Grainger held out his hand and said, ‘I’ll take it from here, Gary.’
‘Sir?’ said the officer.
‘I won’t need you anymore today. Thank you, Gary.’
‘With respect sir, that’s against protocol.’
‘I’ll be fine, Gary. I’m in the helicopter from here all the way to the naval base.’
‘But, sir…’
Grainger took his holdall, and with a stern look on his face said, ‘I shall see you back here in a couple of days.’
After watching their charge disappear into the terminal, the two Special Branch officers climbed back into the big Jag. ‘What the fuck was that all about?’ said Gary.
The First Class Lounge was quiet, with only a dozen or so people sitting around reading papers, or eating breakfast. A young female attendant recognised him and said, ‘Good morning, Sir Anthony. May I get you anything, sir?’
Grainger, who’d normally have been the epitome of charm, dismissed the girl with a simple, ‘No thank you.’
The girl smiled and walked away, as Grainger scanned the room. His attention landed on two men in the far corner, neither of whom were reading or eating. The older of the two stood and nodded slightly. Grainger joined the men and sat down. No handshakes were offered.
‘Sir Anthony, good morning. I’m Frank Baine.’ Grainger noted the hint of a German accent. ‘And this is my colleague, Ravinda Patel. He’s our resident… err, what’s the expression, computer geek.’
Grainger nodded, but said nothing. Baine was well-built and in his mid-fifties. Patel was younger, maybe 28 or 30, clearly Asian, with rimless glasses that perched on the end of his hawkish nose. Both wore expensive three piece suits. Hugo Boss, thought Grainger, but neither looked comfortable in them.
‘As you’ve been advised, we’ll be accompanying you on your trip, Sir Anthony,’ said Baine.
Grainger looked solemn. ‘Yes, I was told. How are my wife and daughter?’
Baine smiled and said softly, ‘They are both safe and in good health. Have no fear, sir.’
The young attendant came to the table. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen. May I get you anything?’
The two men shook their heads. Grainger looked at the girl and said, ‘Just water, please.’
Over half an hour passed with no conversation, then at seven-fifteen, a smartly uniformed man came to the table. ‘Excuse me, Sir Anthony. Your aircraft is ready for boarding. If you’d come with me please.’
The three stood, each picked up their bags, and followed the attendant from the lounge and down to a waiting minibus. A few moments later they pulled up alongside a Naval Jet Ranger helicopter. With their bags stowed and his passengers strapped in, the pilot turned and said, ‘Good morning, gentlemen. Weather is good all the way to Scotland, so we should have wheels down at the base, in one hour ‘n fifty minutes. Please relax and enjoy the flight.’
The engine whined into life and the aircraft shook slightly as the rotors increased speed. As the tail rose, the pilot twisted the throttle and the helicopter climbed into the clear morning sky.
Baine took out his smartphone and opened the Messenger application. Sir Anthony watched as the big man tapped away at the screen.
In the Welsh farmhouse, Rick Washington responded to the beep from his phone. He swiped the screen, then smiled as he read the message. CONTACT MADE. AIRBORNE.
Chapter Five
It was a little before nine-thirty when the Jet Ranger began it’s decent onto the helipad at the Faslane Naval Base. A Royal Navy jeep was waiting and, as the chopper’s engine shut down and the rotors came to a stop, two naval security officers climbed out.
Grainger, Baine and Patel walked over to the jeep, as the heli-guard unloaded their bags and carried them to the vehicle.
‘Sir Anthony. Good morning,’ said one of the officers, a puzzled look on his face. ‘We were advised there would only be two in your party, sir.’
‘That’s correct, these are my two colleagues,’ said the minister.
‘No, sorry, sir,’ continued the officer apologetically, ‘I was advised it would be yourself and one other. A special branch officer.’
‘Then you were advised incorrectly, young man. Now can we please move along?’
The officer smiled. ‘Err… yes, sir. Sorry, sir,’ then stepped aside, as Grainger climbed into the back of the jeep, quickly followed by the other two men.
It took almost ten minutes to drive from the helipad to the sea-ward side of the base. The jeep drove in amongst warehouses, workshops and office buildings, eventually arriving at the dock area. They drove along the quayside and, after passing several navy ships, finally pulled up at a formidable set of security gates. Two heavily armed security officers approached the vehicle and as one checked I.D. the other walked around the jeep. The same question was raised with regards to the number of individuals in the Secretary of State’s party and, after stringent intervention from Grainger, the gates were finally opened and the jeep allowed through.
The vehicle continued for a few hundred yards along the quayside, the huge expanse of water that is Gare Loch to the left, and finally came to a stop alongside Britain’s latest nuclear submarine, HMS Poseidon.
It was clear Sir Anthony’s arrival had been passed to the sub, as there were six smartly uniformed submariners standing in line and to attention, along the bow of the vessel. The Commander and First Officer stood on the quayside, waiting for the minister.
As the jeep came to a stop, the two naval officers snapped smartly to attention and saluted. Grainger and his two companions exited the vehicle. ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ said Grainger,’ as he offered his hand.
Dowling shook hands and said, ‘Good morning, Sir Anthony. Welcome aboard HMS Poseidon, sir. I’m Commander Dowling, and this is my First Officer, Stephen Pike.’
Grainger shook hands with the officer and then said, matter-of-factly, ‘This is Mr Baine and Mr Patel; they’ll be joining us today.’
Commander Dowling looked at the two men. No handshake was offered. ‘Let’s get aboard, shall we, sir?’
A few minutes later the five were seated in the small officer’s mess. Sir Anthony, a stern look on his face turned to Baine and said, ‘You have our families. I have got you on board. Now, will you tell us what the hell it is you want?’
Baine looked at the faces of the three men now under his control. ‘All in good time, Sir Anthony, all in good time,’ then turning to Dowling continued, ‘what time do we set sail, Commander?’
‘We are due to depart on the midday tide. But we aren’t going anywhere until I, we, know our families are safe.’
‘Commander, you are in no position to ask questions.’ The big man smiled. ‘As you’ve been advised, your families are safe and will be released when our demands are complied with.’
‘And what are your demands?’ said Grainger.
‘Oh, we’ll get to that. As soon as we are out at sea, Sir Anthony. Now if Mr Patel and I could see our accommodation, please?’
The small room was silent for several seconds. Dowling turned to his First Officer. ‘Steve. Can you show these, gentlemen,’ the word was said with obvious distaste, ‘to their cabin please?’
After the three had left, Dowling said, ‘What the hell is going on, Sir Anthony?’
The minister leaned back in his seat and sucked in a deep breath. ‘May I have some water please, Commander?’
‘Yes, sir, of course.’ The officer went to a small fridge, removed a bottle and poured half the contents into a glass. ‘Sir,’ he said, as he placed the glass on the table. ‘Are you okay. You don’t look well, sir.’