Tomb of the Lost

Chapter THIRTY SIX



It was early evening when the Volante arrived back at port and while the team went out in search of a restaurant the crew began loading new equipment. After the meal, which Peter Dennis feeling extravagant paid for, he and Natalie walked arm in arm through the town heading for the docks. The other members of the team wandered ahead of them. Natalie was laughing at a joke from the journalist when he suddenly caught her arm. She stopped and followed his gaze. On the other side of the harbour the ’Wavecrest’ was docked. The other members of the team had seen it too but continued on their way.

“That was the ship I saw earlier.”

Natalie stared at it now.

“The one with the skull painted behind the name.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t see it.”

“No it’s hidden in the shadow caused by that crane but it’s there all right.”

She looked and looked.

“No. I can see the name ‘Wavecrest’ and I think I can make out the skull but it’s too dark.”

Dennis grabbed her hand and pulled her along. Natalie struggled to keep up in her heeled shoes.

“Peter I….”

“I want to get a closer look.”

“What? Now?”

“Yes now!”

They were rapidly catching up to the others. The group had spotted them and were waiting.

“Jim I’m going to take a closer look at that ship.”

Hutchinson squinted at it.

“The ’Wavecrest’. Why? It’s just a newer vessel with more mod cons.”

“I’m interested in why they have that skull. I’ve just got a feeling about this. Can you take Natalie back with you.”

“Very well Peter but if you’re not back by the time we’re ready to sail I’ll send out a search party,” Hutchinson joked.

Natalie was more serious though.

“I’ll come with you.”

“In those heels.”

“I’ll take them off.”

She reached down to remove her shoes.

“No I want to get in close. Take a good look. It’ll be better if I’m on my own.”

“Peter please be careful.”

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

He reached forward and kissed her on the forehead in front of the others. She felt herself blush. Then he was heading for the ’Wavecrest’

To begin with he moved quickly and quietly along the quayside not looking at any one or thing. No one was taking any notice of him. An articulated lorry came rumbling past with only one headlight working and he used it as a distraction and dived for the shadows. Dennis watched as the container lorry stopped ahead at large wire gates. A man with a torch and a vicious looking Alsatian on a chain came forward and spoke to the driver. The lorry driver opened his cab door and jumped down onto the tarmac. He handed a clipboard to the man with the dog. Another man approached. Dennis could see he was much bigger, a head taller and equally proportioned. This man checked the paperwork offered and signed it. As the driver climbed up into his cab once again Dennis made his move. He ran for the back of the trailer and ducked underneath. The driver started the lorry and Dennis heard the brakes release with a short, sharp, squeal. Dennis only had a moment to react. He grabbed the chassis, found a good grip and threw his legs up and dug his heels into the girders that ran the length of the trailer. He looked back as the lorry moved off.. His head was less than an inch from the moving wheels. As he passed the guard the dog began barking frantically and lunging at the trailer. The man holding the dog yanked on the chain angrily. He hadn’t seen anything suspicious and was furious with his dog. He swiped it with the flat of his hand across its ears and kicked it in the ribs causing it to cower. Dennis let out a gasp of relief. The dog had seen him when he’d ducked underneath for cover. The vehicle rumbled on and pulled up alongside other parked lorries.

Dennis waited, still clinging on. The muscles in his legs and fingers hurting from the effort. He heard the engine cut out and the sound of feet hitting the ground as the driver jumped down and slammed the cab door closed. Dennis slowly lowered his feet and let go but remained crouched. The relief in his muscles was instant. He instinctively moved back as far as he could when he heard voices and the sound of footsteps getting closer. Two pairs of feet passed him and turned and stopped at the rear of the trailer. He heard the heavy handles of the container doors opening. Then the beam of a torch was on the ground. The feet disappeared and Dennis realised that the two men had climbed up inside. He paused at the edge of the trailer, right by the back wheel and checked the coast was clear. He dashed out from under the articulated lorry and under the next one, repeated this again and got himself into a safe position in the shadows. A fork lift truck raced past and the air was heavy with the smell of its gas exhaust. Dennis felt himself go light headed for a moment or two from what he inhaled. He wafted his hand in front of his face to disperse the pollution. The fork lift swung in hard at the rear of the trailer, its spotlights blinding. Dennis recoiled from the brightness in case he was spotted. He made his way quickly down an avenue of containers, stopped once when rats crossed his path and came out near the water. The ‘Wavecrest’ was to his left. Lights were shining on board and reflecting off the water. In front of Dennis were wooden crates of all sizes and he now moved in and out of them and got himself into position directly opposite the ship. He reached into his trouser pocket and took out his mobile phone, selected camera, then video and began to record. At first in the dark the camera struggled to focus. He selected ’flash on permanent’ and though the light was bright the subject was too far away and it made no difference. He turned the flash off and filmed as before. He put his mouth close to the phone and began talking quietly, narrating about the ship. He zoomed in on the Lynx helicopter and noticed that it was armed.

