The broker unzipped the bag and licked his lips at the sight of five large bundles of crisp $100 notes.
‘I’ll contact Oracle straight away,’ he said, re-zipping the bag. But as he went to take it Sharif grabbed his wrist and locked eyes with the broker.
‘My client expects results.’
The broker gave Sharif a regretful smile. ‘Of course I respect such a request, but in this business, as you well know, we can offer no guarantees. Hijacking a ship is a risky business.’
‘Then this should reduce the risk,’ said Sharif, handing the broker a large brown envelope.
The broker went to open it.
‘No,’ said Sharif. ‘For Oracle’s eyes only.’
The broker held up his hand in apology. ‘I only wished to note its contents. The return on a successful hijack-and-ransom is usually ten times the amount invested.’ Placing the unopened envelope in the bag, he then carefully wrote down the items in his ledger. ‘Who shall I name as the official investor? Yourself, Sharif?’
‘No, I’m merely the middleman. No name. Just date it,’ instructed Sharif.
The broker raised an eyebrow at this, but nonetheless did as instructed. He glanced up as he wrote. ‘Is your client trustworthy?’
Sharif shrugged. ‘He’s rich. And pays cash in advance.’
‘Then who needs trust?’ laughed the broker. He tore a strip of paper from the bottom of his ledger. ‘Your receipt.’
Sharif took the scrap of paper. ‘Thank you, cousin. Nabadeey,’ he said, bidding his farewell.
Leaving the bustling ‘stock exchange’, Sharif crossed the dusty square and clambered back into the Land Cruiser.
‘It’s done,’ he said in English, handing his client the receipt.
The man in the back pocketed the paper slip without a word.
‘Mayday, Mayday, Mayday! This is motor yacht Athena, Athena, Athena. Mayday Athena. My position is South 3° 52' 23", East 55° 34' 42", approximately five miles south-west of Denis Island. We have hit submerged object and are sinking. I have four persons on board. We require immediate assistance. Abandoning to life raft. Over.’
The VHF radio crackled loudly with static.
No one responded to the distress call. Nor was a response expected.
Ling, who’d sent the message, sat safe and sound in Alpha team’s classroom at Buddyguard Headquarters, miles from any sinking ship. She turned to Bugsy, radio mic in hand. ‘Why does everything have to be repeated three times?’
Their surveillance and communications tutor, a bald-headed man with the stocky build of a wrestler, held up two stubby fingers. ‘First, to ensure that the message is heard accurately. And, second, to distinguish it from other radio chatter.’
He lowered the radio’s volume and faced the rest of the team.
‘Knowing how to make a Mayday call is a vital skill for any crew member aboard a boat. It can mean the difference between life and death at sea.’ His sharp beady eyes flicked across to Connor. ‘Summarize the Mayday procedure for me.’
Connor glanced at his notes.
‘Turn on VHF radio, check power, press and hold the red Distress button for five seconds –’
‘Good. Now, Amir, what does this action do?’ interjected Bugsy.
Amir was quick to respond. ‘It broadcasts a digital alert to all DSC-equipped craft as well as the local coastguard. This will include your MMSI – the unique number identifying your craft – along with your position and the time.’
Bugsy gave his student a big thumbs up and Amir beamed. ‘Jason, what if there’s no response within fifteen seconds?’
‘Err … repeat the distress call.’
‘That’s right. But this time by voice, just as Ling did.’ Bugsy turned to Richie, who was gazing out of the window with a blank expression. ‘Richie, what VHF channel should you transmit on?’
Richie fumbled for an answer. ‘Umm … ten?’
‘No, Channel Sixteen!’ snapped Bugsy, tapping the dial on the radio that clearly indicated this. ‘Pay attention. Just because you’re not going on this mission, Richie, doesn’t mean you won’t need this knowledge in the future. All distress, urgency and safety signals are transmitted by international agreement on VHF Channel Sixteen. Make a note of this.’
With a begrudging effort, Richie opened his laptop and typed the information down.
Bugsy tutted at his student then resumed his questioning. ‘So, Marc, what must you check before sending a verbal Mayday?’
Marc rubbed at his temple, trying to jog his memory. Then he clicked his fingers as he remembered. ‘That the radio is switched to high power to transmit.’
