Tremaine nodded his approval. ‘That’s great news.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Follow me, and I’ll show you the plans.’
Murphy allowed the big congressman to pass him, and then stepped in his shadow to a small office at the far end of the boathouse.
Below, some of the crew quizzically watched their captain, wondering who the other man could be.
Inside the small mezzanine office, Tremaine reached for the rolled-up sheets and, placing them on the empty table, rolled them out in front of them.
Murphy studied the diagram, which showed the outline of his submarine with shaded areas where additions to the outer structure would be made. One significant change, and looking to be the most complicated, was the heightened sail. The other modifications, which did not seem as difficult to accomplish, included various antenna arrays and two humps in the forward section of the bow. ‘Jesus, Don. Do you think that we can seriously pull this off?’ enquired the captain.
Tremaine gave a positive nod of reassurance. ‘The boys here will start work on the sail in the morning.’
Murphy looked out of a small window and around the yard he noticed crates, and packed bundles on the quayside. It was then he suddenly realised how intense this was all to become. He guessed that Tremaine would have other agendas attached to this operation, but this was Murphy’s game, and he was looking forward to where this was all going for him personally.
Tremaine beckoned him back to the table. ‘I have something for you,’ he said, handing him an envelope. Murphy took it and opened it in front of him. Reaching inside, he pulled out a set of photographs and a three-view silhouette chart, with specification data on dimensions, performance and, more importantly, the defence systems.
Murphy smiled to himself as he read the name of the ship. What pleased him the most, was the three letters that proceeded it — the letters H-M-S.
Tremaine surveyed the response of the Irish — American ex-submariner. ‘One hundred thousand dollars for you alone, if you see this through, Mickey. She’s just waiting there on standby, off the island. All you got to do, is line her up and fire your fish.’
Murphy nodded. ‘She’s gonna be a sitting duck. When do they arrive?’ He was referring to the weapons.
‘They’ll be waiting for you in the Azores and they’re Mark 37s, just as you requested.’
Murphy raised an eyebrow. ‘Jesus, Don, how did you manage to get them?’
Tremaine winked, deciding that the source of the torpedoes was something that he would keep to himself.
The next day, they started early. The crates and packages had been opened and personnel were already moving around the submarine and putting things into place. The conversion work would be extensive. First, the old sail structure would be removed to allow for the replacement Portsmouth sail, as fitted to all Tench-class submarines upgraded to the GUPPY-3 standard.
This work alone had taken over two days for the new sail to be erected and welded to the hull. The next fitting saw the bow receive its new hump. On a real upgrade, this would house a new sonar array with three shark-like fin sensors. A small derrick hoisted various other fittings over the submarine, where men reached out for the grip cables and pulled them into position along the long boat.
Murphy walked along the quayside, surveying the work as he shielded his eyes from the sparks from the oxyacetylene torch being handled by one of the crewmen. When the man had stopped and extinguished the blue flame, Murphy knelt down to check his work and with a nod, patted the man’s back to express his approval.
On the fourth day, the work had almost been completed and final touches were now being made. Murphy looked on at the tall black sail, as a crew member placed a paper stencil over the newly-fitted sail walls. Then, with a spray can, he carefully sprayed white waterproof paint across it. A few hours later, the paint was dry enough to remove the stencil and like an proud artist from the Renaissance period, the man nodded appreciatively at his own work.
Murphy also looked at the big numbers on the sail. He turned to some of his crew, who were busy loading on supplies.
‘Well, guys, I hope that none of you are superstitious,’ he remarked, as he noted the figures: 0113.
He then thought this would be a good time to address the crew officially.
‘Gentlemen, these past few days have seen some extremely hard work from you all. What we are about to do, will be in the interests of our country. As you already know, there’s a small war going down in the Eastern Mediterranean and, if this war escalates, we could see a major conflict, which even I would not like to guess the outcome of. Our mission is to see this does not happen, but no-one is to know that we are there.’
He turned and gestured towards the submarine. ‘That’s why this boat had to be disguised. No-one would expect a sub of the Greek navy not to be patrolling the waters off Cyprus, at this time. This is how we will fulfil our mission. We have a target, and we have to destroy it. The ship we are to intercept is carrying more arms to the Greek Cypriot freedom fighters, and we can’t let that happen. If it does, then Cyprus will become another Cuba. So tomorrow, we sail for the Azores. There, we will be taking on board our weapons. After that, we will be in a position to go into action. Then, we’ll get the hell out of there and enjoy our money.’ He cast an eye over his crew. ‘If any of you are not okay with this, I would like you to speak now.’ Murphy waited and then, realising no-one was coming forward, climbed up a ladder at the side of the new sail. Standing on the conning deck, he raised his arms. ‘Are you all with me guys?’
His call was met by a loud and unanimous cheer. He then saluted to them, as he released the blue and white Greek flag, allowing it to catch the breeze of the bay that whistled through the open boathouse.
Murphy allowed them to cease before addressing them all again. ‘From now on, our boat is Tench-class, zero-one-one-three, Royal Hellenic Navy ship… Achilles.’
Chapter 10
Inside the big tent at the Draa Valley camp, Reynolds and his men surrounded a small model of an encampment set up on a table.
Reynolds took hold of a long stick and addressed them. ‘Okay gents, this is how it is. Jamal said he can take us into Valetta, where we will board another boat, belonging to a good friend of his called Amman. Amman runs a legitimate small freight service into Limassol every other week, with his freighter, the Jasmine Star. The cargo is mainly cars and luxury goods transported for the rich ex-pats, that sort of thing. I asked Jamal to offer him a couple of grand to take us in as extra crew. He’s also known to both the Royal Navy and the Americans, as well as the local Cypriot authorities, so we should have no problems getting through. Now, providing that Limassol is not a battlefield by the time we get there, we should be able to unload ourselves and head straight for the bonded warehouse that Everard was talking about. You may not be aware, but there has been a ceasefire agreed while foreign civilians are evacuated off the island.’
Reynolds then walked over to a wall with a large map of Cyprus. ‘The Turks are mostly here, at Kyrenia. But they have also got paratroopers around Nicosia Airport and in Nicosia itself.’ He walked back to the model on the table. ‘Now, the EOKA B stronghold is an old British army barracks, but only has this block here housing the paramilitaries.’ He picked up a pencil and pointed to a place on the map given to him by Everard. ‘We will use this road and debus from the truck, about a mile to the west of the camp. There’s a ridge, so we should be well shielded at night. Jacques will go, with Sami and Seppy, and take up position near the guardroom. I will lead Micko and Tolly to the side of the barracks. Hoppo and Jerome will make their way to the back of this supply hut. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think this could be the storage house for the hardware. You two go in, set the charges and then get back to the ridge. When this goes up, this will be the signal to take out the people in the barracks and the guardroom. Olu will drive the truck up to the main gates and then we all jump in, change out of our gear and ditch it on the way back to Limassol. Then, we board Amman’s boat as if we’ve been on a bit of shore leave, and sail back to Valetta the next morning.’