Deadlock

**

On the curving bridge of the Adenauer Captain Brunner stood at the port side, surveying the drifting fishing vessel in his high-powered glasses. His First Officer was – as per his instructions – using a signalling lamp to convey Brunner's message to the Utrecht.

'What is wrong? You are too close to my ship. Please make way'. Reply immediately.'

Aboard the Utrecht its skipper, Captain Sailer, stood immobile on his own bridge. Behind him stood Grand-Pierre, a Uzi machine pistol aimed at the skipper's back. On the deck of the small bridge Sailer's wife, Ansje, a small slim woman with long dark hair, lay with her ankles and wrists trussed with rope. A man wearing a Balaclava helmet knelt beside her, holding a knife at her throat.

They had come aboard from the dinghies just after the nets had been hauled in, the catch stored. Grand-Pierre had shouted up in English that their engines had broken down. Wearing dark glasses and a polo-necked sweater pulled up over his chin, he had climbed up the dropped ladder, produced the Uzi.

When Sailer saw a second man come aboard, carrying his wife, he had almost grabbed for the Uzi in his fury. Then he had seen the knife held close to her throat. From then on he obeyed them.

The dinghies, containing four men in each, had been hauled up over the side. Grand-Pierre had then ordered Sailer to make for the Adenauer. Now he stood watching the flashing light of the signalling lamp.

'What do they say?' he asked a third man wearing a Balaclava helmet?

'They're asking what's wrong, saying we're too close to them, ordering us to move off.'

'Now listen to me, Sailer,' Grand-Pierre said, ramming the muzzle of his weapon hard into the skipper's back. This man is an ex-seaman, knows about signalling. Tell them you have broken down, engine trouble. That it's nearly repaired but you have a man overboard, that you're searching for him. Get on with it.'

The bit about man overboard covered the faint possibility that the two dinghies might be spotted. Sailer took the lamp from his First Mate and began signalling his reply.

Aboard the Adenauer Captain Brunner was annoyed. An intruder had just invaded his bridge. Cal Dexter, the chief of the American security team which had boarded at Hamburg to protect the Secretary of State. A tall, lanky, energetic man, Dexter was understandably worried.

'Captain, what is that Goddamn boat doing out there? It's too close.'

'That, Mr Dexter,' Brunner replied, switching to English, 'is what I am now finding out. Please to let me concentrate.'

'It's fishy.'

'Yes, Mr Dexter,' the captain replied with unexpected humour, 'it is a fishing boat. Ah, here we are. Boiler overheated. Repair work will be completed shortly. Also a man overboard. We hope to sail shortly. End of message.'

He lowered his glasses, walked to the front of the bridge as the American followed him. Dexter's tone was terse.

'And where is the Dutch cutter which was supposed to patrol us while we took the rest of the passengers aboard?'

' A technical hitch. It is unable to leave port at the moment. And now, Mr Dexter, please stay on the bridge but again allow me to concentrate. I want to watch that fishing vessel.'

A technical hitch. The cutter was indeed still in port. When it had started up its engines the propeller had turned several slow painful revolutions, making a terrible grinding sound. It had then stopped, refused to move again. Divers were now investigating the cause of the trouble.

In due course they would find a mixture of grit and waterproof grease had been applied to the bearings. No one had seen the scuba diver who had committed the sabotage. And it had been child's play for Klein to locate the vessel. A newspaper reporter had dug out the fact that this cutter would patrol the sea while the Adenauer stood offshore. The paper had printed the story because the Adenauer had become newsworthy the moment the US Secretary of State boarded the ship in Hamburg.

No other cutter was available to replace it. The Dutch Navy was occupied with a NATO sea exercise taking place off Iceland. Marine Control at Europort had just decided to request police launches be sent out to take its place.

The mining of the supertanker, Cayman Conqueror, lying offshore less than a mile from the Adenauer, proved to be a straightforward operation. The same technique was employed but five sea-mines were attached to the hull. The vessel was fifteen hundred feet in length from stem to stern.

