Soft Target 05 - Blister

by Conrad Jones

  Billy studied the charts and the set of orders. It all seemed to be perfectly legitimate. The information was concise but not so accurate that it was suspicious. Rogue ships were being spotted by fishing vessels at night, across a wide area of the Irish Sea, but particularly around the Bay of Liverpool. He nodded as he digested the orders.

  “I am gauging that we are in or around the Bay of Liverpool now sir, is that correct?” Billy asked.

  “Excuse me..,” the commander vomited again. This time as he did so a loud farting noise came from his behind and Billy watched in horror as a brown stain began to spread across the commander’s shorts.

  “I have the instructions Commander, I’ll get onto it straight away.” Billy picked up the orders and left the charts on the commander’s table. The sound of vomit splattering into the bucket followed him into the tight corridor. Billy went directly to his own cabin. He had a good memory, but it was short term. Billy was well aware of his ability to retain information, and he knew his weaknesses as well. He took his own set of charts from his desk and transferred the data that he had seen in the commander’s cabin onto his own. It was the only way he could be sure to remember his orders. Once he was happy with the charts he hid them in his desk, just in case he might forget. He headed back into the bridge area with his new orders fixed in his mind. The submarine sailed its new course for two hours without incident.

  “Take her up to periscope depth,” Billy ordered.

  “Eye, eye, sir,” a midshipman gave the reply and then repeated the order to everyone who was within earshot in true naval fashion. The vessel groaned as the submarine blew ballast and it headed closer to the surface.

  Billy Wright brought up the periscope and pressed his forehead against the sight mask. He scanned the horizon and turned the scope a full circle. If there were spy ships out there it was very unlikely that they would be burning any kind of lights at all. Seeking the hulk of a vessel in the darkness was a skill and Billy had learned never to allow his first glance to convince him that there was nothing there to see. He swung the scope around once more, but slowly this time as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness. There it was in the blackness, a dark hulk, darker than the night that surrounded it. There was no doubt that it was a warship at first glance. Billy could make out the bridge and the foredeck gun turret. It was the foredeck gun which made him look again.

  “Pass me the identification chart,” Billy ordered without taking his eyes from the scope. The chart was a poster which had the silhouettes of every type of naval vessel known to the Admiralty, and it was updated with new sheets every time a ship made port. Billy scanned the hulk in the scope and he matched it mentally with every ship he had seen. It looked similar to a frigate, but it wasn’t a real frigate. The fore gun turret wasn’t the correct shape. It looked more like the deck gun of a German U-boat. The information from the Admiralty was looking solid. The vessel in the scope was a merchant ship disguised to look like a warship.

  “Number three, I need you to identify the vessel in the scope,” Billy Wright followed procedure and gained a second opinion from his nearest ranking officer.

  “Eye, eye sir.”

  “All ahead slow and maintain our course,” Billy ordered as he checked the identification charts. He knew the silhouettes of every naval warship by heart but he checked them anyway. The midshipman echoed the order across the submarine.

  “I can’t identify her sir, She looks like a merchant ship to me with a deck gun welded to the foredeck sir.”

  “Excellent number three, my thoughts exactly. Load forward torpedo tubes one and two, and then rear tubes four and five” Billy had a rush of adrenalin as he gave the order. They had been sent on a search and destroy mission. They had found their prey and now they would move in for the kill.

  “Number three I need you to relay the status to the commander and get his authorisation to fire,” Billy watched his prey through the scope.

  “Eye, eye sir.” The officer turned and disappeared down the metal corridor.

  “Torpedoes are ready sir.”

  “Thank you, hold her steady,” Billy had the vessel dead centre of the sights. There was a ruffling down the corridor as the number three officer returned.

  “The commander says that you have command of the ship sir.”

  “Thank you number three. Fire torpedoes,” Billy Wright gave the order. The submarine shook as two huge torpedoes were launched from the forward torpedo room. Billy watched as they reached the surface and then ploughed through the waves toward their target. The disguised merchant vessel had no chance. It was a sitting duck. Two white wakes hurtled toward the stern of the ship, and a few seconds later the ship exploded into a huge fireball.

  “Fire torpedo four,” Billy ordered.

  “Eye, eye sir. Firing torpedo number four.”

  Within minutes the holed vessel had tipped vertical as the holds below decks filled with sea water. It seemed to float for a moment before sliding quickly beneath the surface. The whole thing from impact to sinking was less than two minutes.

  It was the first of three vessels that they sank that night. It was a memorable night for the crew and junior officers of the submarine. Each suspect area on the charts given to them by the Admiralty yielded another victim. Their information was spot on, almost too good, but the adrenalin rush created by the sinking of enemy shipping had wiped out any concerns the young submariner may have had. They had no idea that they were sending British sailors to the bottom of the ocean along with the biggest cargo of mustard gas shells ever manufactured. Billy Wright kept the charts which marked the coordinates of every attack in his personal belongings as a souvenir of his fantastic achievements that night. One day he would regret keeping them.

