Reynolds surveyed the room. ‘Are there any questions, gents?’
Daffaut raised his hand. ‘Everard said in the hotel, that he will have everything we need in the warehouse.’ Reynolds nodded as the Frenchman continued. ‘So, if this is correct, then what if I go with Olu, load the truck, and as the crew from the ship, you guys meet the truck as if thumbing for a lift into the centre of town? We later all get into our fatigues while we are on route to the target. I think the quicker we are out of the port, the better.’
Reynolds smiled. ‘Excellent idea, Jacques, that’s what we’ll do.’ He looked around at the men. ‘Any more questions, or any further thoughts?’
No one said anything, so Reynolds nodded approvingly. ‘Okay, that’s it then. I have a plane to catch for London to verify things with Everard, so I will see you all in Valetta on Monday.’ Reynolds then looked over at Kasur. ‘Mo, I need to speak to you in private.’
Walking out of the hut together, they stopped at the Land Rover. Reynolds lit a cigarette. ‘Listen Mo, I need you to take care of something, in case I do not come back from this.’
The Moroccan gave Reynolds a puzzled look. ‘What is that, my friend?’
Reynolds blew some smoke rings. ‘My daughter. If I buy it over in Cyprus, I would like you to be Ayesha’s godfather, look after her financially, see that she gets into a good school, that sort of thing.’ The Englishman gave him a slip of paper. ‘This is a little bank account I set up for her. There’s ten thousand pounds sterling in this account. It’s not much, but it will give her a good start. Just don’t let her thieving witch of a mother get hold of it, okay?’
Kasur nodded. ‘Okay, my friend, I will do as you so wish. It will be an honour. I am only sad that I do not come with you. But now, I see why you did not want me on this operation.’ They shook hands.
In London, Swan stood at the window in the SID office, looking out at the Whitehall traffic. He was wondering how his colleague was progressing at New Scotland Yard, presenting his theory to the police. Detective Chief Inspector Bill Baldwin was a tough nut of the force and always liked to be on top of things. The last thing he would want to hear was that the perpetrator of the Danvers murder was suspected to be a notorious international female assassin. This would automatically put the case out of his jurisdiction, as it would then be an Interpol matter. He also resented SID for, as usual for anything that involved Interpol, they would be the preferred British liaison with the international force.
Walking over to his desk, Swan picked up the facsimile received from the Portuguese judicial police. He thumbed through the pages, glancing at the particulars and suddenly had a feeling that this was all just the beginning of something much more sinister. He then heard his associate walking up the stairs.
‘Ah, Arthur. How did it go at the yard?’
Gable shook his head. ‘Well, looks like everything has been cleared up with the incident. Baldwin’s relented, although he didn’t seem too pleased with the idea, now it’s being taken out of his hands. Anyway, he’s going with your Praying Mantis theory, and has officially handed it over to us and referred it to Interpol.’
Swan laughed. ‘Knowing Bill Baldwin, I bet that took some persuading!’
Gable shrugged. ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he mused. ‘So, when are you flying out to Lisbon?’
‘Lunchtime tomorrow.’
Gable smiled. ‘So, looks like I’ll be stuck here for a few days then?’ Despite the sarcasm, the ex-detective sergeant was secretly grateful he would not be accompanying his colleague on this trip abroad.
Deep beneath the Caribbean Sea, Mick Murphy’s head was down as he perused a sea chart of the mid-Atlantic. Taking a set of dividers, he plotted a course to bypass the Tongue of the Ocean. He understood how important this was; to stray too close would mean having to navigate a series of submerged peaks.
Another hazard was situated north of this feature. It was the vast NATO training ground, testing the latest cohort of potential commanders, with submarines of all shapes of sizes undertaking manoeuvres beneficial to the programme.
Standing next to him, was his appointed number two. Will Crossman was a former chief of the boat, having served up to 1970, and attracted by a handsome pay-off, he had joined up with Murphy for this mission. So what, that it meant the sinking of an Albanian freighter? It would serve them right for running arms to the Greek-backed terrorists. Crossman also thought the disguising of the submarine as a Greek navy boat was a stroke of genius. How else would they be able to get so close to this ship? There had also been something familiar about the mysterious man whom only Murphy had met with on their arrival in Bermuda. He now listened carefully to his captain, as he drew a line through the contours shown on the chart.
Murphy tapped on the chart. ‘If we keep this far south, we should have a direct route to the Azores.’ He explained that after an overnight stay, their journey would continue as they sailed through the Pillars of Hercules into the Mediterranean. This would also require silent running, until they were well clear of Gibraltar. Then to avoid the NATO SOSUS nets, they would turn south, sticking close to the African coast. Then, once past Malta, they would start the move north-west, towards the Cypriot coast.
Murphy turned to Crossman. ‘Do you agree this would be the best route, Will?’
Crossman nodded. ‘I can’t argue with that, Mike. We can’t afford any detection and the SOSUS units are also around the Gibraltar coastline. There could even be a few Brit subs out there on patrol, or one of their new Nimrod airplanes. If we stick closer to the south pillar on the tip of Morocco, we should sneak through without a hitch.’
Murphy tapped the chart again with his pencil. ‘Swell, that’s what we’ll do then.’ He called across the bridge to a small man handling the helm. ‘Helmsman, right full rudder, down one third, take us to fifty feet and level out. He then grabbed hold of a microphone. ‘Engine room? Increase speed to 20 knots for 20 minutes, then all ahead full.’
An ‘Aye-aye captain’ came through the speaker system.
Murphy rolled up the chart, placing it back with the others inside the plotting table. Then moving down from the control con, gestured to Crossman to take over. He then staggered towards his stateroom.
Inside the small area was a bunk and a drop-down desk. Murphy reached for the envelope that had been passed to him by Tremaine, back at the boat house. Inside the package was a sheet of paper and on it, a set of random numbers. Also inside was a set of photographs. Sliding out the photographs, he laid them on the desk to study the various angled views of the target.