Ocean Ghost

This is a work of fiction. Characters, organisations, institutions and products referred to in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously; without any intent to describe any actual products or services and any similarities are coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the author in his capacity as copyright owner.

ISBN: 978-1-4835722-6-0

For my Hero:

Frederick Charles Robins

(23 May 1921 – 02 January 2016)

Can you find these action sequences inside Ocean Ghost?

The determined Seahawk commenced a reverse turn, panning back to the right while both mini cannons opened up, unleashing high explosive firepower. The effect was like using a giant chain saw to fell a forest. Defenceless palm trees were shredded, disintegrating into woody pulp as they collapsed in an elongated heap. The second pass complete, she centred the helicopter to point at the middle of the burning inferno, her finger hovering; senses alert for a counter attack.

* * * *

Given the significant cost of the technology for the US and the rarity of their spy satellites being lost through malfunction, the second and more alarming option became increasingly likely by the minute. Logic and his experience told him the Americans had deliberately retasked it, but if so, why? What were they looking for?

* * * *

Taz tried to prevent her imagination conjuring demons by concentrating on her physical effort as she attacked each new descent. Distracting her racing mind, she looked down the tight chute, but as she plummeted, her eyes imagined the space closing in like a funnel narrowing to a claustrophobic end. Gravity pulled at her, sucking her down and down into the confined space, threatening to trap her forever; a prisoner, unable to ever return to the daylight above.

* * * *

As she edged round the nearest door, a vice like hand lashed out from behind, covering her mouth and forcefully pulling her back into the main hangar. Stumbling backwards, she lost her balance and slammed into the solid door.

* * * *

Locked together, the human mass of arms and flailing legs was propelled backwards, out through the open cargo door into the sky beyond. Following the recent path of the pistol, the pair described their own graceful arc through the air. Looking up, she saw the underside of the automatically hovering helicopter above, accelerating rapidly upwards as they fell. The vast grey ocean rushed up from below, its surface churned by the vortices of cyclonic rotor wash.

* * * *

Back in first gear, Taz wrenched the handle bars of her quad bike round hard, causing the revved up machine to roll onto two wheels and enter a spin. After sliding through 180 degrees, she stood on the brakes and it bounced back down on all four tyres. Dead ahead Taz faced the single oncoming headlight, wobbling and vibrating as it raced towards her. Sitting down low, she wrenched open the throttle, tucked in tight behind the handle bars and accelerated hard, aiming directly at her hunter. ‘Game on!’ she hissed.

* *.* *

Sensitised, Taz was glad the creature’s heavy movement over her lower back wasn’t painful, but its activity remained cause for concern as it migrated up her left side. Finding it difficult to concentrate on her new swamp companion and monitor the guard’s activities above on the track, she decided to deal with one threat at a time.

Contents

Prologue

Part 1 – Top Secret

Part 2 – Ocean

Part 3 – Escape

Part 4 – Islands

Part 5 – Fugitives

Part 6 – Intelligence

Epilogue

Readers’ Signal

Acknowledgements

Author Biography

PROLOGUE

BLACK.

Jet black. This is how the night had begun. Some were pleased, but not for long.

Oily night had coated the midnight sky. All had been dark, the sky holding off the promised full moon for as long as it could. But there was no more time. Black night was pierced by a pale fingernail which had inevitably chipped the world’s edge and promised drama. This night would be different.

Slowly but surely, the cover of night was drawn back as secretive shadows were chased away. First to be woken were the sleeping buildings. Their pale roofs emerged out of the darkness. Moon shadows slid slowly down their yawning walls. Windows blinked hesitantly as sleep fell from their glassy eyes. Nothing on the secret dock escaped the revealing glow.

Out in the bay, the rising moon rained muted light, leaving pale diamonds glinting off calm water; a mirror reflecting the image of a huge hulk. Despite the rise and fall of slow waves, the great ship remained tightly secured. Trapped in a web of rope strands thick as a man’s thigh, the monster was firmly restrained against the pier; a prisoner on death row.

