Kate tugged at his arm; she was also looking at the central screen. ‘I reckon those red dots are the sheikh’s plane, Golden Sundancer and Jameel. The blue ones must be the good guys – so the blue one in Safi must be our friends on board Puddle Jumper.’
Rafi pointed to the fine yellow line which stopped about fifteen miles off the coast. ‘That, I presume, is where the submarine is to rendezvous with Puddle Jumper.’
One of the colonel’s adjutants walked over to chat to Kate. ‘It’s all starting to come together nicely. The next few hours should be interesting! We have patched into the SBS command centre which is overseeing the operation at Safi. There’s a Nimrod offshore at 40,000 feet monitoring the location of Golden Sundancer. She has her cloaking device on so she’ll be invisible to the terrorists. She’ll pick up the video pictures and radio communications from the SBS men on board Puddle Jumper and the SAS teams on the ground. She’ll then relay them to the command centre where they’ll bounce them on to us.’
The adjutant thought for a moment. ‘Golden Sundancer, at her current speed, should reach Safi between 13.30 and 13.45 hours, our time this afternoon. She has slowed down a bit; it seems she’s sailing into a steep swell. The sheikh’s plane is scheduled to land at Menara airport, Marrakech, at 13.00 hours. If the switch to the helicopter goes quickly, they could be at Safi by 14.00 hours… We would prefer there to be more of a time gap before the helicopter arrives.’
‘Are they going to be well prepared?’ asked Rafi.
‘The terrorists still seem blissfully unaware that we are on to them,’ continued the adjutant. ‘The two SAS operatives we have undercover at Marrakech Airport have reported that the helicopter is unguarded, with just the pilot waiting. The sheikh meanwhile has two minders with him on board his jet. Both are big gorillas of men, but definitely not in the same league as the two Chechen mercenaries on Golden Sundancer.’
The adjutant pointed to the map. ‘In Safi, we have two highly experienced SAS soldiers – Major Mark Piggot and Sergeant Colin Blake. They have identified four heavies watching the harbour and if they’re anything like the Chechen mercenaries, they’ll have a real skirmish on their hands. Thankfully, the industrial part of the port is relatively deserted. In contrast, the nearby fishing boat quays are a hive of activity. From the location of the four heavies, we believe that the helicopter plans to land on the quay in the industrial part of the harbour, close to where Golden Sundancer is likely to berth.’
The adjutant paused and looked across at the screen. ‘As good fortune would have it, our friends on board Puddle Jumper seem to be in just the right place. Now that we’re certain Safi is the rendezvous point, the three SAS men at Mohammedia and the three at Casablanca are, as we speak, driving down the N1 to Safi. Roads permitting, they’ll be there in good time.’
‘What’s Jameel up to?’ asked Kate.
‘He finished a round of golf half an hour ago and is currently in the hotel bar. He’s packed his bags and ordered a taxi to the airport ten minutes ago. He’s the proud possessor of a couple of tracking devices: one in his shoe, which he left unattended whilst playing golf, and another in his hand luggage!’
On board Puddle Jumper the atmosphere was calm and relaxed. The retired commander and his wife were sitting on the aft deck, enjoying mugs of tea. They were joined by a scantily clad Lieutenant Anna Gregson, with a colourful caftan wrapped around her waist. She was followed by a similarly dressed Lieutenant Janet Steiner.
‘Been enjoying the sun?’ enquired their mother.
‘It’s fantastic up on the foredeck,’ replied Anna.
‘Any idea where your boyfriend Clive is?’ the commander asked.
‘Yes; he and Jim have gone on a bimble – said they had to see a man about a dog,’ replied Janet.
The commander nodded. ‘We’ve got about two and a half hours before we will have company, according to our friends.’
‘In which case,’ said Janet, ‘Time for a bit more sun on the foredeck.’
‘Remember the sunscreen,’ said their mother tossing a bottle in Anna’s direction.
‘Thanks mum!’
As the two women left for the bow of the boat, Jim and Clive climbed back on board and walked over to chat to the commander.
‘That was quick; I thought you were chatting to your SAS friends, Mark and Colin?’
‘We were. And we’ve sorted out what equipment we have between us. They’re rather well tooled-up. As long as a small army doesn’t arrive, they should give us more than enough cover.’
‘What do they make of the four heavies guarding the helicopter landing area?’ asked the commander.
‘Piece of piss!’ replied Clive. ‘The way they handle themselves and their guns, they’re no more than local hoodlums. All they seem to do is smoke cigarettes and talk; not one of them has even done a recce, which is good news.’
‘It’s the two Chechens on board Golden Sundancer that we have to be careful of,’ remarked Jim. ‘Oh, by the way, we reckon that Golden Sundancer will moor up 100 metres across from where we are.’
In the Ops Room, Rafi turned his attention to the flat screen TV. He watched the commentary preceding the PM’s speech in the House of Commons, where a political correspondent was standing inside the Houses of Parliament with a senior opposition MP on either side of her.
‘Gentlemen,’ began the interviewer, ‘Will there be a call for a vote of no confidence and will the Prime Minister survive this afternoon?’
‘My party will want to find out why things have gone so badly wrong and will wish to see those who have let this country down take responsibility for their negligence,’ replied the first MP.
The interviewer turned to the second politician. ‘It’s going to be very difficult for the PM and his Chancellor to put a lid on the financial fallout from Stratford, isn’t it?’
‘Undoubtedly. It’s going to cost the country tens if not hundreds of billions of pounds. This could sink our economy, our currency and scare the living daylights out of the markets. The last thing that we need is political uncertainty. I hope that the PM will find a way of getting the opposition parties involved with the process of getting the country out of this mess.’
The interviewer looked at the first MP. ‘If there’s a call for a vote of no confidence, what will the implications be?’
‘The Government has a tiny majority and will seek to tough things out. It’s more likely that pigs will fly, than for a recently elected Government to give up its reins on power.’
‘Thank you, gentlemen, and with that we return to the studio,’ concluded the political correspondent.
The special forces command centre and the Air Chief Marshal were in discussion with Clive and Jim. As things currently stood, the helicopter would land in Safi only minutes after Golden Sundancer berthed. Jim asked whether it might to possible to get them more time to overpower those on board before the helicopter arrived.
Accordingly, at Marrakech airport, a quick-thinking and inventive SAS operative borrowed the jacket of an airport worker and walked up to the helicopter. He had a water bottle filled with oil hidden in his pocket. The bottle had a tube – commandeered from a drinks machine – tightly inserted into its top which went down his trouser leg.
The disguised SAS man sauntered over to the pilot to enquire whether the helicopter would be requiring the help of a baggage handler. He was summarily sent away. As he left, he walked towards the back of the aircraft and stopped to tie his shoelace under the tail’s rotary engine. Job done. He got up and walked off. On the concrete apron behind him was a fresh puddle of oil.
The SAS man walked back to the airport buildings and found an airport security official. He explained that the helicopter he’d visited seemed to be leaking hydraulic fluid from its engine.
‘It’s probably nothing, but should someone look at it? We don’t want it to fall out of the sky.’