Philip Caine
Poseidon's Ransom
Prologue
It felt as though his face was on fire. The pain was unbelievable. The surgeon, reputedly the best in the Far East, had explained the procedures and outlined the issues during the post-op period. But Greg Stoneham had not expected anything as painful as this. The morphine helped a lot. But he was concerned he may become dependent and chose to bear the pain as much as possible, taking short periods of relief with the effective opiate.
The clinic in Manilla was expensive, in fact probably the most expensive in the world. The one-and-a-half million dollar procedure he’d selected was full facial reconstruction. Drastic, costly, but necessary. The alternative was to spend the rest of his life living in the shadows. Not an option. Greg Stoneham, rogue CIA agent, now contract terrorist, had to disappear.
A team of three surgeons had taken slivers of bone from his pelvis and laminated his cheekbones. The same procedure altered his jawline and chin. The insertion of small pellets of gel, changed the look of his eyebrows, and his broken nose had been straightened and rebuilt. The scar across his head was removed and the old leg injury, sustained in a helicopter crash in Panama, had been corrected. The leg, now in ankle-to-thigh plaster, would not have a limp.
His head and shoulders were encased in a state-of-the-art cocoon, giving total protection against infection during the critical forty-eight-hour post-op period. Full recuperation would last seven to eight weeks, during which time a complete hair transplant would be done.
As the pain level in his face increased, Stoneham pressed the button to release the welcome hit of morphine. The nurse at his bedside stood up and checked the various drips running into his arms. As she sat down she thought she saw her patient smile.
He pressed the button again. The pain in his face subsided to a dull ache, as his thoughts flashed to the future. Greg Stoneham is gone. There is no Stoneham. In a few weeks’ time Mr Rick Washington will take his place.
Chapter One
In Greek mythology, Kronos was the leader of the first generation of Titans, the divine descendants of Uranus, the sky, and Gaia, the earth. He overthrew his father and ruled during the mythological Golden Age, until he too was overthrown by his own sons, Poseidon, Hades and Zeus. The three brother Gods then became the overall rulers and held absolute power within the Cosmos.
Poseidon, Hades and Zeus were now the names given to the latest generation of ‘Olympus Class’ nuclear submarines serving in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. These three ships, usually referred to as ‘boats’ within the service, are the most powerful and sophisticated ever built, each with a cost well in excess of three and a half billion pounds.
After construction at the Barrow-in-Furness shipyard, in the North West of England, each submarine deploys to the Royal Naval Base at Faslane, Scotland. It is here the boats are stocked and armed with their payload of Trident nuclear missiles, cruise missiles and hi-ex torpedoes, thereby becoming the UK’s first and last line of defence.
In Whitehall the summer sun streamed in through the big windows transforming the austere office. The ancient oak panelling reflected the rays and brightened not only the room, but the occupant’s demeanour. Sir Anthony Grainger, the Secretary of State for Defence, sipped from the steaming cup of Earl Grey as he read through the security brief outlining his planned visit, and short voyage, to and on, HMS Poseidon.
The beep of his smartphone broke his concentration. He looked at the screen, OLIVIA CALLING. He put down the document and swiped the screen. ’Hello, darling?’
‘Anthony,’ her voice trembled, clearly upset and sobbing.
Grainger stood up. ‘Olivia? What on earth is wrong, darling?’
‘Sir Anthony.’ It was a man’s voice. Quiet, calm, American, ‘Please listen carefully.’
‘Who the hell is this?’ The line was silent for several seconds… ‘Hello? Hello?’
‘Sir Anthony. Please stay calm and listen carefully. If you do as we instruct, your family will be safe.’
‘What do you mean? What do you want?’
‘Sir Anthony, we have your wife and daughter. If you want to see them both alive again, you will do exactly as you are instructed.’
Grainger’s voice was shaky. ‘Yes, yes anything.’
‘You will not contact the security services or confide in anyone.’
‘Yes, I…’
‘Please, Sir Anthony, just listen. You will be given instructions later today. In the meantime, please go about your duties as usual. And, Sir Anthony, please be assured, we will kill your family if you deviate in any way from our instructions.’
‘Yes, I mean no.’ He couldn’t control the panic in his voice, ‘Yes whatever you want. Please. Can I speak to my wife?’
The line went silent.
Chapter Two
Summers in the West of Scotland are short lived and generally far cooler than the rest of the country. The stiff breeze coming off the waters of Gare Loch chilled the air and the gathering clouds heralded another wet day.
HMS Poseidon rested at its mooring in the Faslane Naval Base. The watery sunlight, glinting on the sleek black hull gave off a benign appearance that belied the true capability of this deadly war machine.
The jeep came to a stop a few yards from the gangway. The two Naval Police came smartly to attention and snapped a salute as the officer stepped out of the vehicle. Returning the salute, the officer walked onto the gangway as his smartphone beeped.
In his cabin, Commander Gordon Dowling fought to stay calm. He’d been in many stressful situations throughout his career and always managed to control his emotions and respond professionally. He was known for his cool and calm leadership. But this was different. This was personal. This was his family. The call on the gangway had shocked him, the voice of the American, speaking matter-of-factly about killing his wife and sons.
‘Stay calm and act normally, Commander,’ he’d been told.
The knock on the door broke into his thoughts. He cleared his throat and said, ‘Come.’
The door slid open and Stephen Pike, the First Officer entered. Pike’s face was solemn. He closed the door and said, ‘Is this for real?’
Dowling and Pike had served together for the last three years but had known each other for more than fifteen. They were not only colleagues, but close friends.
‘Take a seat, Steve.’ Dowling went to the small fridge and took out two bottles of water. Handing one to Pike, he said, ‘What did they tell you?’
Pike’s face looked drained. He ran his hand over his bald head and exhaled deeply. ‘They have my mother and father… To do as instructed… Not to call the police. To come and speak to you.’
Dowling swallowed half the contents of the bottle, then fiddled with the cap as he looked at his second in command. ‘They have Kathy and my boys. They said they’d kill them if I didn’t comply with instructions.’
Pike leaned back in the small chair, ‘And what were they?’
‘To do nothing and wait until you came to me. Further instructions would follow. For a split second I thought you had something to do with this.’
‘Are you serious, Gordon?’
The shocked look on the First Officer’s face brought a, ‘Sorry, Steve,’ from Dowling, ‘Christ, what the hell d’ these bastards want?’