Moon shadows spread away from the giant, stretching apartment block-sized shadows towards the deserted buildings across the dock. Their own shadows leaned away in retreating fear.

Just for a second, the glacial movement of the surreal night was interrupted by a different movement; rapid and hurried. Fast activity cut across the slowly unfolding night script as two figures abruptly joined the night stage. Dressed in black, almost formless, their sharp movements sliced through the night as they exploded out of the buildings’ protective shadows. The pair ran, quickly crossing the dock towards their target; the ship.

Unconcerned by the unfolding drama below, the moon continued its unstoppable journey, determined to overcome the dark and fully expose the scene. The developing night colours slowly confirmed the presence of a sculptured superstructure; a massive ship evolved, born out of the silent night. Its huge form dwarfed the neighbouring warehouse buildings, reinforcing an illusion of immovable permanence.

Rising slowly in the early hours of a new day, the moon revealed the players. Sharing the juggernaut’s naked exposure, the two cat-like figures flowed across the newly revealed stage, focussed on stealth and moving the object they carried between them.

They were late. The carefully planned mission had been delayed by a flat tyre and no spare. One of their number had been punished for the oversight and would never be an operator again. The black of night lost, they were now exposed and risked discovery. Any other night would have worked better, but the orders had only been received hours earlier and the window of opportunity was tight, allowing one night to complete the task. The payment had already been wired to their Swiss account so the mission was on and the risks just had to be managed. The clock was ticking and their task had to be completed before sunrise to ensure the terrible secret would be extinguished forever. Tomorrow all hope of secrecy would be gone.

Scurrying from the advances of the moonlight, they won their race across the open dock, seeking renewed invisibility alongside the ship. Sheltering against the towering wall of dark grey steel, they carefully placed the precious box on the concrete dock next to a rope-strangled bollard. In a single motion, both dropped into the gap between the dock and the ship’s hull, onto supporting wooden beams that lay below. Once balanced on the old beams, goggled faces signalled to each other the relief of being safe below the line of sight of anyone above. Their adrenaline-charged muscles momentarily relaxed with the realisation that nobody else was present.

The two sets of night vision goggles rose cautiously above the dock and scanned around. Nothing moved. The long disused dock was empty, with no security cameras installed. Only rusted barbed wire ringed the perimeter fence. Nothing of any value was left in this place; at least until tonight. As fast as they had appeared, the operators and their cargo vanished from the moon’s gaze. Calm was restored.

Balanced on the under beams supporting the main dock, one operator produced a portable gas-fired cutting torch from his military day-pack and lit it. Glowing 10,000 degrees at its tip, it easily melted the two rusted clamps securing the small garbage jettison hatch of the hulk. Injecting lubricant into the rusted hinges, they released their grip and the men swung it open. Their trained ears focussed, but there were no tell-tale sounds of discovery. Satisfied that all was clear, both reached to lift down the box. The size of a child’s coffin, it weighed as much as a large man. The two figures pulled the box behind them and manoeuvred their way in through the open hatchway.

Inside the ship, they were racing against the clock. By their calculation, they had two hours until sunrise and their extraction was due in 45 minutes. If they missed their pick-up, they would be on foot and on their own. Both knew that was not an option.

The hellish glow of red maintenance lighting trailed along the corridor walls to reveal the deck and their path. Even though they had memorised the layout of the ship, there was a long journey ahead, made more difficult with the weight of the heavy box. Adjusting the sensitivity of their NVGs, they began their journey, burrowing deep into the heart of the leviathan to hide the secret burden. Muscles strained and sweat dripped as they navigated the internal maze.

