“You’ll be given some lessons, don’t worry,” Hans assured him.
Alex delayed his return for twenty-four hours. He and Hans had a lot of ground to cover. The following day Alex flew back to Alaska. He had to ‘tidy his desk’ there before travelling on to the Far East where he intended to intercept and destroy the Syndicate weapon smuggling trail.
Rosie his wife and their energetic nine-month-old son met him at the airport. They drove, Alex holding the boy on his lap.
“You wouldn’t do anything to spoil his fishing and sailing lessons in the future?” Rosie asked quietly.
It was rare for her to question Alex’s activities; she knew from personal experience just how dangerous his missions could be. Alex looked across at the beautiful woman he was so proud to share his life with; he knew how hard this was going to be for her.
“This time my darling it’s little more than a milk run, so don’t you go worrying your beautiful head over it please. As for you Tiger,” he squeezed his son lovingly, “we are definitely going to teach you all the masculine things to do in this life!”
“We’ll have to see about that. I don’t want my son corrupted with all his fathers habits!” Rosie laughed lightly, her eyes watering slightly with emotion; she knew he was bluffing.
That night as they lay in bed, Rosie’s head snuggled onto his shoulder; the passion of their loving had left them relaxed and calm.
“Will it be a long mission?” she whispered, snuggling even closer.
He hugged her and kissed her shiny black hair. Despite the mission’s danger, his only real apprehension was of leaving them both alone.
“I assure you it’s a relatively easy job and I promise to be careful. The Boss has promised to call occasionally, so you don’t have to worry,” he lied; it was never simple and always dangerous.
Rosie also knew the truth but they preferred to play out their little charade, seeking a strange kind of comfort from it.
Early the next morning, Alex caught a flight from Anchorage direct to Tokyo. He stopped there to exchange information with his old friend, Rosie’s distant uncle, Tokyo’s Chief of Police. The meeting was brief but friendly.
“The list of contacts should be enough but if you need anything you must call at once, yes?” the ageing officer insisted. “I wish I was going with you!”
He gripped Alex’s hand firmly, the merest twinkle of excitement in the eyes of the otherwise deadpan expression.
The sample shipment of arms and equipment had been approved; now the balance of the huge order could be shipped to the eager customers in the Philippines. It was essential that they arrive, before the contingent of US Special Forces established themselves in the islands. Their mission was to train the Filipino army in the art of weeding out and destroying terrorists; the best defence against their often-suicidal methods.
The cargo included thirty tripod-mounted SAM (surface to air) missiles, fifty hand-held missile launchers with various capabilities, hundreds of anti-tank grenades, over two thousand automatic rifles and a selection of other modern weapons. All this materiel was accompanied by millions of rounds of ammunition, hundreds of kilos of different explosives with a selection of fused timing devices and, to complete the package, a vast quantity of the very latest body armour, night vision and communications equipment.
In the wrong hands, such an arsenal of ordnance would inevitably create a dangerously powerful enemy. Large enough hold to ransom a country as small as the Philippines with relative ease.
Based in Darwin. Northern Australia, the Deep Blue Oil Exploration Diving Company specialised in repairing damaged underwater oil well equipment. The work was invariably dangerous but because they only ever handled the complicated tasks in their own way and in their own time and never allowing themselves to be coerced by oil rig owners, who always want to be back in action ‘quickly and cheaply’, the company enjoyed an unblemished safety record. “You either do it our way and pay the rate, or it don’t get fixed by us!” Big J, the owner of the Diving Company, would insist.
Few people argued with John Jameson who stood a full two meters tall and weighed in at a very fit ninety kilos. Also known as Big J: “But only to close friends!” as we was wont to scowl. Big J trained all his divers personally and insisted on maximum fitness and discipline. Their diving boat was a converted sea-going tug. He’d bought it from the Royal Navy when it disposed of much of its fleet of small vessels at the time when Hong Kong and New Territories were handed back to China. The vessel was over forty metres long and supplying power to its four bladed variable pitch propellers were two enormous diesel engines, enabling the ship to tug heavy loads effortlessly or to make a rapid passage in the open sea. It was the ideal dive platform, with plenty of deck space from which to launch and recover their extensive inventory of underwater vehicles.
The contract — to repair a wellhead in deep water thirty miles off the Hong Kong coast — had been awarded to them conditional upon their accepting a second contract to train a local Chinese diving team in the art of “do it yourself repairs”.
“Why teach them Big J?” one of the divers had asked. “Isn’t it doing us out of a job?”
“Listen, if we don’t teach them, someone else will. So why not us?” He raised his eyebrows. “Anyway, we could do with the work, yes?”
There was no more argument.
It was the first time they had worked for the Chinese — so the negotiations had been long and detailed. But Big J had stolidly refused to compromise the quality of the job or the fee.
He announced the acceptance to the crew with obvious pleasure.
“The buggers have finally agreed to all our terms and even transferred the funds to our lawyer!”
He waved the faxed confirmation to the men standing around on deck. “We sail in two days boys. OK with you?”
“You’re bloody right it’s ok!” one shouted up to the bridge.
“Good, then get off the lot of you and clear the decks with families girlfriends or whatever. We could be at least a month or six weeks out there, plus travelling time, I’d say another week each way, OK? Now off you go. I’ll see you here to sail at o-nine-hundred Thursday morning.”
He turned to John Lawrence standing at his side.
“Do you mind staying on for a bit to get everything else ready?”
“My pleasure, I only live five minutes away; it’s no bother to me.”
There was little time for John to be with his wife. Over the next two days, he and Big J checked over every bit of equipment and with the help of a couple of local lads, loaded and stored the huge mountain of supplies necessary for a long period at sea. Finally, late on the Wednesday evening with the vessel fully refuelled, Big J turned to John,
“Well I don’t think there’s much more we can do here, so off you go and bid farewell or whatever to that lovely wife of yours.”
John laughed, “OK, see you in the morning then. Goodnight”
John Lawrence strolled along the dock to the edge of town to the cottage they had temporally rented while he served his time with Big J’s diving company.
Nancy was obviously pleased to see him.
“I was frightened you were going to have to work all night and I wouldn't see you,” she sighed, falling into his arms.
“Steady now my darling,” he consoled her. “You don’t really think I would have sailed away for a month or so without saying au revoir to you both!”
He patted her swollen tummy.
“I’d have dragged you off that wretched boat if you’d tried,” she scolded, dragging him urgently towards the bedroom. “Time for bed young man!” She challenged him.