Poseidon's Ransom

Chapter Five

It was a little before nine-thirty when the Jet Ranger began it’s decent onto the helipad at the Faslane Naval Base. A Royal Navy jeep was waiting and, as the chopper’s engine shut down and the rotors came to a stop, two naval security officers climbed out.

Grainger, Baine and Patel walked over to the jeep, as the heli-guard unloaded their bags and carried them to the vehicle.

‘Sir Anthony. Good morning,’ said one of the officers, a puzzled look on his face. ‘We were advised there would only be two in your party, sir.’

‘That’s correct, these are my two colleagues,’ said the minister.

‘No, sorry, sir,’ continued the officer apologetically, ‘I was advised it would be yourself and one other. A special branch officer.’

‘Then you were advised incorrectly, young man. Now can we please move along?’

The officer smiled. ‘Err… yes, sir. Sorry, sir,’ then stepped aside, as Grainger climbed into the back of the jeep, quickly followed by the other two men.

It took almost ten minutes to drive from the helipad to the sea-ward side of the base. The jeep drove in amongst warehouses, workshops and office buildings, eventually arriving at the dock area. They drove along the quayside and, after passing several navy ships, finally pulled up at a formidable set of security gates. Two heavily armed security officers approached the vehicle and as one checked I.D. the other walked around the jeep. The same question was raised with regards to the number of individuals in the Secretary of State’s party and, after stringent intervention from Grainger, the gates were finally opened and the jeep allowed through.

The vehicle continued for a few hundred yards along the quayside, the huge expanse of water that is Gare Loch to the left, and finally came to a stop alongside Britain’s latest nuclear submarine, HMS Poseidon.

It was clear Sir Anthony’s arrival had been passed to the sub, as there were six smartly uniformed submariners standing in line and to attention, along the bow of the vessel. The Commander and First Officer stood on the quayside, waiting for the minister.

As the jeep came to a stop, the two naval officers snapped smartly to attention and saluted. Grainger and his two companions exited the vehicle. ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ said Grainger,’ as he offered his hand.

Dowling shook hands and said, ‘Good morning, Sir Anthony. Welcome aboard HMS Poseidon, sir. I’m Commander Dowling, and this is my First Officer, Stephen Pike.’

Grainger shook hands with the officer and then said, matter-of-factly, ‘This is Mr Baine and Mr Patel; they’ll be joining us today.’

Commander Dowling looked at the two men. No handshake was offered. ‘Let’s get aboard, shall we, sir?’

A few minutes later the five were seated in the small officer’s mess. Sir Anthony, a stern look on his face turned to Baine and said, ‘You have our families. I have got you on board. Now, will you tell us what the hell it is you want?’

Baine looked at the faces of the three men now under his control. ‘All in good time, Sir Anthony, all in good time,’ then turning to Dowling continued, ‘what time do we set sail, Commander?’

‘We are due to depart on the midday tide. But we aren’t going anywhere until I, we, know our families are safe.’

‘Commander, you are in no position to ask questions.’ The big man smiled. ‘As you’ve been advised, your families are safe and will be released when our demands are complied with.’

‘And what are your demands?’ said Grainger.

‘Oh, we’ll get to that. As soon as we are out at sea, Sir Anthony. Now if Mr Patel and I could see our accommodation, please?’

The small room was silent for several seconds. Dowling turned to his First Officer. ‘Steve. Can you show these, gentlemen,’ the word was said with obvious distaste, ‘to their cabin please?’

After the three had left, Dowling said, ‘What the hell is going on, Sir Anthony?’

The minister leaned back in his seat and sucked in a deep breath. ‘May I have some water please, Commander?’

‘Yes, sir, of course.’ The officer went to a small fridge, removed a bottle and poured half the contents into a glass. ‘Sir,’ he said, as he placed the glass on the table. ‘Are you okay. You don’t look well, sir.’

Grainger took a small silver box from his waistcoat pocket, removed a couple of tiny pills and washed them down with the water. ‘I’ll be fine… Need to deal with this situation. I’ll be fine. Thank you, Commander.’

‘Can I get you anything else, sir? Should I get a medic?’

‘No, I’m fine, Commander. Really. Thank you.’

Dowling took his seat and said, ‘Any idea who the hell these people are, sir?’

Grainger sucked in another deep breath. ‘Terrorists… and we have just given them access to the most powerful warship this country owns.’