Bugsy nodded. ‘Connor, what is the official format of the Mayday call?’
Connor didn’t need to check his notes this time. ‘Repeat Mayday and the name of the vessel three times, then give your position, nature of the emergency, the number of people on board, what assistance you need, and finish by saying “over”.’
Bugsy fired more questions around the room, allowing no one the opportunity to switch off from his lesson again. Once satisfied that Alpha team knew the protocol inside out, he announced, ‘One important proviso about VHF radios – they have a limited “line-of-sight” range. In real terms, that’s about forty miles from a coastal station, but only ten miles between two yachts. So, considering the size of the oceans, this is by no means a foolproof distress system.’
‘How about using a mobile phone instead?’ Amir suggested.
Ling laughed. ‘You’re at sea, stupid! Where will you get a signal?’
‘In actual fact, mobiles can be used for requesting help,’ said Bugsy. ‘In areas of little or seemingly no signal, a text might still stand a good chance of getting through.’
Amir gave Ling a triumphant look and waved his mobile in her face. ‘See! It would work.’
‘Teacher’s pet,’ she muttered, her eyes narrowing.
‘Loser,’ shot back Amir.
Ling made a grab for his mobile. ‘Watch it or I’ll stick that phone where there’s definitely no signal!’
‘Settle down, you two,’ said Bugsy, wagging a finger at their childish squabbling. ‘Ling’s got a point, though. The signal range is limited to the coastal areas. Also, only one person hears your call and a mobile can’t be homed in on as easily as a VHF transmission.’
Ling stuck her tongue out at Amir in smug victory.
Bugsy frowned at her behaviour but continued with his lecture. ‘That’s why most boats are equipped with satellite systems featuring voice, data, fax and GMDSS capabilities.’
‘What’s GMDSS?’ asked Jason, struggling to make notes fast enough.
‘Global Maritime Distress and Safety System. It’s a highly sophisticated worldwide distress system that delivers emergency, safety and other communications, such as weather warnings and search-and-rescue messages –’
The class bell rang for lunch and, like all schoolkids, Alpha team began to pack away with impatient urgency.
‘Just one more thing,’ said Bugsy, holding up a bright yellow plastic cylinder with a light and short aerial at one end. ‘This is an emergency position-indicating radio beacon. It transmits a distress signal to satellites and relays the information to a rescue coordination centre. EPIRBs are pretty cool gadgets, since they automatically activate upon immersion in water and have a float-free bracket if the vessel sinks.’
Bugsy placed the EPIRB on the desk for the class to examine. Then he stowed away his laptop, popped a piece of chewing gum into his mouth and headed out of the door.
Alpha team gathered their belongings and filed past the EPIRB, giving it the once-over.
Jason picked it up and regarded Connor. ‘Let’s pray there aren’t any Maydays on your mission.’
‘I’m with you there,’ said Connor. Then he caught the odd expression on Jason’s face. ‘Hey, what do you mean by that?’
‘Well, you got shot last time, didn’t you?’
Nettled by the implied criticism, Co
nnor held his rival’s gaze. ‘And I heard on your Caribbean assignment you got second-degree sunburn!’
A moment of tension hung between them. Then Jason’s mouth broke into a wide grin.
‘Fair point,’ he chuckled, putting down the EPIRB and clapping a meaty arm round Connor’s shoulders. ‘That was rather stupid of me, wasn’t it?’ He glanced in Ling’s direction as she left the classroom with Amir, the two of them now laughing together. ‘Look, just watch Ling’s back for me. That’s all I’m asking.’
‘I think she can look after herself,’ replied Connor, indicating the faded shadow of his black eye from the previous week.
‘Sure, she can,’ agreed Jason, ‘but if something goes wrong … you’ve only got each other to depend on.’ His earth-brown eyes searched Connor’s face as if looking for a chink in his armour. Then, with a final encouraging squeeze of his arm, he let go and shouldered his bag. ‘I hear you and Ling are flying out to Oz to meet the girls before the holiday?’
Connor nodded. ‘Yes, by request of Mr Sterling.’