“Air to air missiles,” he said.

He filmed the entire length of the ’Wavecrest.’ It was bigger than the ’Volante’. He tried to guess at what such a vessel would cost.

“One hundred million dollars? Two hundred,” he said into his phone, “I have no idea and where did they get that helicopter?”

He moved the phone up and captured the various radar and satellite dishes and stopped as he heard footsteps approaching. He cupped his hand over the phone in case its light gave him away. It was two guards in black combat fatigues and radio headsets. They passed only feet away and Dennis was relieved they didn’t have dogs. From somewhere he heard a voice call and they moved towards it. Dennis stole a look. There was someone, a big man by the look of it, standing in a pool of light from the streetlights overhead. Dennis closed his phone quietly which cancelled the video recording. He recoiled in horror as it bleeped loudly four times. He turned it towards his face, the display reading ’Text message received’.

He silently cursed whoever had sent it and put the phone in his pocket. He stole another peek. The three men were looking his way. Then at an order from the big man they snapped torches from their belts, flicked them on and advanced quickly on his position. Across their chests he now noticed Heckler and Koch MP5 machine guns. The torchlight’s came closer. He squeezed himself into a gap between containers and torchlight flashed briefly over him. He went undetected and the two men moved on. He waited until he was sure he was safe before deciding to move. He cautiously took a step forward. The sharp blade of a large knife across his throat stopped him. He couldn’t at first see who was holding it. Then the blade was lifting his head up, forcing it up. Had he resisted it would have cut his throat. It was still too dark to see anything. Then the person holding the blade called out loudly in Russian. There was a crackle from a headset and a voice responded also in Russian. The knife was slowly removed once Dennis was covered by the two sub-machine guns. The big Russian moved away and spoke quietly into his headset. Moments later on the ship a door opened and Dennis saw the man in the white suit descending the stairs. He then came along the deck and walked down the gantry. It took him only seconds to cover the distance between them. In the meantime Dennis had quickly been searched. His wallet and mobile phone were taken from his jacket pocket. He looked at the phone.

’Strange’

He had put it in the waistband of his trousers. The big Russian put the knife away. He tossed the wallet to the white suited man who so far hadn’t spoken. He flipped the wallet open and took out the driving licence and some bank cards. He held the driver’s licence between thumb and forefinger and turned it into the glow from the streetlight to read it.

“White. Thomas David. 16-02-79. London.”

‘Thomas White. Tom? That’s not my driving licence’ Dennis was thinking, ’How did Tom’s wallet….?’ Then he realised. Just before leaving the restaurant Dennis had popped to the toilet. The others had waited for him in the entrance and Natalie had given him his jacket. It had been on the back of his chair.

’She must have got the jackets mixed up’

“Tom White?”

Dennis had no choice but to go along with it.

“Yes.”

The white suited man continued to read the other cards. Dennis decided to try his luck.

“Might I know your name?”

The man looked up from the cards for a second. Light was glittering off his spectacles.

“No,” he said abruptly.

Dennis was trying to work out his accent. It was different to the big man’s who he was convinced was Russian. This man sounded more like South African.

’No more like German.’

“Oceanic archaeology institute.”

Dennis nodded. All the while the guns remained trained on him.

“You are an archaeologist?”

“Yes.”

The man in the white suit leafed through the rest of the wallet. There were some Tunisian dinars and some American dollars. He put the cards back and threw the wallet back to Dennis.

“This area is off limits. Did you not see the ’No trespassing’ signs?”

“Forgive me. No.”

