‘I’m sure you’ve heard of the cyber-attack on America’s NORAD weapons system a couple of years ago? And then last year, when the Singapore Stock Exchange crashed, wiping billions from the Asian markets?’
Patel beamed as the big man extolled the young Indian’s capabilities.
Baine’s smile disappeared, and he turned to the First Officer. ‘Now. Will you please escort Ravinda to the Weapons Control Room, Mr Pike?’
After the two men left, Grainger said, ‘And what happens now?’
Baine’s sickly smile was back. He looked at his watch, and said, ‘As we speak, contact is being made with the British Government.’
‘Contact?’ said Dowling.
‘Yes, Commander. The return of this warship, the non-release of nuclear missiles, the safety of your crew, and of course the release of your own families, has a very high price.’
Dowling shook his head slightly. ‘And what price is that?’
Baine sat back in his chair, the smile widened. ‘Three billion pounds, Commander.’
Chapter Eight
The rain in Wales had persisted all night, but the morning brought clear blue skies and a pale sunshine. Rick Washington was in the small room at the back of the old farmhouse. Equipment had been set up to monitor hidden closed-circuit cameras on the property and the surrounding countryside. If anyone approached the location, he would know well in advance.
One of Washington’s men was working on a laptop. He turned and said, ‘Okay, boss, that’s the voice-scrambler and cloaking device set up. You can call anyone, anywhere. They won’t be able to recognise your voice, or identify this location.’
‘Good,’ said Washington, as he patted the man’s back, ‘good job.’ He looked at his watch and smiled. ‘Time to make a phone-call then.’
In her Downing Street office, the Prime Minister listened in disbelief, as the Home Secretary spoke.
‘Three billion pounds?’ said the PM.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Do we know if this threat is viable? Have we been in contact with Poseidon?’
‘Yes, ma’am. We made contact with the submarine as soon as the call came in. There are two terrorists on-board.’
‘Two? Only two? How on God’s earth did two people manage to get on-board and take over a submarine with a crew of what, a hundred and fifty?’
The Home Secretary cleared his throat. ‘They were with the Secretary of Defence, ma’am.’
‘Sir Anthony Grainger took them on-board!’
‘Yes, Prime Minister. We believe he was coerced. His family were kidnapped.’
‘Have we verified that?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Poseidon’s Commander and First Officer’s families are also missing.’
‘Good God.’
‘We have Special Branch and MI6 making enquiries, ma’am. We hope we can find the families.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. But what about the weapons? Please tell me they cannot release any missiles.’
The Home Secretary looked sheepish. ‘We’re told they’ve managed to hack-into the weapons system and circumvent the launch-codes.’
The PM leaned forward, elbows on her desk, head in her hands. ‘Oh, my God.’
‘Ma’am we…’
The Prime Minister looked up and raised her hand. ‘Right, call all relevant ministers and military, for an immediate COBRA meeting. I want everyone here in one hour.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
The Home Secretary stood up and was about to leave, when the PM said, ‘And you’d better get the Governor of the Bank of England here too.’
‘Very well, ma’am.’
‘And, Home Secretary.’
‘Ma’am?’
‘Total media blackout. We do not want any panic.’
After the door closed, the PM pressed the intercom, and said, ‘Gordon, please get me the American President, on the secure line.
The atmosphere in the room at the back of number 10, was clearly tense. Several ministers and high ranking military officers stood around chatting. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the air.
Fifty seven minutes after the Home Secretary had put out the call to the government hierarchy, the Prime Minister entered. ‘Good morning everyone. Thank you for coming so quickly.’
Cups were discarded onto various side tables, as the members of the COBRA committee took their seats.
Unlike number 10’s main Cabinet Office, with its large mahogany table and elegant Georgian windows, Cabinet Office, Briefing Room A, which gives its name to the sinister acronym COBRA, is a modern communications centre. Windowless, and with its concealed lighting, large screen wall-mounted monitors and contemporary furniture, it is more suited to a James Bond movie than a British Government office.
‘Home Secretary,’ said the PM, as she opened the leather bound folder in front of her.
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ The Home Secretary leaned forward and looked around the table. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please open your folders. The short brief in front of you summarises the current situation.’
Admiral Sir Horatio Staines, The Chief of the Defence Staff was the first to speak. ‘This is not possible. We’ve considered this scenario and no way could a band of terrorists take over one of our submarines. We…’
The withering look from the PM caused the admiral to stop in mid-sentence. He cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me, ma’am.’
‘Yes, Admiral. Up until ninety minutes ago, I would have agreed with you. But it’s clear the unthinkable is taking place. Our purpose this morning is to decide, in,’ she looked at her watch, ‘five hours and fifty four minutes, to pay Poseidon’s ransom or destroy a multi-billion pound submarine, with one hundred and fifty of our service personnel on board.’
The COBRA meeting had gone on for over three hours. Now back in her office the Prime Minister looked gaunt and strained. At her desk, she opened a drawer and took out a small bottle of Paracetamols. She washed three of the capsules down with strong coffee, then pressed the intercom.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said her PA.
‘Graham, please ask the Governor to come in now.’
A few seconds later the knock on the door was met with a, ‘Come,’ from the PM.
The door was held open by her PA, as the smartly dressed man entered. ‘Anything else, ma’am?’
‘That’s all for now, Graham. Thank you.’ She stood and gestured to a fine leather chair in front of the big desk. ‘Governor, sorry to keep you waiting so long. Please have a seat.’
‘Not at all, Prime Minister. I’m at your disposal.’
The PM frowned slightly. ‘Yes, quite. We have an extremely serious and critical situation, which is unfolding as we speak.’
‘Anything I can do to help, you only have to ask, ma’am.’
She frowned again at the interruption and continued. ‘We may need to move a large amount of money, at very short notice. Is that possible?’
The man nodded sagely. ‘How much and to where, Prime Minister?’
‘Three billion pounds. To a numbered account, which I’m advised is possibly in Montenegro.’
‘Yes, ma’am, we can certainly do that without too much trouble. And the purpose of the transfer?’
She took a sip of the now cold coffee, and said, ‘National security.’
Chapter Nine
The picturesque town of Oban is situated on the West coast of Scotland. With its resident population of less than 10,000, it is normally a sleepy highland location, but in the summer the population increases, thanks to the tourists, to more than 25,000. Most of the visitors come for the scenery, some for the offshore fishing and many for the excellent golf in the area.