‘Well, enjoy my home turf,’ he said with genuine warmth, heading for lunch. He paused a moment in the doorway as if remembering something. ‘But watch out for dropbears.’
‘Dropbears?’ queried Connor.
‘Yeah, vicious little creatures. Like koalas, only with teeth. My uncle was savaged by one last summer,’ Jason explained. ‘They hang in treetops and attack their prey by dropping on to their heads from above. Just be careful is all I’m saying.’
‘Thanks for the heads up,’ said Connor.
‘No worries,’ replied Jason, smiling.
Connor and Ling entered the logistic supply room to find Amir already there. He stood behind the desk with an eager look on his face as if Christmas had come early.
‘I’ve been waiting all morning to hand over your Go-bags,’ he said.
Unable to contain his excitement any longer, Amir produced two black and fluorescent-yellow backpacks and laid them with due ceremony on the table. ‘I’ve customized them specifically for Operation Gemini.’
‘Well, no one’s going to lose these in a hurry!’ remarked Ling, eyeing the lurid yellow dubiously.
‘That’s the point,’ said Amir. ‘Ultra-reflective strips on the front and shoulder straps for maximum visibility at sea. A high-powered LED beacon for emergencies.’ Amir indicated a tiny plastic dome beside the top grab handle. ‘And these bags even have a mini-SART sewn into the lining!’
Amir looked up expectantly, waiting for them to share in his enthusiasm. Connor and Ling exchanged bemused glances. Amir rolled his eyes.
‘Don’t you two know anything? SART? Search-and-rescue transponder.’ He pointed to a slightly fatter right-hand seam with an activation tag. ‘The slim tube inside contains a small, battery-powered receiver and transmitter that operates on the 9-GHz frequency.’
‘You’ve still lost us, I’m afraid,’ admitted Connor.
‘That frequency, 9 GHz, is the frequency … of X-band radar … on a ship,’ Amir said slowly, as if explaining to two nursery kids. ‘If you get into difficulties at sea, the transponder sends out a locating signal. Usually these gizmos are on life rafts and about the size of a two-litre water bottle. Bugsy, however, has managed to miniaturize it. The downside is the battery only has an eight-hour lifespan and its range is less than five nautical miles. Still, it could make all the difference in a search-and-rescue operation.’
Amir unclipped the top section of the backpack and began to unroll the opening.
‘No zips mean no leakage,’ he said, justifying the unusual roll-top design. ‘This means the Go-bags are one hundred per cent waterproof and fully submersible. As long as you aren’t carrying rocks, they’ll even float!’
Amir patted the Go-bags proudly as if they were his favoured pets.
‘Do they have a foldout liquid body-armour panel like before?’ Connor asked.
Amir’s expression fell a little. ‘Unfortunately not,’ he admitted. ‘We couldn’t fit an additional panel inside. But the back section itself is bulletproof.’
‘That’s good,’ said Connor. He didn’t wish to dampen Amir’s spirits, but the foldout panel had been a key factor in saving his and his Principal’s life during his first mission. A single panel, while still useful, would barely cover him, let alone his Principal.
Amir reached into the bags and produced a pair of mobile phones enclosed in bright orange neoprene covers.
‘Your smartphones, upgraded to the newest operating system and virus-protection software.’ He arched an eyebrow in Connor’s direction. ‘No danger of Cell-Finity bugs this time.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Connor as he weighed the phone in his hand and examined the unusual cover. ‘A bit bulky, isn’t it?’
‘It was a trade-off,’ said Amir, shrugging apologetically. ‘We’ve waterproofed the phone with a spray-on microlayer, but to produce a buoyant cover we had to compromise on size.’
‘I suppose it’s better than losing it at the bottom of the sea,’ said Ling cheerily.
Connor pressed his thumb to the screen, triggering the fingerprint security system. He examined the display of apps: Advanced Mapping, Tracker, Face Recognition, Mission Status, Threat Level, SOS … ‘I’m glad to see your SOS app is still on here.’
‘Of course,’ Amir beamed. ‘Version two. Improved battery life. Also, it allows for short message transfer as well as location data.’
Amir dug out the rest of the Go-bag’s contents.