As they descended, the fall of their boots on the metal stairs echoed around them, like heavy raindrops on a tin roof. The noise was uncomfortably loud and should have given them away but tonight there was no-one to hear them; their bootfalls safe from unwelcome ears and contained within the insulated steel shell. Hardened muscles moved as quickly as they could. They had a tight schedule to keep and their lives depended on accurate timing. As they progressed, awkward stairs wound in tight switchback patterns and sharp-edged railings reached out, pulling at their black coveralls and trying to frustrate their journey. They remained focused, determined to brush off minor annoyances and deliver their cargo.

Finally, deep within the ship, their two sweat-soaked bodies began to search. They paused long enough to look over the printed plan they carried. Confirming the right deck had been located, they quickly found the nominated place. It had been identified by others a long way away. Below the waterline, the empty compartment had been selected from hundreds of others – a highlighted circle on their map. Anonymity was its greatest asset and the main reason for the choice. A very deliberate needle within a gigantic man-made haystack.

The small room was like a dark cave. The only light came from the dull glow of the red maintenance lamps in the main hallway outside. There was no sound, only the smell of stale diesel fuel. Powerful light beams erupted, slashing blood-red tunnels through the dense curtain of emptiness. The head-mounted torches with red filters were the operators’ preferred method for killing black spaces. The beams searched and confirmed what they had hoped to find; emptiness.

The rapid activity inside the small room was military in its precision; performed by specialists with years of experience. Time was short and precision was the key. As the box was being readied for placement on the floor, it happened without warning. They had become complacent. A second mistake! One of them lost his grip and the box fell, jamming the other’s boot hard against the bulkhead. The weight of its condemned contents was painful as it crushed the leather-covered ankle. Muffled curses slipped from trained lips as the injured operator tried not to make any sound. His companion’s strong hands moved to free the trapped ankle from the grip of the stubborn box. Levered away, it slid into anonymity; somewhere back in the room’s dark heart. Once the boot was free; it was time to go – the mission was complete.

The two blacked-out figures retreated from the small room. It was harder work fighting their way back out of the giant’s hellish red bowels. One of them was injured now and the two shapes fused together into a three-legged creature as one supported the other. The climb back up the never-ending companionway stairs was painfully slow. Three good legs supported the injured fourth as they hobbled to return to the world above. Every moment of delay increased the risk of discovery. A watch was checked: 15 minutes remained.

Back at their entry point into the ship, the injured operator felt angry that his partner’s carelessness had caused his injury on what should have been a low-risk mission. The other was silently fearful of how their masters would react if they found out he had put the critical operation at risk. None of that mattered now. All was well; the mission almost complete and extraction only minutes away. Their masters need never know about their mistakes.

They clambered out of the hatch and back onto the wooden support beam under the dock. A long gun of silicon glue appeared from their rucksack and was generously applied to the hatch seal before it was swung shut, sealing it back into place. Focused on retreat, they raised their NVGs furtively above the dock. Their night eyes carefully scanned the sleeping warehouses before they prepared to make a final hobbling dash to safety.

White flashed to the right! The men froze. Two alabaster discs peered back, low down near the corner of a warehouse. The operators waited and watched. Another flash beamed out of the moon shadow. Tense muscles prepared for fight or flight. A cat shot across the wharf with unlucky prey clamped in its predatory jaws. The hunter vanished and the night recovered its composure once more.

With a final scan, they broke cover as one and climbed back up onto the dock. The limping figure was supported under an arm as the pair moved less precisely into the hated spotlight of the overlooking moon. How long had the mission taken? Too long! The black shapes made cover, melting into the nearest building’s welcome shadows. Stillness returned to the night.

Miles above, in the inky blackness of space, a satellite’s solar array panels sped beneath the stars. Its sensors tasked to monitor the mission, it had watched the drama unfold under the light of the moon and nothing had been hidden from its personnel tracking system or its infrared sensors. Neither operator was aware that, just like the box they had left behind, their coveralls contained tracking chips. Faraway eyes had seen everything and were genuinely concerned as to why the mission had taken so long. Answers would be sought! Or would they? The eyes needed to ensure complete secrecy. Like others before, all traces of this mission would be eradicated. An encrypted phone was lifted and a number dialled.

