Undersea Prison (12 page)

‘Was that luck or what?’ Todd shouted.

Stratton ignored him.They were going to need a lot more.

Running with the wind and tide did not make the steering any easier to control but Paul managed a wide sweep of the next corner before turning the bows tightly back in.They passed the corner and entered the leeward side of the barge where the wind was only half as strong and the sea was practically calm. Paul played the engines as he manoeuvred the boat to face the barge, holding position in the tide that was coming at them from beneath it.

Stratton was galvanised into action. He dropped the pole, removed his sou’wester and oilskins, looped the harness attached to a small diving tank over his back and quickly pulled on a pair of fins.

‘What if the security boat comes before you get back?’ Todd asked.

‘Get the bundle ready! Now!’ was Stratton’s response. He pulled on a face mask, picked up a karabiner attached to one end of the coiled nylon line fixed to the dive bag, clipped it to his belt and leapt overboard. Todd looked over the side into the swirling black water but Stratton was already gone, the line unwinding rapidly and zipping over the gunwales after him.

Paul stuck his head out of the wheelhouse door. ‘We’re not close enough yet!’

‘He’s already gone. Get into the barge!’Todd shouted as he hurried to the bundle.

Paul yanked himself back into the wheelhouse and powered the boat ahead. A thought struck him that if Stratton couldn’t beat the tide he might go under the boat and get chopped up by the prop. The thought no sooner entered his head when it was brushed aside. He had his job to do and Stratton had his own.

 

Stratton turned on a powerful small light attached to his mask and headed down to the bottom of the barge. As soon as he slipped beneath it the tide hit him like a wall and threatened to push him back. He battled against it, turning onto his back and at the same time jamming his fingers behind any barnacle or limpet to pull himself forward.

Approaching the umbilical from the leeward side was still the best option as far as keeping the fishing boat in one piece was concerned, but only if Stratton could get to it. He could make out the huge vertical pipe ahead and finned for all he was worth, sucking the air from the bottle as he increased to near-sprint mode. He was certain he could make it. The question was could he get back before the security boat challenged the boys. If not this phase would be a failure.

Stratton reached the umbilical - it felt like a fat conduit of rubber - and pulled himself around it, the nylon line following him. Once he’d got around to the other side the tide catapulted him back in the direction he had come.

A spotlight swooped across the small fishing boat and Todd looked up to see the top of the security vessel’s superstructure above the barge heading towards them.

The nylon line continued to unravel down into the water and Todd wrestled with the heavy bundle to balance it on the edge. ‘Come on, Stratton,’ he shouted at the water.

The security vessel made a wide berth round the corner and came into full view. If the security boat caught Todd in its light the bundle would be exposed.

The light struck the rear of the fishing boat and made its way along its deck. Todd had to make an extremely serious decision but then quickly determined he had no choice. He heaved the bundle overboard and it dropped beneath the water as the powerful beam illuminated him.

‘Cut the engines,’ Todd shouted.

Paul wasn’t sure that he’d heard Todd correctly and looked out of the wheelhouse as the security boat bore down on them.

‘Cut them!’ Todd shouted again.

Paul was in a mild panic, unsure what to do. Stratton was gone. Perhaps Todd knew something he didn’t. He reached into the wheelhouse and turned off the power. The engines died, the dull droning replaced by the wind and rain whistling across the boat, which quickly began to drift. As it left the calm leeward side of the barge the wind and sea returned to play with it like a toy.

‘STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING AND STAND IN SIGHT WITH YOUR HANDS IN VIEW!’ a voice boomed over a loud hailer as the security vessel powered towards them. Its fierce spotlight was blinding.

The security boat was a large cruiser of the type used by the coastguard and behind the bright lights Paul and Todd could make out men on the bridge wings and in the bows.They were carrying rifles.The big ship came alongside the little fishing boat and slowed abruptly, both vessels rapidly drifting away from the barge.

‘YOU’RE IN A RESTRICTED AREA!’ the voice boomed. ‘STAND WHERE YOU CAN BE SEEN!’

Paul stepped from the wheelhouse with his hands in the air. Todd raised his hands too, looking towards the barge that was almost out of sight and wondering where the hell Stratton was.

‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THIS RESTRICTED AREA?’

Neither man answered, unsure what to say or do, despondency suddenly threatening to overwhelm them. All they could think of was that their boss was somewhere behind them in the sea and this entire operation was falling apart before it had even begun.

‘Tell them we’ve a man overboard,’ Paul said in a voice just loud enough for Todd to hear.

Todd wasn’t sure whether to agree or not. He could see where Paul was coming from. It was concern for the man and not the operation.The question was, what would Stratton do, or want them to do? The answer was easy enough.‘No,’ Todd said, squinting at the security vessel.

‘Good answer,’ Stratton said as he stepped from behind the wheelhouse, wearing his oilskins and yellow sou’wester. He put his hands in the air. ‘Talk to them, Paul.’

Todd didn’t look back but he was so pleased with himself, let alone with his boss, that he almost smiled.

Paul breathed a sigh of relief. ‘We’re truly sorry,’ he called out in an Irish accent. ‘We’re a tad misplaced.’

‘We’ve got engine problems!’ Stratton shouted in his own version of the Gaelic twang.

One of the crew relayed the men’s reply to the bridge.

‘YOU WERE MAKING HEADWAY WHEN WE FIRST SAW YOU!’ the voice boomed.

‘Just runnin’ with the wind, sir,’ Paul shouted. ‘Why’d we want to be in here anyway? Only tear our nets on all these cables, sure we would.’

‘Can you throw us a line?’ Stratton shouted. ‘Tow us out of here?’

There was a long pause before the security boat’s captain came to a decision. ‘NEGATIVE. YOU‘RE GONNA HAVE TO SOLVE YOUR PROBLEM YOURSELVES.’

Stratton and Todd went to the rear of the wheelhouse, opened the engine compartment and pretended to fiddle with the engine while Paul held the wheel.

‘Thanks a bunch there, anyways,’ Paul shouted.

‘IF YOU ENTER THESE RESTRICTED WATERS AGAIN YOU WILL BE ARRESTED AND PROSECUTED!’

Paul made a gesture to signal that he understood and went back into the wheelhouse to give the impression he was working on their problem.

The security boat’s engines roared and it pulled back as the fishing boat drifted away from it.

Stratton kept an eye on the cruiser as it held its position. The captain was clearly still suspicious of them.

‘What about the bundle?’ Todd asked.

‘It’s on its way,’ Stratton assured him.

‘You connected the ends? That’s brilliant.’

‘That was close,’ Paul said, checking on them. ‘How long shall we keep the engines off?’

‘Who’s idea was it to kill them?’ Stratton asked.

‘Mine,’ Todd admitted, wondering if he was going to get in trouble.

‘Good,’ Stratton said.

A bell clanged and they all looked towards a perimeter-warning buoy a few metres away on the starboard side, a light swaying on the end of its short derrick as if it was a giant fishing float signalling a large bite beneath it.

When Stratton looked back towards the security vessel it had turned its flank to them and was still holding its position. ‘Start her up.’

Paul entered the wheelhouse and a moment later the fishing boat’s engine gunned to life. Stratton stepped inside to get out of the weather and Todd joined them, closing the door.

‘Why were we speaking in Irish accents?’ Stratton asked.

‘Yeah, I was wondering that,’ Todd said.

‘I don’t know,’ Paul said, shrugging. ‘I can lie better in Irish. Besides, everyone loves the Irish.’

‘That was a crap Irish accent,’Todd said.‘You sounded more like a Pakistani.’

‘Better than his,’ Paul said, indicating Stratton.

‘He’s right, Stratton,’ Todd said. ‘Yours was rubbish.’

The two young men glanced at Stratton, wondering if they’d gone too far.

‘Accents have never been my thing,’ he admitted.

The others laughed. Stratton’s face cracked slightly.

‘He smiles,’ Todd said, never having seen Stratton wear one before.

The two young men gabbled on, their tensions easing, and the sound of laughter rose above the chugging engine as the boat headed towards the glow on the horizon that was Galveston.