‘You’ll have all your usual gear: med-kits, earpieces with built-in mic for covert communication with one another, prepaid credit cards –’
‘Now that’s more like it,’ grinned Ling, snatching up a card. ‘Shopping time!’
‘You’ll need expert surveillance skills to find a shop in the middle of the Indian Ocean,’ laughed Amir.
‘You forget airport duty-free,’ Ling replied with a devious wink, nudging Connor with her elbow.
Amir handed them a pile of clothes each. ‘Here’s your Buddyguard-issue gear: baseball cap, shorts, T-shirts, polo-shirt … all fire-retardant, stab-proof and, of course, bulletproof,’ he said, looking up at Connor.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll definitely be wearing these,’ said Connor, holding up and inspecting the pocketed blue polo-shirt. It still amazed him that such soft thin fabric could stop a bullet from a handgun or the sharpened steel point of a knife.
‘Is there a bulletproof bikini for me?’ asked Ling.
Amir searched through her pile of clothes. ‘Err, no, sorry.’
A smirk appeared on Ling’s lips. ‘I was only joking.’
Amir reddened as it dawned on him how ridiculous such an item would be. ‘Oh, very funny.’ He pulled a slim black torch from the Go-bag. ‘By the way, Bugsy’s supplied you with a new torch.’
Amir depressed the button and a glaringly bright green laser strobe flashed out.
‘Hey, watch it!’ exclaimed Ling, shielding her eyes. ‘You almost blinded me.’
‘That’s kinda the aim of it,’ said Amir, grinning like a Cheshire cat at his retaliation. ‘It’s a Dazzler.’
‘A what?’
‘A non-lethal weapon that temporarily blinds or disorientates your enemy.’
‘Seems pretty lethal to me,’ said Ling as she blinked away tears.
‘Well, it won’t kill anyone, and it works as a standard torch too,’ Amir explained, putting the Dazzler back in the bag. ‘Anyway, at the other end of the spectrum, so to speak, are your sunglasses.’
‘It’s all right, I still have mine from the last mission,’ said Connor.
‘Not like these you don’t,’ replied Amir, excitedly handing them each a pair. ‘Put them on.’
As Connor and Ling slipped on the shades, Amir closed the blinds and switched off the room’s light, plunging them into darkness.
‘Hey, I can’t see a thing!’ Ling exclaimed.
‘Flick the switch on the right edge of the frame.’
Fi
nding the tiny switch with his fingernail, Connor gasped in awe as Amir and Ling reappeared before his eyes in a shimmering silver light. ‘Now these are cool!’
‘Night-vision sunglasses,’ explained Amir, enjoying the looks of astonishment on his friends’ faces. ‘Cutting-edge nanotechnology in the lens allows you to see in the dark as if there’s a full moon. There’s a smart layer of nano-photonic film that converts infrared light to visible. Unlike standard night-vision goggles that only amplify visible light, these have the advantage of not being vulnerable to flaring when confronted with a bright light.’
Amir switched on the main light to prove his point. Connor could still see perfectly well, even if the room before him appeared over-exposed. He flicked off the night-vision mode and everything returned to normal.
‘What else is in your bag of tricks?’ asked Ling, now caught up in the thrill of such advanced gadgets at their disposal.
‘Well, there’s this,’ said Amir, handing Ling a large white bottle.
‘What is it?’ she asked eagerly. ‘A miniature life raft? A smoke grenade?’
‘No, but it will protect you from the greatest danger you face on your mission.’
Ling looked expectantly at him. ‘So, what is it?’
Amir was barely able to suppress his grin. ‘It’s sunscreen.’
‘What’s going on in maths? You’ve got Bs and Cs in your other subjects, but an E for maths.’
Connor groaned down the phone. ‘Mum … I’ve had a few other things on my mind recently.’
‘Like what?’
Connor didn’t know how to answer that. His mum had no idea he was training and operating as a professional bodyguard. She’d been told that he was attending a boarding school for gifted and talented sports students, the cost sponsored by a special government scholarship scheme. That’s why his mum only received a report card for the standard subjects. His appraisals in the other topics, ranging from world affairs to unarmed combat to anti-ambush training, went direct to Colonel Black.
Bodyguard: Ransom (Book 2) Page 6