The moon fell slowly away from its zenith. Everything had been seen. Just like the doomed operators, the moon would never give up the secret.

PART 1 – TOP SECRET

Chapter 1

PULSATING thunder reverberated through the still night air. Initially a faint thud, the new sound resembled a gentle heartbeat, but rapidly grew in intensity until its penetrating rumble thudded deeply through every living thing in its path. Thick combat blades chiselled lift out of the atmosphere, propelling the grey hunter forward at massive speed. A sleek wedge; the hawk-like shape hugged the low terrain, leaving a stormy cocktail of jet-washed sand in its wake. Unseen by human eyes, its determined nose-down attitude foreshadowed a lethal mission.

Tasked as a Top Secret Operation, the Seahawk helicopter carried a dangerous load to complete its task. The Presidential Action Order had come direct from the White House and the eight Special Force SEALs sitting behind the single pilot were well drilled for the planned scenario. 0300 local time glowed on the carefully synchronised watches; their wearers marking the moment, reassured that only a handful of people knew what was about to go down.

As briefed, the task appeared straightforward to the pilot: locate an oasis shielding a small village near the coast of the nondescript Middle Eastern country; drop the operators in via fast ropes from 30 feet above the desert; fly away to loiter for no more than 45 minutes and then recover the personnel with their human target before heading for home. Despite an earlier intelligence brief that predicted their target would be protected by armed militia, the SEALs expected to encounter only token resistance from a few tired sentries. The rest of the village was expected to be deep in sandy sleep. Surprise was on their side.

Alone in the clear night sky, the Seahawk was unaccompanied by attack helicopters or fixed-wing combat air patrol escorts providing added protection on this mission. Fortunately the pilot had practised similar scenarios on many occasions and had more than 3000 hours of combat experience, flying special operations personnel around hostile skies. For secrecy and to maximise the fuel load, the aviator was flying solo; the only crew member on the trip. Normally there would have been a copilot up front and a crew master in the back, but tonight the pilot was alone. The only others sharing the vibrating cabin were the fully kitted SEALs behind. Concentrating in the dark, she was busy being responsible for all the flying, navigation, communication and weapons system management. No problem; additional computer capability would assist her with the challenging flying conditions and she was confident of delivering the strike team on time and target.

Through helmet-mounted NVGs, the pale moonlight was just sufficient to light the way across the sand. It was still a dark night, with the horizon barely discernible beyond the undulating dune landscape. Employing all her ability, the pilot skilfully guided the powerful machine, hugging the desert floor a mere 50 feet below. A single lapse in focus would send the helicopter and its occupants too high and into the path of anti-aircraft missile radars or, more likely, too low and into the fatal embrace of the dunes below.

The Drop Zone was an oasis surrounded by a large stand of tightly packed palm trees located half a mile due east of the small target village. Satellite images had revealed a dozen low-profile dwellings comprising the previously unknown village. Deliberately hidden behind a group of high rolling dunes, its houses were protected from the menacing sand wave that threatened to break over them by camouflaged netting erected nearby.

Reliable intelligence had reported the presence of a high-value asset within the sleeping village’s walls. A man. The pilot hadn’t been told who he was, nor why the White House wanted him. The details were of interest, but weren’t important. All the Seahawk had to do was to deliver the team that would recover the target alive.

Navigation equipment sprang to life; suddenly alert, warning lights blinked in anticipation as the DZ approached. Careful to remain downwind of the target, the Seahawk stayed low, using the terrain to mask its approach. Apart from the pale moonlight, enhanced through the pilot’s NVGs, there were no other lights visible on the desert floor and she detected no obvious movement below. Ahead, the horizon revealed a glimpse of silhouetted palm tree tops peering over the dunes’ wave-like ridge, but the village remained out of sight, nestled in the sandy valley beyond.