The only moment of danger came when a seaman, trudging along the raised catwalk between the extensive piping systems located on the centre line of the tanker, thought he saw a small green lamp flashing to starboard. He stopped, rubbed his sore eyes, looked again. No green lamp.

He was fatigued, aching for bed, and about to come off duty. He put the light down to eye strain and continued his endless walk to food and sleep. The vague silhouette of a fishing vessel a quarter of a mile or more away meant nothing to the lookout. A boat crawling home to port…

On the bridge of the Easter Island Captain Williams took more interest in the lone fishing vessel which seemed stationary. His supertanker was waiting for entry permission from Marine Control, drifting a safe distance from the Conqueror.

From his position inside the navigating bridge at the stern and abaft the single squat funnel Williams swept the fishing boat with his night glasses. He could see its name clearly. Drenthe.

Williams was notorious for his caution, his curiosity about anything unusual. A fishing boat offshore well after dark was unusual. With the night-glasses screwed to his eyes he called out to his First Officer.

'Parker. Flash that vessel a signal…'

He asked very much the same questions which Captain Brunner had to the skipper of the Utrecht a few minutes earlier. Then he leant his elbows on a ledge and waited.

Inside the cramped wheelhouse of the Drenthe Hipper had taken on the role of Grand-Pierre. He held a Luger pistol rammed into the skipper's back. He wore pebble glasses and a handkerchief over the lower half of his face. Curled up on the floor lay the skipper's ten-year-old son, his feet and hands bound with rope, another Luxembourger bent over him with a knife at his throat.

'Signal back that we have a fire on board. That we are getting it under control. No help needed,' Hipper ordered in English. He added the same warning Grand-Pierre had issued.

As the skipper started flashing the reply Hipper took a walkie-talkie from his pocket, raised the antenna, and spoke to one of his men waiting at the stern.

'Mosar, start the fire now. Immediately.'

He spoke in Letzeburgesch, the strange Luxembourg patois which is a mixture of French and German – and understood by neither nation. Putting the walkie-talkie away, Hipper pulled the beret he was wearing further down over his forehead, concealing his hair.

The deck under Mosar's feet at the stern hardly moved, so calm was the sea under the moonless sky. A large man with mongrel features, wearing seaman's gear, he carried the bucket to where it would be visible from the supertanker – at least its contents would be shortly.

The large bucket was three-quarters-full of rags soaked in turpentine with a little petrol added. Stepping back behind the wheelhouse, Mosar picked up the rolled newspaper held with elastic bands, used his lighter to set the tip burning, dropped it inside the bucket and ran back.

There was a flare of flame, a dense cloud of black smoke which climbed into the windless night. The reply signal flashed to the tanker had just been received by Williams on his bridge. He saw the burst of flame, the coil of smoke.

'They have a problem,' he remarked to Parker. 'But they are expecting to deal with it. Better keep an eye on them – just in case it spreads.'

His attention fixed on the fire, Williams had no idea this was the moment when five sea-mines were attached to the underside of his huge vessel laden with oil. The unseen scuba divers – instructed by Klein who had studied the structure of this type of tanker – had avoided the coffer dam.

This was the space which separated the engine-room from the cargo tanks. The mines had carefully been attached beneath both tanks and engine-room. The scuba divers made their way underwater to the waiting dinghy lying astern of the Easter Island. They were not seen.

Aboard the Drenthe, Mosar fetched buckets of water already lined up on deck, doused the flames. He left the bucket which continued to send up clouds of black smoke and informed Hipper over his walkie-talkie his task was completed.

'Now we can move on,' Hipper informed the skipper. 'So start the engine. Next objective, the freighter, Otranto. She's not far away. After that, those three container ships. Then we can all go home,' he concluded in his soft, sibilant voice.

The Drenthe began moving, trailing a white wake, leaving behind the Easter Island, another floating death ship.