Synopsis
A fictional novel set mostly in the present day Middle East.
A novel in 4 parts of around 350 pages in length
Royal Navy destroyer, HMS Lincoln, patrolling the Arabian Gulf witnesses the explosion and sinking of an Arab owned gas tanker. The British are unaware that word has been spread that they are responsible for the sinking. When the ship docks in a nearby Gulf country, it is attacked in retaliation by the port workers aided by the locals, the fighting is desperate but the ship escapes. The locals deny any involvement and blame radicals for the attack, threatening to withdraw from large commercial contracts unless the UK shows acceptance of their apology by ordering HMS Lincoln to make a goodwill visit to the country. The ship makes the visit and the tanker owners kidnap one of the Ships Officers. They intend to kill him as revenge, but first want to know why the British sank the ship. Although beaten and tortured, the Officer finally convinces his kidnappers that the British were not involved, by diving with them on the tanker wreck, they then set him free.
Many of the local population are not convinced and still hold the British responsible. As revenge, a group kidnap the British Ambassador, intending to hold him until the British Government issues a press statement, accepting responsibility for the sinking. However, a further group of locals, the financiers of the kidnap, have no intention of the plan succeeding; they intend that the Ambassador be killed in order to make the Government appear weak, allowing to take over the country in a popular coup. Local Arab and British intelligence find where the Ambassador is being held and mount a rescue operation. Those responsible for the sinking of the tanker are never identified.
The final part of the book takes place in Switzerland, at a business meeting and a discussion between two directors of a multinational company, one mentions that he has serious business problems, due to over exposure in the African copper markets, to solve the problem the metal price would need to rise sharply. His colleague then suggests that he contact a shadowy organization called Clauswitz , who, he says, “specialize in solving difficult situations.” He mentions that he contacted them when he had a similar business problem that required the global oil price to rise and remain high; the organization took on the resolution of the problem for a fee. Following the sinking of a gas tanker in the Gulf and the resulting regional instability the oil price rose and remained at a point were the problem was solved.
Chapter 1
Latitude 25.54.55 N Longitude 52.29.07 E
Monday, 20th August
04.58
Mornings were tough, the others, even the Middle, were okay, but waking in the small hours to take the weight was always tough. He’d spent the first hour with his men, quietly scanning the moon-washed sea through powerful binoculars, now, moving to the rear of the bridge, never having learnt to fully trust the GPS, he put his own fix on the chart. As a double check, taken from two lights and a radon, they confirmed his dead reckoning. All was as it should be. Walking slowly out onto the bridge wing, he leant against the rail, sipped sweet tea, and gazed out, enjoying the clear night, breathing the clean air. After several minutes he moved back into the silent darkness of the bridge, to be caressed by the soft muted beeping of the repeaters, touched by the dim blood red tinge off the instrument faces, he stood nurturing the calmness, allowing his people to fully focus on the surrounding waters, alert for any sign of the multitude of unlit oblivious dhows and other vessels that ploughed these dark unforgiving seas.
A metallic buzz in the darkness, he walked swiftly over, “Bridge, Officer of the Watch.”
“Ops Room. Sir, I have a new Tango, vessel bearing two seven zero, range 100 miles, speed 14, moving away from us, I have designated her as Tango Zero 5, I’ve been tracking her for 30 minutes, her course is curving to the south, I expect she’s a tanker heading for Jebal Dana to be filled up.”
Glancing at the luminous dial of his watch, it was 05.08
“Roger that, keep me informed all Tangos every fifteen minutes, unless there's any significant change in course or speed, then please call me immediately.”
“Aye, Sir.”
Replacing the handset he put his eyes to the blacked out radar hood and checked the white pencil plots on the screen. Three moving south, one northwest, a scattering of oil rig tender traffic and some local shipping, probably dhows, usual erratic progress, nothing out of the ordinary. No orange blip for the new Tango, the bridge set being shorter range than the Ops. Turning away he raised his binoculars, looking for several seconds off the port bow in the direction of the new contact, only blackness. The reports came in from the Ops Room, no change, the new contact, still on a wide circular course to port, range decreasing as they closed, was obviously not making for Jebal Dana, her course was too south westerly. She was now on the bridge radar, showing up as a bright orange blip illuminated by the sweep, range just over sixty miles.
06.30
Shooting pinks and crimsons pushed back the darkness, dawn, a minute to enjoy the coming of the day, then a return to duty. Checking the radar plot, all looked okay, except, he noted, the range to the new Tango had now decreased to under 40 miles, her curved track continuing as before. Picking up his binoculars he searched for a sight of her, she was still too far away to be seen through the morning haze. Deciding to satisfy his curiosity, he unclipped the VHF mike, selected Channel 16 and pressed the transmit switch.
"Vessel on my port bow bearing one niner zero, range 38 miles, this is warship HMS Lincoln on United Nations patrol, please state your name, destination, port of origin and cargo, over."
The open channel hissed, he tried again, no reply.
“Bastards asleep, Sir .”quietly from the other side of the bridge.
"Mmm, may be.”
He repeated the request every ten minutes for the next half hour, still no reply.