On target, the helicopter flared its nose up and washed off forward speed while dropping down to 30 feet as indicated on the radar altimeter. Navigation crosshairs lined up and the aircraft entered a perfect hover directly above the DZ.

Without waiting, the pilot hit a switch. The call to action flashed on lights in the back cabin, causing the aircraft to rock slightly as heavily weighted men slid down fast descent ropes.

The SEAL team dropped in together in vertical synchrony and pulled their ropes down after them. Shifting her gaze forward, the aviator’s NVGs checked off the correct number of silhouettes running towards the palm trees and saw them fan out in attack formation just before all eight disappeared from view. Rising back up to 50 feet, the Seahawk banked around to head a couple of miles away while it waited for the pick-up call. As the turn was completed, the sleek helicopter dropped its nose and began to pick up speed, when screaming filled the pilot’s ears.

Yellow comet tails streaked out of the night and whizzed past the helicopter’s cockpit windows. Several loud bangs came from above the cockpit, somewhere high up on the left. The Master Caution Warning light pulsed to life on the instrument panel. Almost immediately, several other attention-seeking lights lit up, causing the console to resemble a Christmas tree on steroids. One light in particular blinked its red warning more urgently than its siblings and sought immediate attention as the pilot tried to stabilise her racing heart and the now shaking helicopter. The left engine fire warning blinked incessantly while piercing alarms filled her ears.

Instinctive hands silenced the alarms screaming inside the pilot’s helmet. Aviate; navigate; communicate! Her immediate actions were automatic. Working to maintain control, she simultaneously banked the Seahawk left towards the dying GE T700 turboshaft engine while activating its inbuilt fire extinguisher. Cutting off the left engine’s fuel flow and shutting down the power control lever above her head, she trimmed the controls to fly on the remaining engine’s ample power. As the big helicopter banked back towards the DZ, her wide eyes saw the cause of the machine’s unexpected behaviour. The comet tails were visible lines of anti-aircraft machine gun tracers rising up out of the palm tree grove towards the now vulnerable helicopter. She was still too low and too slow!

The Seahawk had been hit by at least one of the incoming rounds; its trajectory impacting the left engine. Running up the right jet turbine to full power, the pilot steadied into a hover and lifted the Seahawk just above the dune peaks to assess the situation on the ground. The previously quiet DZ was ablaze with spectacularly coloured tracer rounds flying back and forth amongst the oasis palms. On another occasion, the show would have been spectacular, like fireworks but, careful not to get sucked into that thought, she knew it was deadly and was aimed at downing her and the Seahawk. Remembering the downed Blackhawks in Somalia, she determined not to suffer the same fate.

Back in control, the pilot moved to the right; keeping the dune between herself and the oasis. Carefully peeking over the top, she assessed the fire fight below. There were no more tracers heading her way. Instead, dual tracer paths tracked towards each other from opposite sides of the oasis. It was clear the SEAL team were engaged in a deadly battle; their progress halted as they were pinned down, returning defensive fire.

Kilo 6, Dustoff! Dustoff! The call was clear over her helmet intercom. The SEAL team commander was calling for an extraction and at least one of their number was hit. No problem, the aviator whispered to the boiling air.

Usually carrying a weapons pack designed to hunt and kill submarines at sea, on this occasion, the Seahawk weapons pylons had been fitted with a pair of M3P 0.5? mini cannons. Each pylon also carried four 70 mm rocket pods. The unfriendly gunfire spitting from beneath the palm trees was about to be countered by a serious response.

A single instruction filled the air waves: Strike 1, this is Kilo 6, head under my tail and keep going, firestorm imminent! Confirm when clear. Go, go, go! A curt Strike 1 copies that! confirmed the message had got through.

The weapons selectors were armed and the red safety covers flicked open. The Seahawk’s tactics changed to that of an attack helicopter. Stabilised in a hover just above the dunes, the pilot dipped the Seahawk’s nose to angle the weapons down towards the palm grove. Then she prepared to slowly pan its target director from right to left across the base of the tree line while waiting for the safety call to come through.