The big Russian handed the German the mobile phone and said something quietly. The German nodded.

“You should when you are snooping about in other peoples affairs put your phone on silent.”

“Thank you. I’ll take your advice in future.”

The white suited man’s mood darkened.

“Do not be smart with me.”

The German quickly checked the phone and noted that the video and picture files were empty. He checked the message inbox but there was nothing of importance. He then went through the contacts list. There were over one hundred and fifty names and numbers. He snapped the phone shut and threw it back to Dennis.

“And now may I ask what you were doing here?”

“I’m a ship spotter,”

“A ship spotter?” The man in the white suit didn’t understand. He looked at the big Russian who shrugged. Dennis looked at him too. He was bald headed, easily six feet seven or eight. 280lbs Dennis guessed at.

“What is a ship spotter?”

“A ship spotter,” Dennis repeated, “You know. Like a train spotter, an anorak, someone who watches trains and writes the numbers down. Only I do it with ships.”

“Well I only hope you got to see what you wanted.”

“Not quite. I was thinking perhaps a group picture. You know all of us in front of your vessel.”

The German advanced two steps closer. Dennis could smell stale coffee on his breath as he spoke.

“Do not insult my intelligence. From where Danilov comes from you would have already been executed as a spy and I warn you he is very skilled with his knife. Do not let me catch you here again or I might just let him use it.”

The German nodded his head at his massive bodyguard and jerked his head towards the gates. The Russian, Danilov, shoved Dennis forward roughly.

“Move.”

Dennis walked slowly for the gate. An MP5 slammed across his back made him stagger forward. He half turned, mocking them.

“Thank you I always need help with directions.”

The only response he got was to be shoved forward again.

“No talking,” Danilov said in his limited English.

They reached the gates the articulated lorry had come through and Dennis was shoved forward again. He turned. The Russian, Danilov, was towering over him.

“Look I don’t know about your boss but I think you and I could be friends. We got off on the wrong foot back there,” Dennis said extending his hand. Danilov spat on the hand.

“I guess not,” Dennis said wiping his hand on his trousers.

Danilov drew back his fist and punched the journalist hard in the stomach knocking the wind out of him. Dennis sank to the floor unable to breathe. He reached out and grabbed a handful of Danilov’s combat trousers but a well placed knee into his face sent Dennis spinning onto his back. He was coughing as the grinning Russian padlocked the gates and left him.

It was a full two minutes before the journalist felt strong enough to stand. He was still coughing and spat to clear his mouth. He unclenched his fist. In his hand was Danilov’s I.D. card that had been attached to his trousers by a chain. Dennis put it into his jacket pocket and, rubbing his abdomen, left as quickly as he could.



“What the hell has happened to you?” Natalie asked startled at Peter Dennis’ appearance. His right cheek was bruised. Of his ribs he felt sure at least one if not more were possibly broken.

They were on the bridge of the ’Volante’. Hutchinson and his team, Ali and the first mate. Dennis sat gingerly into a chair. His hand holding his side.

“I walked into a door.”

“That was some door,” Hutchinson replied.

“About six feet eight and 300lbs.”

Natalie went for the first aid kit mounted next to one of the fire extinguishers. She opened it and began looking for something she could use for the scuff marks on Dennis’ face. She took out some cotton wool and put some antiseptic liquid on it and dabbed the wounds.

“This might sting a little.”

The first mate put a mug of steaming coffee down in front of him.

“Thank you,” Dennis said, in between Natalie tending him.

“Do you need a Doctor or hospital?”

“No Jim. I’ll be fine.”

“As long as you’re sure. Perhaps you’d care to tell us what happened. I’m assuming they caught you spying.”

Dennis took a sip of the coffee and nodded.

“They did but not before I got some pictures and a short video.”

“Is it any good?”

“I haven’t looked at it yet.”

“How did they catch you? I’m guessing they had patrols.”

“Machine guns and dogs. I was out of sight when a message came through on my phone. It’s my fault I should have put it on silent.”

Dennis now looked at the message received. It was from Natalie. She was biting her bottom lip.

“Sorry. I just sent you a message to tell you that Tom had your jacket.”

“And got me beat up.”

“I didn’t know you were going to break into their compound.”

