physics degree in Iran. His doctorate was a laboured affair and it took him nearly five years to complete. The climate for study had not been easy with constant political turmoil, which often halted academic life completely. He finally completed his PhD and began work in the coveted atomic weapons programme.
Although the Americans had sanctioned the Iranians in everyway possible to halt their nuclear programme, he had become a well respected figure in the Global scientific community and was welcomed world wide at academic forums and conferences both as a contributor and as an attendee. He was here in Baghdad to attend just such a conference. The Government despite the total lack of control it held over the security of the country was trying, not wholly successfully, to restore some sense of normality to its educational and research institutions. The conference had been organised by the faculty of science headed by a professor Azizi.
The driver of the black Mercedes was forced to wait while Javadi finished the last of his cigarette. He put Javadi’s suitcase in the car’s boot and busied himself by wiping the wing mirrors. He was obviously anxious to get a move on but Javadi was not to be rushed. Javadi would have smoked in the car but he knew that the University was pandering to international standards and avoiding the dangers of passive smoking for its staff. This thinking, Javadi thought, was somewhat spurious given the constant danger of being shot or blown to bits.
Javadi looked from the window of the car at the dusty scene. The whole area had been the subject of a constant onslaught by the militia when the British troops had been forced to retreat to the airport. The roadside and buildings still bore the scars of the bombings and mortar attacks. The reconstruction was slow and the city still had the resemblance of a war zone. The car got caught up in a queue for a Government check point and he was again forced to sit and wait. He wound down the window and lit another cigarette. The driver looked disapprovingly at him in the mirror for potentially dirtying the inside of the car. Javadi stared defiantly back at him.
The driver opened the back rear door and handed him his suitcase. He then made a point of leaning into the back and wiping a particle of cigarette ash from the seat before shutting the door and driving off.
“Welcome my friend, I am so glad to see you again,” said professor Azizi.
The suitcase was picked up by a third man who accompanied Azizi as they made their way to an office. “Well, what is the plan?” asked Javadi.
“I have put about to my colleagues and anyone interested that you and I are going fishing.”
“Fishing?”
“It was the best I could do and it does account for our absence. Anyway it sort of fits you as a slightly eccentric academic, don’t you think?” said Azizi.
The pickup was waiting for them as night fell. The power had failed and the whole area was in total darkness as the left the city. With no light to pollute the heavens the stares filled the night sky. The landscape was baron as they travelled further way from the population centre. Eventually they arrived at a group of buildings. There was a small compound and a small industrial complex that had obviously been used as a military base at some stage, given the number of bullet holes in the brick work. Lights were on as electricity was being manufactured by the emergency generator.
Javadi’s suitcase was taken to his sleeping quarters and he and Azizi were accompanied by an armed guard, one of many in and around the compound, to a canteen area. Javadi lit a cigarette and was introduced one by one to the people who were to be his colleagues for the next few days.
“Let’s look at the facilities,” suggested Azizi.
They entered a large work space fully equipped with all the machinery Javadi had requested. “Amazing, how did you put all this together?”
Azizi laughed and shrugged his shoulders.” Money talks here as it does in most places and if that doesn’t work we have the barrel of a gun.”
“We need to get to work. We do not have much time and although it is not that technically challenging we need to do it right,” said Javadi.
“We have everything we need and now we have you. The nuclear material is of varying grades but we have more than enough our purposes”
“Well my friend it will be a toss up for you as to if you get cancer from secondary smoking or from radioactive contamination. Let us build the bomb,” laughed Javadi.
Chapter 35
Annubis was in a philosophical mood as he drank his morning coffee in the hotel room. Baris had left to go back to his flat before going into work at the Hamam. On the face of it their budding romance was in full flow but the truth was far different.
The phone was doing its job and allowing him to track all Baris’ movements, texts and conversation. Despite his claim to be a free agent Baris had a long term boyfriend with whom he kept in constant contact. Annubis was known as the rich business man and his affection for him was to be used to extract all that could be extracted, legally and illegally. They were pleased with their haul so far, clothes, gifts and the iPhone but they were hoping to get more.
Annubis listened to the plot to rob him of cash and cards before he was due to leave. Baris was trying to glean as much information as he could in the hope of doing a bit of identity stealing. He could not of course know that Annubis identity was a mer
e fantasy and one of many he had and would use. He was not in the least surprised at Baris’ duplicity as he had done far worse to survive and was of course in the business of doing the worst full time, killing people for money.
He was a mute point as to who was using who. Annubis was only interested as a way of getting to Mehmet and considered a few gifts to a gay prostitute well worth the investment. He surmised, as he finished his coffee and began to dress, that everyone uses everyone in some way.
He finished buttoning his shirt when the phone rang, that is to say the call monitoring Baris’ iPhone alerted him to an incoming call. He listened to the voice on the phone, a voice he had not heard since he was fourteen years old. For a brief moment he felt the fear again. The fear of a small boy waiting for his abuser to collect him in the knowledge that he had no choice, that he was to be used as a sex toy for this man and his friends. The fear surprised him. He had felt so little in the years that proceeded this moment so to have that strong an emotion was truly dislocating albeit just for a brief instant. The fear gave way almost instantaneously to sheer hatred and loathing. He felt the blood lust. He could taste it and savoured the pleasure of the anticipation of watching this piece of scum die.
Three that afternoon was when Mehmet would require Baris’ services. At last Annubis would know where Mehmet would be and more to the point he knew that he would not have the protection of his goons. At one point Annubis had feared that Mehmet had lost interest in the twink at the Turkish baths but apparently not. He was explaining to Baris that with all the bombing in Istanbul it had been all hands to the pumps and he had been drafted in to booster the security forces. His abstinence had in fact increased his lust and he was explaining to Baris what he was to provide that afternoon in the most graphic of detail.
Tanker (A Tim Burr Thriller Book 1) Page 14