 

The bundle followed the curving umbilical down into the darkness, bubbles escaping from it as the pressure increased around it. A faint orange glow suddenly appeared below, the light coming from dozens of small windows and portholes in neat rows at various levels around a huge mound.

The bundle finally came to rest on a rocky ledge and hung by its line that went up and around the base of the umbilical where it disappeared into a massive concrete block.As the bundle settled it dislodged several rocks that cascaded down the side of the mound. The rocks dropped past one of the lines of glowing portholes, eventually disappearing into what could only be described as a thick layer of white water covering the sea bed around the underwater hill like an impenetrable mist.

A face came to one of the portholes to look through the thick, grimy glass. It belonged to Durrani who was standing in a small cell in which a bed and a toilet bowl were the only furnishings. He was sure he had seen something fall past his window but after craning in every direction he thought he had imagined it.

Durrani stepped away from the window, went to the bed, picked up a copy of the Koran, sat down and began to read it. But, unable to concentrate, he did not get far, as was often the case. He dropped his head into his hands, stared at his feet in his worn sandals on the concrete floor and wondered, for the umpteenth time since arriving in the prison, if he would ever see his homeland or even the sunlight again.

Congressman Forbes was seated behind a large oak desk in his sumptuous office on the first floor of the Rayburn House Building on Capitol Hill. He was editing a letter when his phone rang.

He picked it up.‘Congressman Forbes.’ His pen went still in his hand as he recognised the voice. ‘Yes . . . yes, of course. Where? . . . But . . . OK . . . No, I’ll be there . . . Yes.’

Forbes replaced the phone, put down the pen and paused to collect his thoughts. He got to his feet, walked to a coat rack by the door, took his jacket off a peg, pulled it on and left the room.

His secretary looked up enquiringly as he passed her desk. ‘I’ve got to go out. Be back in an hour,’ he said as he left the office.

The congressman walked briskly along a shiny marble corridor, doors staggered along either side and adorned with ornate brass plaques bearing the names of various committees. He passed through an arched opening into a palatial hall where a staircase descended to a broad lobby. He skipped down the steps with a degree of athleticism, headed across the mosaic floor, returned greetings to colleagues without stopping and walked through the entrance into the bright sunshine.

Forbes stopped at the top of a broad arc of stone steps and scanned the panorama, starting from the Botanic Conservatory on his far left and sweeping across the manicured gardens in front of Capitol Hill. Halfway across he saw a man wearing dark sunglasses and a brown suit standing alone beside a groomed hedgerow and looking directly at him.

Forbes did not hesitate and walked down the steps, this time with a sense of caution. He crossed a footpath and deliberately headed in the opposite direction along the hedgerow from where the man was standing. When he reached the end he kept going at a casual pace. The man, who had followed Forbes down the other side of the hedge, was soon alongside him.

They continued in silence towards the Library of Congress until Forbes judged that they looked as if they had been together for the entire stroll. ‘I’m assuming this is extremely important for you to meet me here of all places and without more than a minute’s notice,’ Forbes said without looking at the man, an irritation in his voice as if he were the superior of the two of them.

The man in the brown suit didn’t reply as he casually looked behind them and to the sides whilst adjusting the glasses on his nose. Satisfied that they were unobserved he broke his silence. ‘The feds are sending someone inside,’ he said.

Forbes was perplexed enough almost to stop.

‘Keep walking,’ the man said casually. He was half Forbes’s age and infinitely more composed.

‘You mean Styx?’

‘Where else?’ the man replied dryly. Forbes was no superior of his.

Forbes’s mind raced to calculate the implications of the statement. ‘This isn’t official. I mean, I’ve not heard anything,’ Forbes said, unable to see the irritation in the man’s expression.

‘It’s an undercover operation. They’re making their move . . . It was only a matter of time.’

‘You people said it would be years before anything like this could happen.’

‘It
has
been years. Just not as many as we would’ve liked . . . We haven’t been as nice to the feds lately as we should’ve. They’re punishing us.’

‘Just you? I mean, they’re not investigating
us
, right?’

The man grinned and shook his head slightly, a gesture that Forbes also failed to register. ‘You’re the key to closing us down. You always were . . . They’re investigating your offshore accounts.’