“It’s all right. I know you didn’t. It wasn’t one of my better ideas.”

Dennis undid his shirt so they could see the bruise forming over his ribs.

“That looks painful.”

“A bit.”

“I’m sorry Peter.”

Natalie put out a finger and touched the reddening skin. Dennis gritted his teeth.

“If I can take your phone,” Alex said, “I’ll see if I can get the pictures and video onto a laptop.

Dennis passed his phone over.

“It’s a good job I did have your jacket Tom. Your phone was in the pocket and they checked it. Luckily I was able to hide mine. They also went through your wallet I’m sorry to say. I don’t think they took anything.”

Tom checked it. They hadn’t. He pulled out the I.D. card.

“Sergei Danilov.”

“I managed to take that from the man who did this.”

“That’s all it says. Sergei Danilov and then a list of medication and blood group.”

“Here is the video,” said Alex. He’d found a suitable USB lead to fit the little SONY Ericson phone. The playback was grainy. At first in the dark between the containers the 1.3 mega pixel camera had struggled to focus. It left trails from lights as Dennis had moved it about. Then the ’Wavecrest’ came into view. They could see that she was modern and much better equipped. The footage of the Lynx helicopter was very good.

“That chopper definitely looks new,” Dennis said.

“It’s also armed with the latest air to air missiles,” Tom said pointing to the rockets.

“Where on earth would they get those,” Hutchinson asked, “And where would they get such a helicopter? Are they Russian?”

“British,” Dennis replied, “They’re built by Westland at Yeovil in Somerset. Lovely part of the country.”

The video briefly showed the bridge.

“They have all the modern communications devices,” Tom said.

Abruptly the video ended.

“That’s about it,” Dennis told them, “I closed the phone when I heard footsteps and your message came through Natalie and alerted them.”

“They beat you up?” Hutchinson asked.

“No they were with a another man. I’m sure he’s a Russian. Danilov, did you say Tom?”

Tom nodded and read the card again.

“Sergei Danilov.”

“He held a knife to my throat and called for, presumably, his boss. I don’t know.”

Dennis finished his coffee before continuing.

“Then a man in a white suit interrogated me. Right there on the dock. I thought they may have taken me inside their ship but they didn’t. He just spoke to me, checked your wallet and phone Tom which he obviously thought was mine. I told him I was a ship nut.”

Hutchinson looked puzzled.

“You know. Like a bus nut or train nut. Someone who’s interested in ships. I thought it was funny but he didn’t. Then they marched me out of the gate and this Danilov hit me in the stomach and I tell you what. It’s the hardest I’ve ever been punched and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I mean if we’re up against them I don’t know who is going to take him on.”

“Well let’s take a look shall we,” Tom said entering the name into a search engine.

“I doubt very much….” Hutchinson began.

“Found him,” Tom said.

They all looked, startled, at the screen.

“Sergei Danilov,” Tom said. He double clicked on an image and brought the Jpeg up to full size. It showed a bald headed man with sharp features.

“Is that him?” Tom asked, turning the laptop towards Dennis.

“It was dark but I think so.”

“Sergei Danilov,” Tom began reading, “Born 9 October, 1970 0r 71, Chernobyl, Russia. Father, postmaster, mother a textile factory worker. Spouse, if any, unknown. Became a lieutenant in the army. Fought in Afghanistan. Lost two fingers on his right hand when a member of his squad trod on a landmine. By the time of the Iraq invasion of 2003 he was a Major with Spetsnaz, Russian special ops working with coalition forces. Wanted by the FBI and CIA for questioning following the suspicious death of a U.S. marine killed in Baghdad and the deaths of four Iraqi civilians. Also wanted by the British for a bungled mission that left three SAS dead in Basra. Is a suspected mercenary and has a price of $500,000 U.S. on his head.”

Tom looked up from the laptop.

“He’s not a very nice man.”

“The question is? What is he doing here in Tunisia on board a research vessel?”

“There’s something else,” Dennis added, “The man in the white suit.”

They all looked at him.

“There’s something familiar about him.”

“You’ve met him before?” Natalie asked.

“No I don’t think so. I just feel that I know him.”

Hutchinson stood up to his full height.

“I think Captain Ali that it’s time we alerted the Tunisian navy of our unfriendly visitor.”