Arabian Storm (The Hunter Killer Series Book 5) by George Wallace (different ereaders .txt) 📕

of gunboats and the much larger research ship seemed to be waiting patiently, bobbing easily in the gentle swell of a mostly calm sea. The tanker, the Persian Star—in no apparent hurry—steamed ever closer, finally slowing to a stop only a few hundred meters away. The towering sides of her dark-green hull continued to blot out the rising sun and dwarfed the Ocean Mystery.

Watching through a porthole on the research vessel’s lower deck, Yves Monagnad needed only a moment to conclude that this was no chance encounter, that the captain of the tanker had not simply grown curious and steamed over for a closer look. No, this was clearly a planned rendezvous. The captain of the Ocean Mystery was in a situation with which he was unaccustomed: not in charge. Instead, he was now locked in a storage compartment on his own ship, confined with most of his crew and frustratingly unable to figure out where he was or what was happening or how he might regain control. The abrupt appearance of the tanker only heightened his sense of powerlessness.

Monagnad gritted his teeth as he watched the four gunboats that had seized his ship. As if preplanned, they motored over and snuggled up against the high-sided tanker like piglets at the teats of a mother hog. They all but disappeared once they settled in against the big ship’s bulk.

A light went off in the experienced captain’s head. Monagnad now understood how the gunboats had managed to come all the way from Iran without being detected by any of the world’s navies, each of which had a heightened interest in what was happening in this region thanks to Iran’s aggressiveness. The gunboats had once again hidden themselves in the shadow of their mother hen. Radar would show only one massive return and satellite photographs would show one image unless someone looked very closely. Even an inquisitive warship would need to swim dangerously close before being able to make out the gunboats.

In minutes, the Ocean Mystery was also snuggly tied up alongside. Her mast did not even reach the massive tanker’s main deck. Green tarps and netting thrown down from the tanker quickly covered the smaller ship, obscuring it from all but a very close-up observer. At sea, other ships typically would not approach to within a couple miles of these ocean-going behemoths, afraid of being run down if the vessel suddenly shifted course. From that distance, the Persian Star would look just like the rest of her overly large tanker sisters. Ocean Mystery and the tiny gunboats were virtually invisible against the dark green background.

The door to the storage compartment was suddenly unlocked behind him and thrown open. Armed men, waving their weapons but remaining silent, ushered Monagnad and his crew out of the room, up a stairway, and onto Ocean Mystery’s main deck. Next, they were directed up a steep Jacob’s ladder that led them onto the decks of the Persian Star.

From the high perch of the tanker’s massive main deck, Monagnad now had a clear view to the horizon in all directions. Nothing but deep-blue sea joining a cerulean-blue sky at the horizon. But not another vessel to be seen. They were all alone in this watery world.

A short, rather fat man dressed in rumpled combat fatigues emerged from a hatch in the superstructure and strode to where the group of captives were herded. An ugly burn scar was only partially hidden by a scraggly gray-black beard, disfiguring the man’s mottled red face.

In his left hand, the man displayed a thick wad of passports. “Line the infidels up,” he ordered the guards. “I want to see what we really have here. Maybe we can figure out what this spy boat is doing. It would be much easier for everyone if you just admitted you were spying,” he said as he turned to Monagnad. “Wouldn’t it, Captain?”

The Ocean Mystery’s skipper stared at the short man and calmly answered, “We are an oceanographic research ship and we are working in international waters on a United Nations-sanctioned mission. You and your thugs have committed piracy and kidnapping on the high seas. I demand that you release my crew and my ship.”

“I am General Farad Babak of the Houthi Ansar Allah,” the khaki-clad man answered with an evil grin. “And you are my prisoners of war. That is until I find that you are spies. Then you will die.”

Chas ben-Wabi, the UN Director of Ocean Conservation, would not be so willingly cowed. He did not consider himself to be under the command of Yves Monagnad or this scruffy bunch of bandits.

He stopped, put his fists on his rather prominent hips, stuck out his chin defiantly, and flatly refused to go any farther.

“Enough of this herding us about like barnyard animals! I demand to speak with the captain of this vessel! Are you not aware of who I am? I will see you all in prison!”

One of the guards, an impassive expression on his face, stopped, stepped over to the short little man, and, using the barrel of his pistol, slapped ben-Wabi on the side of his head, knocking the startled United Nations official to the deck. Then, with a knee in the man’s back, he bound his hands painfully tight and then stuffed a rag in his mouth. With a powerful jerk, he pulled ben-Wabi to his feet. Blood streaked down the UN official’s face and dribbled onto his immaculate white shirt.

General Babak riffled through the passports as he strutted in front of the crew, finally stopping in front of the ship’s cook. Anni beth-Sensi was the only female in the Ocean Mystery’s small crew.

“She will be first,” he said. “Take her below.”

The young cook screamed in terror as the guards