Alex and John had just returned from placing their deadly limpet mines at strategic points under the cargo vessel’s hull and were now sitting in the wheelhouse with Big J, Ling and the Old Chinese Ming Ho.
Alex addressed the little group.
“Thank you for being part of this council of war. I thought it best that you all know exactly what we’re about.” No one spoke but he clearly had their undivided attention. “You all know that the cargo boat, still conveniently stuck in the dry dock, has a cargo of deadly weapons destined for the Filipino terrorists. For obvious reasons we cannot allow them to get access to these arms. Now, John and I have just finished fixing some very special mines to the ship’s hull. Which means that I am in a position to destroy the ship and its cargo at any given time. That could include all the crew!” He looked directly at Big J who still remained silent. “The political repercussions of destroying the ship while it is still here in Hong Kong are not acceptable to the United Nations, which is extremely anxious to maintain its improving relationship with China and its evolving administration. We have therefore to destroy the vessel at sea and in deep international waters. You all need to know that I have been instructed to sink the vessel regardless of the loss of life to the crew!” He looked again at Big J, who was clearly about to protest, but Alex raised his hand. “Please let me finish. I can assure you that as far as I’m concerned that has to be the very last resort.” Big J eased back into his chair, visibly relieved by Alex’s comment.
Alex sipped from the glass of water in front of him.
“Ming Ho has been talking to the crew and has worked out who and what they are all are. Because of the lack of sanitation on board while the vessel is in dry dock, the crew had to move to a local boarding house. Ming Ho and his family have been entertaining them in their café. There isn’t much they don’t know about them after ten days. Is that right?” He looked across at the old Chinese.
Ming Ho smiled,
“All sailors are the same. They like to drink and talk when they’re ashore. I can tell you now that the four deckhands are innocent sailors. They know that their captain takes the occasional risky cargo and other than receiving a nice bonus each time he does so, they are not aware of what it’s all about. The armed guards, however, are quite different. They are trained mercenaries working for the warlord, who is acting as agent for the sale of the arms and ammunition. They are undoubtedly very tough and dangerous. We had little success in finding out anything about this particular cargo from them. The captain, however, owns the boat. He has a massive marine mortgage with the Syndicate, a crime organisation with which I understand you are all familiar. The captain and chief engineer are partners in the business of running the vessel. I suspect that the so-called first officer has something to do with the Syndicate people because he only became involved recently; in fact it was when this particular special cargo was commissioned. The captain had quite a job persuading the chief to let him come on board. The chief is an old sea dog, worried that his retirement days are fast approaching and needs to accumulate his nest egg quickly and had no desire to share a trip with an obvious ‘land lubber’ as he described him.” The old man looked at Alex. “Enough?”
“Thank you old friend, that was perfect.” Alex turned back to the others, “I believe that if we can somehow overcome the guards, we may still be able to destroy the cargo without killing the other relatively innocent people. Though I have to say I consider that the captain and engineer are hardly innocent and in my book they know full well what the cargo is and almost certainly where it is to be ultimately used. At the same time I also know the awesome power of the Syndicate so perhaps I can find the merest drop of understanding for them in that respect.” He sipped the water again.
“Big J, I am going to ask you to follow them at, say, twelve miles’ distance, then once we are in a suitable location we feign a disaster and send an SOS; if the captain has the same respect for the seamen’s code as you, then they will come to our assistance. We should be able to take their guards by surprise. Then we can simply throw the cargo overboard and all honour has been retained.” He looked at Big J. “Now you have the floor Sir!” Alex smiled and sat back.
Big J looked serious.
“I think you’re taking too much for granted. You seem to be forgetting that this is a commercial operation.” He waved his hands about, indicating the tug. “Several of the men are partners in the diving operation. I can ask them to risk their lives every day at one hundred metres but I can’t ask them to risk being shot — it just isn’t the same thing!”
“Two of your diving students are ex marines from the People’s Army. They would know how to handle themselves!” Ming Ho blurted out and looked at Alex. “That’s if no one else can?” he added, po-faced.
Alex smiled.
“Big J, I think your philosophy is correct. I have no right to ask your men to risk their lives in this enterprise and believe me there is a very considerable risk. So maybe our friend here has the answer.” He raised a hand in Ming Ho’s direction again. “So for the moment, let’s suppose we agree that we leave port a couple of hours behind them, enabling us to shadow her without detection. When should that be?” Alex looked at the grinning Ming Ho.
“It will have to be tomorrow morning. I don’t think we can delay the repair to the dry dock gate any longer than that!” Ming ho shrugged his shoulders.
Alex smiled back at the amazing old man who’d somehow been responsible for organising the fault in the dry dock’s gate opening mechanism.
“In the meantime I’ll put on my thinking cap to work out a sensible solution to the problem of neutralizing the guards. OK everyone?” Alex stood up to leave.
“Incidentally, just how many people have you promised a passage with us tomorrow?” Big J asked.
“Well it’s four at the moment but I’d quite like to go along as well! So say five. Is that OK?”
Big J sat back and folded his arms in good-humoured despair.
“I guess so — at this rate the old tug’ll be more like the Kowloon ferry by the time we leave!”
The humour was wasted on Alex — he’d already left the wheelhouse, his mind mulling over his latest ideas to solve their more urgent problems.
The Syndicate leader was in a particularly poor humour. Ashen faced, his partners sat at the table facing him. The message advising him of the delayed departure of the arms shipment had been bad enough but this latest accident preventing the ship from leaving the dry dock was a neat catastrophe.
“Those useless bastards!” he shouted angrily at the seated men. “They can’t even operate their dry dock gates without fucking up!” His audience recoiled; no one could ever remember him resorting to foul language. “You better get over there and sort it out! The Mullah is going apeshit. God knows what retribution he could be planning.” He pointed to the younger of the two men.
The man was plainly anxious; he knew getting involved personally was against the general principle of their organisation. They were all well aware of the tragic circumstances of the last such mission, when two of their colleagues had been killed.
“Didn’t they say when it would be operational again?” The worried man tried applying reason to the angry leader.
“Look we have contracted to deliver; we get access to all the best deals because we always deliver on time. Yes?” He did not wait for a reply. “Now, the agent in charge down there has completely fouled up by getting involved with some hired help who went mad and drew attention to us by murdering some local woman. Apparently the husband and a friend evened up the score by killing the assassins and one of our agents. We still have one man on the boat but I want you out there to guarantee that there are absolutely — and I mean absolutely — no more foul ups or delays. Do you have a problem with that?” The steel blue eyes narrowed and bore like lasers into the other man.