Brightening visibility brought one of those impossibly clear mornings that occasionally occur in the Arabian Gulf, and at 07.05, the port bridge wing lookout reported a ship, range approximately 20 miles off the port quarter. Moore took a look, yes, there she was, a shimmering, barely visible white speck, dancing on the heat haze of the horizon.
“Stephens, go below and ask the Duty Yeoman to report to the Bridge.”
“Aye, Sir.”
The Yeoman arrived on the bridge ten minutes later.
“Morning Yeo.”
“Sir.”
Moore pointed to the distant vessel, “Flashing light, please, plain language to that ship, make, This is HMS Lincoln on United Nations patrol please identify yourself'.” The lamp shutter clattered, everyone fixed their gaze on the horizon waiting for some sign of reply.
Nothing.
“Send again please.”
No reply.
Lowering his binoculars, “Okay, try the VHS, please Yeo, same request, ten minute intervals.”
“Aye, Sir.”
Studying the ship he listened, nothing, after 30 minutes, he ordered the Yeoman to stop.
07.50
Moore delivered his morning report over the internal phone to the Captain.
“No reply to flashing light or VHS, eh?” Hard Yorkshire vowels.
“No Sir.”
“Tanker of some sort?”
“Yes, Sir, large tanker with white upper works.”
“Okay, I’ll come and have a look at her and a breath of air before breakfast.”
A few minutes later the Captain, Commander Ross, stepped onto the bridge. Late thirties, barrel chested, middling height with a ruddy face and unruly black hair, every inch the Royal Naval Officer and intensely proud of it. An able man, he covered his pleasure at being paid to do a job he loved, by projected a gruff professionalism, the sailors on the bridge had made themselves studiously busy, studying their backs, he grinned to himself.
“Morning John.”
Lowering his binoculars, “Morning Sir.”
"Where’s this silent ship of yours then?" Ross smiled.
"Red eight zero, Sir,” Moore pointed off the port side.
Ross took a long look, "Liquefied Gas Carrier, they do a lot of business in and out of the Ras Lafan gas terminal and the Emirates gas fields. Still no response to light or VHF?"
“No Sir.”
"Range?"
"17 miles and closing, her course and speed have not changed since initial contact at “, he checked the log, “05.07.”
“Okay, increase our range to 25 miles and keep station, then ask Lt Cdr Smart to put a flight plan together to go over and have a look at her with a view to putting Captain Heath and his team on board to check her paperwork. Lt Cdr Smart and Captain Heath to give the flight and boarding briefing at 08.30 on the bridge.”
“Aye, Sir.”
“Keep hailing her and tell me if you get a reply, pass these orders to the next Watch,. Right, I’m going below for some breakfast.”
“Aye, Sir.”
Arriving early on the bridge, the Forenoon Watch caught up with the buzz before taking over. His relief, Lt William Morris, pushed up through the access hatch, “Morning John, what do you know?”
“Not much,” Moore grinned
He handed over the Watch, course, speed, weather and the overall situation including the silent tanker, the planned helicopter sortie and the document inspection. They then both leaned back against the chart table.
“What’s the Captain think?”
“Routine stuff, but best to let the Marines have a look .”
Morris nodded , “Probably nothing.”
“Flight and boarding brief on the bridge at 08.30.”
“Okay John, I have the ship .”
“You have the ship.”
His stomach rumbled at the thought of breakfast
“Catch you later Bill.”
Studying the distant tanker, beautiful in the morning-light, floating jewel-like on the flat shimmering sea, Morris soon recognized her from her shining white upper works, she was one of the Associated Arab Liquefied Gas Company fleet, known as Algeeco. They had an enviable reputation for safety and ships upkeep, he suspecting from her rakish lines that she was the latest addition to their fleet, launched less than a year ago. He thought she was the Sheikh Rashid bin Sultan , state of the art, the best that money could buy, the pride of the company fleet and the envy of many others. Continuing to watch her, he began feel her silence may be a real cause for concern.
08.20
Ross sat in the Captains chair ready for the briefing, at precisely 08.30, Lt Cdr Smart, the slim fair haired helicopter pilot, gave the flight brief in his usual clipped thorough way. His Observer, Lt Drake, a quietly spoken, stooping bean-pole of a man, standing close by. The Boarding brief followed, given by Captain Heath, Officer Commanding the Inspection Team, a happy man with a rugby players face. The plan was for Smart to take the Inspection Team across to the tanker, obtain permission and land the IT. If comms. could not be established, Ross would assess the situation with Smart and Heath and decide whether or not the IT should be put aboard by fast rope or helo-landing for a quick recce. A routine mission, similar to many others they had successfully undertaken.
“Very well ,”said Ross “mission is to commence at 09.30, the helicopter to land the IT at 10.15 and stand off the tanker for extraction at 11.00. We don’t want you accepting too much hospitality do we David?” Ross smiled. Heath grinned back, the warning was nevertheless taken seriously, he being aware from past experience of the often overgenerous thanks ships Captains habitually pressed upon the IT.
“Also, as we have ship to ship comms. problems, the IT will be armed and we will be doubly careful, at the merest whiff that all is not well.” he nodded towards Heath, “you're to call the helicopter in and get the hell out, no heroics, okay?”
“Aye, Sir”
“Carry on…”