screen of steel that seemed to have no end, and the name came into full view: Orion Star. It was the final confirmation this was their boat.
Abed picked out various points of interest on the tanker: the black silhouette of the crane against the back glow of lights halfway along the deck, the boarding ramp secured at rail level and hanging over the side and the vast network of pipes that grew out of the pump house immediately forward of the superstructure and ran the length of the deck to the bows.
Another few seconds and they would be exposed under the arc of the bow lights. If any of the crew happened to be looking over the side they might see one of the boats, but the chance of that at this time of night was slim. Most of the crew would be tucked up in bed or watching a movie in the entertainment quarters. The engine room might already be empty and running on automatic alarm systems. There would be no more than three men on the bridge, two officers and a watch keeper, and the captain would be in his quarters or watching a movie with the rest of the officers in their own mess. That was normal routine at least, and hopefully there was nothing unusual happening aboard this night.
The verticle edge of the bows sliced easily through the water between the two small wooden boats and the deep hum of the enormous engine began to filter through the noise of the wind and the engine of Abed’s boat. The snag was seconds away. There was no danger of the line slipping under the tanker because of the depth of the snub-nosed bow breaker beneath the water that extended several metres ahead of the furthest visible point of the bows above water. The coxswains kept the nose of the boats pointing towards the front of the tanker so that when the line was snagged they would move forwards and not jerk to the side.
Everyone crouched and held on, waiting for the sudden acceleration. Abed kept a firm hold of the console, all the time searching the deck of the tanker and bridge wings for any sign of life. He could make out a figure moving on the bridge but nothing on deck or on the external stairways of the superstructure. All seemed well.
The line suddenly snapped taut as a violin string as it whipped out of the water and the ring in the bows creaked under the strain, but the boat did not immediately move. During one such training exercise, the line snapped and whipped back with such force it took one of the men’s ears clean off. This line was stronger, but there would always be doubt until they were under way.The bolt suddenly clunked as it moved into another position in the ring, almost giving the man directly behind it heart failure, then as the line reached its full stretch the boat lurched forward as if it had harpooned a thunderous whale. They matched the speed of the tanker within seconds, moving at an angle to it and drawing closer to the side.
A hundred metres of line brought them alongside the tanker just less than a third of the way down from the bows. The boat thumped against the side of the vast steel wall that went up to the heavens and the men quickly unfastened four fibreglass poles secured in the bottom of the deck. Using a technique they had practised endlessly, the ends of two poles were connected with bayonet fittings and then fed back so that the next one could be attached to the end. As the pole got longer, it became a more difficult task to perform. Abed’s boat was four metres long but since the pole had to be eleven metres in length it meant that most of it was allowed to extend over the stern and into the water while the last sections were attached. The final piece of equipment was a hook slotted into the end of the pole which had a large coil of lightweight caving ladder fixed to it. The idea for the device was taken from Indonesian pirates. Once the pole was constructed, the end with the hook was raised into the vertical position against the boat as the ladder unfolded and pushed up, the aim being to place the hook on to the edge of the deck or rails. The combination of gusting wind, rain and swell made it difficult to control the flexible pole and stop it from swinging about. This was where the endless training paid off. When the teams first practised the technique on dry land in perfect conditions they had many failures such as losing control of the pole completely or the hook and ladder falling off the end. When they progressed to doing it at sea in a rocking boat many thought they would never ever be able to manage it first attempt, as Abed had demanded. But in time they became proficient and confidence soared. They only brought one set of ladder and poles per boat for this mission and therefore failure to hook on meant the failure of the entire operation.After several minutes of extreme effort, and one very close call where they almost lost control of the pole completely, a supreme push to keep it vertical saw the hook snag on to the edge of the deck and the pole was pulled down and allowed to fall into the sea.
‘Abed,’ Ibrahim called out, waiting for the order.
‘Go,’Abed said, and Ibrahim was first up the ladder, his scimitar dangling from his back. When he was halfway up the next man followed. Abed went next and quickly pulled himself up the rungs, his arms and legs working in tandem. Eleven metres is a long climb on a caving ladder, especially when the climber is being blown about and banged against the side of a steel wall, but they had done it so many times they ran up like gibbons.
When Abed reached the deck, he swung over the rail and joined Ibrahim and the other man lying flat on their bellies by a thick pipe, taking a moment to rest their exhausted arms while at the same time scanning the area. As the fourth man arrived, Abed and Ibrahim got to their feet and made their way down the deck to the halfway point where a workshop was located a few metres inboard close to a heli-pad.Abed moved to the corner of the workshop from where he could get a look at the superstructure fifty metres away. There was no sign of life other than on the bridge and judging by the relaxed movement of those inside, the crew were unaware of the intruders.
Within a few minutes the rest of the men were gathered against the wall of the workshop which was large enough to hide all nine of them comfortably. The coxswain remained with the boat, which he kept tight alongside.
Abed personally checked his men were all accounted for then signalled them to move. They followed him at the crouch across the open deck towards the spine where the vast collection of pipes some ten feet high ran the entire length of the centre of the ship. With cover from view from the superstructure, they made their way along the pipes towards it.
They arrived at the pump house just in front of the superstructure and stopped, waiting for the other team which should have been mirroring Abed’s on the other side of the tanker, but there was no sign of them. Ibrahim crouched to look under the wall of pipes, hoping to see feet moving on the other side. The contingency plan if the other team failed to make it was to complete the mission, even though nine against twenty-seven increased the chance of failure.
‘Ha! They come,’ Ibrahim whispered excitedly but not without some relief.
Shadows moved towards them on the other side of the pipes and the team leader looked around the corner and gave Abed a solid thumbs up indicating all his men were with him.
Abed gave the signal and the two groups moved off in opposite directions,Abed’s team heading around to the starboard side of the superstructure while the other went to port.
He paused at the corner of the superstructure, checking once more that it was clear, before making his way to the main deck entrance that faced starboard. His men gathered in a line against the bulkhead while he studied the heavy steel entrance door which was closed. The door was evenly surrounded by six dogs - heavy clips - all in the unlocked position except one, the centre dog opposite the hinges. He carefully pulled the lever down, unlocking it, and jerked the heavy door open just enough to look inside. The entrance was a weather-lock, a small chamber with another door a few feet away, but that was fully open and the broad corridor beyond was brightly lit, immaculately clean and empty. This was the first real indication that the ship was at security level one, its lowest level, and the security officer was expecting nothing in the way of danger.
Abed checked his watch. It was 2 a.m. He expected the task to be complete and the teams heading back to the boats by 3 a.m.
‘Allah is great,’ Ibrahim said to Abed as a way of wishing them luck. ‘And so is Jesus too,’ he added as an afterthought, remembering Abed was a Christian.
Abed checked the faces of his men who crouched watching him, waiting anxiously for the word.
Abed opened the door fully, stepped inside, stood in the weather-lock and looked down the corridor to the door at the far end some thirty metres away. It opened and the leader of the other team stepped inside to face him.
Abed then did something the men were not expecting: he stood for what seemed a long time in the doorway as if locked in a trance. Ibrahim at first thought Abed had heard or seen something, but there was nothing.
‘Abed?’ Ibrahim whispered. ‘What is it . . .Abed?’
Abed did not respond. Ibrahim stepped through the door, reached out and took Abed’s shoulder. ‘Abed,’ he said again.
Abed turned to look Ibrahim in the eyes. For a moment, Ibrahim thought he saw fear in his face. He had