‘So what’s a Marine doin’ out ’ere in the middle of nowhere then?’ he asked, a rhetorical question. ‘Think a little outside of the box. He’s obviously no ordinary soldier, is he?’
‘You reckon he’s a super soldier, do yer?’
‘What else?’
‘Not SAS?’
‘Exactly,’ Bob said, looking at him. ‘He’s Special Air Service.’
‘Bugger me,’ the lad said.
‘Keep it down,’ Bob urged. ‘They get very funny about it if they think you know. Just act normal.’
Bob straightened himself up and walked into the galley where Stratton and the girl sat sipping cups of piping hot sweet tea.
‘How is it, then?’ Bob asked.
‘Nectar,’ Stratton replied.
The girl nodded, then bit down on a biscuit.
‘You must be starved,’ Bob said. ‘’Ere, George, pop into the kitchen and see what there is to eat. We’re in between meals,’ he added by way of an explanation to the strangers.
‘You’re very kind,’ Stratton said. ‘Thank you for everything.’
A man stepped into the doorway. He looked very much an authority figure. Bob straightened on seeing him.
‘Sir,’ Bob said to the man. ‘This is the captain,’ he announced to Stratton.
Stratton got to his feet and offered his hand to the portly, white-haired and -bearded older man. ‘John Stratton, sir,’ he said.
The captain shook hands with a smile, his whiskers stained brown from tobacco smoke. ‘Welcome aboard. I trust you’re being well looked after.’
‘We’re doing fine.’
‘Well,’ the captain started, broaching unfamiliar territory. ‘When you’ve settled in, perhaps you can pop up to the bridge. Obviously we have some paperwork to do.’
‘I’d like to crack on with that right away, if I may. I need to make contact with the UK immediately. I’m a member of Her Britannic Majesty’s military.’
Bob gave the others another look.
‘Right,’ the captain said. He looked glad that some light had been shed on the mystery, if only a little. ‘Let’s get you upstairs and on the blower.’
Stratton glanced at the girl. ‘This is a colleague. She works for the Chinese government. I expect she’ll be needing the same.’
The girl gave a nod but she looked discomfited.
The captain could do nothing more than shrug politely, clearly in new territory. ‘Whatever you need. Glad to be of service. I’ll be on the bridge.’
He headed back into the corridor and Stratton walked out carrying his cup of tea between the crew that had amassed in the narrow passage and now parted like the Red Sea.
‘Told you,’ Bob said to his men.
The captain led the way up the steep, narrow staircase, past two landings before arriving at the door to the bridge deck. A small radio shack was on the left before another door that led into the bridge. A Filipino crewman in a smart white shirt and trousers stood on watch and he smiled broadly and nodded a greeting to Stratton.
The captain went over to the radio satellite equipment. ‘Just punch in your number,’ he said, stepping out of the way.
Stratton took the phone and inspected the equipment to familiarise himself with it.
‘I expect you want some privacy?’ the captain asked.
‘A few minutes, if that’s OK.’
‘Not a problem,’ the captain said. ‘Jamail will have to stay on watch but he doesn’t speak much English.’
‘That’s fine.’
‘I’ll be in my room directly below. Give me a shout when you’re done. I have to make a report and explain what’s been happening my end.’
‘Thanks,’ Stratton said as the old man walked out and closed the door behind him.
Jamail went to the wheel and concentrated ahead.
Stratton keyed in the number, going over what he needed to say. He wanted to be succinct but also cover everything. He thought about Hopper and how he was going to explain the man’s death. He couldn’t get into much detail over the phone but he had to give the broad strokes of what happened.
After several seconds he heard a gentle pulsing sound and shortly after someone picked up the other end.
‘Hello,’ a woman’s voice said.
‘SB Ops please.’
‘This is not a secure line, sir,’ the woman said, robotically.
‘I know.’
‘One moment.’
The phone crackled a little and a few seconds later a man answered. ‘SB Ops.’
‘Is that you, Mike?’
‘Bloody hell. Stratton?’
‘Yes.’
‘I can’t say I’d given up hope just yet, mate, knowing your knack for always turning up, but I was starting to get a little concerned.’
‘I should’ve left it a bit longer. I like the idea of you being concerned about me.’
‘Well, there are some here who had given up. We thought the slopes had got you. Where the hell are you?’
‘On board a cargo ship.’ Stratton looked at the chart desk behind the ship’s wheel. ‘The
‘Jesus. How’d you manage to end up there?’
‘Trying to put some space between ourselves and the Slope Secret Service. They were after the same thing.’
‘Yeah, we got that much from Prabhu.’
‘The Gurkhas OK?’
‘Yes. When they left you, they made it into Oman without a fuss. They weren’t sure whether you’d taken a boat or not. I take it Hopper’s with you?’
For a second Stratton couldn’t answer. He hesitated. Then said, ‘He didn’t make it.’
The line went silent for a moment. Stratton had the impression others were near the phone listening in.
‘That’s not good,’ said Mike. ‘I’ve just got off the phone with his missus assuring her you’d both soon show up. How’d it happen?’
‘Long story. Not the time right now. Basically, we ran into Al-Shabaab. The important news right now is Shabaab have what we came looking for. Dozens of them. And they’re going international. Soon as you can get me on to a navy ship, I’ll get you the details. But we have to move fast on this end. It’s a big campaign. There could be dozens of the things all over the world already, or heading that way. The guy we came to interview in Yemen, he’s one of the main players.’
‘Right,’ said Mike, his mind a whir. ‘Let me pass all that on to Ops and I’ll get back to you. The priority is getting you on to one of our boats.’
‘Roger that.’
‘It’s good to have you back, Stratton. This might sound odd, but, well, if anything ever happened to you, I’d start to think we might actually be losing.’
‘You’re not coming out of the closet, are you, Mike? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but—’
‘Bollocks. Talk to you later.’