  Chapter Seven

  Tank

  Chen walked back into the meeting room with a stack of papers underneath his arm. Every resource that the intelligence agencies possessed was being applied to tracking down the whereabouts of the submarine commander that Geoff Evans had been stalking and bombarding with letters. They were working on the supposition that if Commander William Wright was still alive then he may have vital information that could lead the taskforce to the possible chemical weapon dump sites. The Terrorist Task Force were working on the speculative information gathering of one aggrieved man, who believed that his father had been killed during a government cover up. There seemed to be very little hard evidence to follow but there was some substance behind the theory. It was up to the taskforce to fill in the blanks and add the detail. Tank and Grace Farrington had left the headquarters a half an hour earlier to check out the aging submariner’s last known address. Unfortunately, when they arrived at the address the houses that once stood there had been demolished and modern apartments had been constructed in their place. It was a complete dead end.

  “I have the latest electoral roll details here,” Chen announced proudly patting the thick wad of papers that he was carrying.

  “Do we have any possible locations?” Major Stanley Timms asked without looking up from his laptop screen.

  “Yes we have one hundred and forty six men called William Wright in the Liverpool area. However if we consider the rest of the country then we have seventy thousand males named William Wright, and two thousand females christened Willamina Wright,” Chen beamed a toothy smile.

  The Major rolled his eyes skywards behind the cover of his computer screen. It looked like Chen was going to do all his thinking out loud. He liked to do that to the annoyance of the rest of the team. Major Timms carried on his internet search in silence despite Chen’s attention seeking.

  “Of course if we discard the females and the men who are under eighty years of age then we are left with a much more manageable list of names. If we were to concentrate the search to Merseyside then we are investigating a total of six men, assuming that this information is correct,” Chen frowned at the Major, who was taking absolutely no notice of his display of investigative prowess.

  �
�Billy Wright lives at the Sunnyside Rest Home, Orford, Warrington. Tell Tank and Grace immediately,” the Major said, looking over the top of his screen. He tapped the print button on the keyboard and stood up to retrieve the information from the printer. Chen looked confused.

  “How did you narrow that down so quickly?” Chen asked flatly. He was obviously put out by the Major’s success in finding out the information before he had.

  “I logged onto the Royal Navy’s benevolent fund. They pay the medical bills and accommodation for a retired submarine commander by the name of William Wright, aged eighty four at the Sunnyside Care Home. Technology at its cutting edge Chen my boy,” the Major winked at his disgruntled agent as he handed him the details and Chen forced a smile.

  “I’ll check it out myself and make sure that he is still alive and well,” Chen picked up the telephone and dialled the care home. The line crackled and then connected to the number. It rang twice and then it was answered by the grumpy receptionist. Her brief attempt at being polite had long since past.

  “Hello Sunnyside, how may I help you?”

  “Hello, I’m calling to enquire about the status of a beneficiary of ours, a retired submarine commander by the name of William Wright,” Chen enquired charmingly. He smiled brightly as if the receptionist could see it.

  “Are you really, and who is enquiring please?”

  “I work for a government agency,” Chen replied, parting with as little information as he could.

  “Well our Billy Wright is quite the celebrity today isn’t he? He is definitely a man in demand at the moment,” the receptionist wittered sourly.

  “Oh is he indeed?” Chen pursued. “I assume that he has received some other recent enquiries then.”

  “Yes he has, people have been calling for the last few days. He is being interviewed by the Royal Navy’s journalists as we speak, and a photographer too, but I’m sure that you are aware of that anyway,” the receptionist studied her manicure with a critical eye as she spoke.

  Chen made a note on the pad in front of him. He ripped it off and handed it to the Major. The Major frowned. He picked up the phone on his desk and stabbed a speed dial number. The call was answered and the Major spoke quietly into handset.

  “Get hold of the Naval Benevolent Fund and speak to the secretary. I want to know why Commander William Wright is being interviewed by naval reporters. I want the telephone records of every call that has been made to that nursing home for the last two weeks, and I need them quickly,” the Major instructed.

  “Yes sir. I’ll do that straight away sir.”

  The Major switched his handset to another channel so that he could hear the conversation that Chen was having with the receptionist at the nursing home.

  “How long have our naval journalists been with Commander Wright?” Chen asked politely.

  “I checked their identification details fifteen minutes ago exactly,” the receptionist replied as she checked her visitors’ book. She was very proud of her rigorous attention to detail.

  “I see, I didn’t get your name,” Chen said leaving the sentence unfinished to prompt a reply.

  “Yvonne, my name is Yvonne,” she answered.

  “What a beautiful name, Yvonne was my mother’s name,” Chen lied. The Major raised an eyebrow as he listened to Chen trying to charm information from the gullible receptionist.

  “Thank you,” she blushed.