Strike 1 all clear! As the Seahawk began its slow pivot, the pilot’s thumb and forefinger did the rest. Each pod released a streaking trail until the rocket arsenal was exhausted and the thundering armament pods faced the western end of the palms. As each ballistic arrow found a mark, explosive impacts caused the cool night air to become superheated. Shimmering flames leapt high into the air as shock waves radiated out from each blast, causing the Seahawk to shudder.

The first pass completed, the determined Seahawk commenced a reverse turn, panning back to the right while both mini cannons opened up with automatic high-explosive fire. The effect was like using a giant chainsaw to fell a forest. Defenceless palm trees were shredded, disintegrating into woody pulp as they fell in an elongated heap. The second pass complete, the helicopter centred to point back at the middle of the burning inferno; her finger hovering; senses alert for a counterattack. The entire process had only taken 20 seconds to decimate the once serene silhouette and silence the enemy’s tracers. Counting to five and reassured there would be no more return fire from the oasis, she flicked the weapons safety covers back into place.

Too experienced to turn the helicopter’s vulnerable tail towards any surviving weapons, the pilot used her mirrors and radar to slide backwards down behind the protective dune while continuing to check for counter fire from the front. Wisps of smoke from the red hot mini cannons trailed forward past her cockpit windows as the helicopter accelerated backwards. The fine smoke trails streaked up to join the leaping flames and pillars of smoke defining the cockpit’s apocalyptic horizon.

Once safely out of range of shoulder-launched weapons, the Seahawk swung around to face away from the oasis and started a search for the SEAL team. They were moving north in line but the pilot could only count seven silhouettes. They resembled black ants against the pale yellow sand. Initially overflying the group to confirm their identity, the helicopter turned back to face them, slipping to one side to ensure a clear shot at anyone mad enough to mount a pursuit attack. The figures altered direction, heading towards the Seahawk. Two of the strike team were limping and now she saw that that a third member was being carried on another’s shoulders. Relieved that all eight were accounted for, the pilot remained focused as the heavy machine was carefully landed in a cyclone of cloudy sand. The blacked-out figures dived into the back through the cargo door and a powerful hand tapped the pilot on her shoulder. The lift-off was slower with only one engine available, but the reliable Seahawk steadied itself as it rose impressively back into the air and accelerated towards its aircraft carrier, 300 nautical miles away.

The intercom hissed into life: They knew we were coming, it was an ambush! Let them know we have two wounded and one dead. The SEAL commander’s electric message was short and delivered with steely anger. Thinking back, the pilot recollected that only a few people knew about the OP. The order had come from the White House itself only hours before, but clearly someone in the chain of command must have tipped off their quarry. Who and why? Questions raced around inside her busy head. Steadying her thoughts, she keyed her radio and transmitted the much anticipated message out towards the carrier: Orca 74, Kilo 6 is off target. Omega, repeat Omega. Further SITREP when feet wet.

Orca 74, copy that. Kilo 6 change to OPSCOM frequency 1. The Omega code was pre-planned and would alert the carrier operations staff that the mission had failed and the team had suffered casualties. She would provide a further update on her newly assigned radio frequency when the Seahawk was clear of the coast and safely skimming back over the Arabian Gulf. Tonight’s debrief was going to be long and Lieutenant Commander Natasha Fletcher, USN, was angry about what lay behind and wasn’t looking forward to what lay ahead.

Miles behind, the oasis villagers, woken in the aftermath of the firefight, emerged from their huts. Many were confused and others yelled their rage in the direction of the ‘wokka’ ‘wokka’ sound fading away across the desert. As lights came on, more people appeared from their clay dwellings, staring open-mouthed at the ruined palm grove nearby. Some ran towards the rising pyres to confirm their worst fears; their livelihood had been destroyed.