  “I wonder if you saw which agency they were from, we have so many these days,” Chen lied again.

  “I didn’t get the exact agency I’m afraid. It said Royal Navy on their cards. They had press cards though I’m sure of that. I’ve seen hundreds of press cards before so I can be certain of that. Is there a problem?” she became defensive as her procedures came under scrutiny and obvious failings were exposed.

  “I’m sure you have Yvonne, don’t worry there is no problem. Thanks for your help,” Chen hung up the call.

  “It could be nothing,” the Major said.

  “Then again it could be something,” Chen speculated. “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

  “How far away from Warrington are Grace and Tank?” the Major asked.

  “Five minutes at the most. I’ll redirect them immediately,” Chen was reaching for the telephone as he spoke. “I think it would be prudent to investigate the commander and his journalist friends sooner rather than later.”

  “Absolutely,” the Major concurred.

  There was silence on the line for a second, and then a polyphonic ring tone followed.

  “John Tankersley speaking,” Tank’s gruff voice appeared on the conference line.

  “Tank we have an address for the commander,” Chen said.

  “Give it to us.”

  “Sunnyside Rest Home, Orford, Warrington, do you know the area?”

  “Yes I know it, we’re not far from there now. The snow is slowing things down but it’s only minutes away,” Grace interrupted.

  “How recent is the information?” Tank asked. He indicated to the traffic behind him that he was turning right. The nursing home was less than two miles away from them.

  “It’s spot on. I’ve confirmed with the reception that he is there, and that he has a naval background.”

  Tank looked at Grace and they exchanged a glance that said neither of them was totally happy with the situation. There seemed to be something in Chen’s tone that implied that there was more to the story than an address.

  “Is there anything else that we need to know?” Tank asked.

  Chen looked to the Major to reply. The Major nodded and took the lead.

  “When we contacted the nursing home they mentioned that the commander had been receiving several enquiries this week. He is also being interviewed today by someone from the Navy, a journalist accompanied by a photographer.”

  “When is his interview?”

  “It started fifteen minutes ago.”

  “I have the feeling that you’re not totally comfortable with something,” Tank pressed.

  “We are making some enquiries with the Navy into the nature of the interview, but I haven’t had any details back yet,” the Major explained. “I have a hunch that we’re not the only ones looking for Commander Billy Wright. Wait a minute Tank, there is some new information here.”

  A blond haired agent walked to the Major’s desk and handed him a printed page. She was dressed in an immaculate grey pinstripe suit, although the Major noticed that her hemline was a little too short. He studied the paper and his face darkened as he digested the information. The line remained silent as the taskforce agents waited for the major to speak.

  “The Royal Navy haven’t sent anyone to interview Billy Wright, journalist or otherwise, and as far as they are concerned there have been no enquiries made by them as to his current status. All their enquiries about beneficiaries are made formally on a quarterly basis, and that was completed last month. You had better hurry Tank, and I’ll send backup immediately,” the Major passed the printed information to Chen and he sprang into action to despatch armed backup.

  “Roger that Major, we’re nearly there. Two minutes at the most,” Grace Farrington answered. She removed a set of keys and opened a lock box which was situated between the seats of their black Jeep. Inside were four Glock 9mm automatic pistols, the choice weapon of Special Forces the world over because of their accuracy and reliability. She slotted a magazine of seventeen soft nosed high velocity bullets into each pistol and holstered two pistols for herself. British counter terrorist units favour soft nosed bullets because they spread on impact with the skull causing the maximum damage to the brain of a suspect. Because the bullets are soft they remain inside the victim’s skull which reduces the risk of collateral damage to bystanders from a ‘through and through’ round. Tank brought the Jeep to a screeching halt in the nursing home car park. He took the two remaining Glock automatics, holstered them and turned to Grace.

  “You take the back of the building and I’ll go in the fr
ont way, I’ve got a feeling this is going to turn nasty.”

  Chapter Eight

  Commander Billy Wright

  Billy Wright woke up with a start. His face felt completely numb and he couldn’t swallow. His last few conscious moments rushed back to him in a flash and he tried to move but he was tied fast. He swallowed hard and got the thick copper taste of his own blood sliding down the back of his throat. There was something in his mouth impeding his ability to swallow properly. He tried to call out but couldn’t. As his senses returned to him he could hear running water, and then he felt the sensation of being in water, very cold water. Billy opened his eyes and he blinked hard as he tried to work out what was happening to him. He saw the clinical white tiles of his bathroom and he recognised the light fitting that he had fitted himself two months ago. Strong hands grabbed his thinning hair and pushed his head roughly beneath the water. He thrashed about but couldn’t find any relief from the vice like grip of his attacker. Billy felt as if his lungs were about to burst when the strong hands pulled him clear of the water. He gasped and almost choked on the gag. He felt a big hand squeezing his broken jaw and salty tears filled his bleary eyes. The gag was pulled clear and he gulped fresh air deep into his lungs.