A satellite phone was carried to a deserted corner of the village before it beamed its report into space. The intelligence had been received just in time. The American mission had been neutralised and the target was safe.

Chapter 2

LATE afternoon haze hung heavily; suffocating the air like a shroud. The blurred world moved slowly while insects sang high-pitched chants in the undergrowth. None of those present liked the thick humidity coating their bodies and lining their lungs. While they hated the uncomfortable clinginess, all had learned to suffer in silence while they concentrated on the work at hand. The sooner they finished, the sooner relief could be sought in air-conditioned places away from death row.

Only one rusting steel body lined the pier. A sad end for an ancient hero, which had survived distinguished service only to languish forgotten in the humid southern heat. Usually devoid of humans, this particular graveyard was only ever woken to welcome a newcomer to be prepared for death or to farewell an inmate as they began their final journey to their place of execution; often in foreign seas at the mercy of scrap merchants.

Today was unusual. The lonely prisoner had not been sentenced to meet its end in a breaker’s yard. A different fate was planned.

The long tow hawser was pulled over the oily water by a small grey dinghy. Its helmsman cursed the heat, dripping sweat in the heavy air. Growing in length, the thick rope telescoped out behind the small steel work boat as it set course for the much larger vessel waiting patiently in the bay. The heavy hawser extended behind the water mosquito, rising up from its stern to meet the tall giant’s bow. It took some time to coordinate the complex activity, but finally the line was secured to the seagoing tug and newly greased hydraulic winches slowly wound in the slack. Four men were activated by radio and scurried like worker ants up and down the decommissioning dock, releasing similar ropes from their bollards. It was time.

By now the sun had fallen into the sea and the orange twilight set in to oversee the final journey. The huge ship was frail and paralysed; submitting to the ministrations of smaller watercraft it could not resist. Twin gas turbine engines were given the signal as calloused captain’s hands levered the throttles forward on the powerful sea tug. Under the strain of the taut tow line, the massive giant reluctantly released its grip on the dock that had been its home for the last 10 years. Turning slowly, it was pulled around to face the distant horizon. A huge black silhouette pasted against the deep blue of the sea and the bright orange glow beyond the horizon.

Only one person remained to mark the occasion as the hulk set out on possibly the most important voyage of its career. The dock workers had already retreated to their cars to escape the humid purgatory and were headed home. The only voyeur interested in the scene was barely visible – dressed in sand-coloured coveralls, he leaned casually against an inconspicuous warehouse. Satisfied at last that she had sailed for the last time and had taken her secrets with her, the agent reached for his cell phone.

PART 2 – OCEAN

Chapter 3

Sunday: 0600 Hours

MORNING sun bathed the world in radiant warmth. Evolving out of the burnished orange horizon, the dawn foretold the promise of an amazing day and Natasha Fletcher had the box seat.

Called Taz by her friends, she enjoyed a limitless panorama; straight out of a travel magazine. Occasional cotton wool clouds scudded lazily across the blue sky and the whole scene made Taz feel great. Her day had begun sensationally; crisp, clear and inviting. Looking over her shoulder, she could see the last remnants of land falling behind. Her race had begun before dawn and, for the moment, Taz was in the lead. She had a head start against her competition the sun, which was chasing her from the eastern horizon as she headed south-west into the vast Pacific. Inevitably the sun would win, but at least she had the early lead and could pretend she was in with a chance.

Shivers of anticipation electrified her skin as she allowed her mind to consider the adventure ahead. Stealing another glance behind, she could just make out the shark’s tooth of Diamond Head rising out of a white scar that she knew was Waikiki’s pristine beach. Hawaii was one of her favourite places and she was glad the American paradise was farewelling her in grand style.

Taz loved flying and felt privileged to be a pilot. Flying allowed her to see the world from an extraordinary vantage point and she revelled in the exhilaration of being released from earthly bonds. With thousands of hours logged, she was most at home