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

Dirbaz sighed with relief. “That is very good news indeed, and not a minute too soon. A ten percent drop in power is not important. We can worry about that later. The Boz-Manand is scheduled for sea trials within a month. When will I receive the new cells?”

“Arman, my impatient young friend,” the old Russian engineer responded. “Did you not see a flight of cargo jets landing today? They are delivering your new cells, ready for installation. I will fly down from Moscow in the morning to help you with the installation. I expect a hot cup of coffee with vodka. Khoda hafez for now, my friend.”

“Safar be kheir, my friend,” Dirbaz responded. “I will see you in the morning. And the coffee will be hot.”

Now alone, the Iranian engineer scratched behind his ear for a few seconds and did some rough calculations. Maybe his old friend was right and the solution really was that simple, but he kept his healthy skepticism of new Russian “wonder” technologies.

Ψ

The Research Vessel Ocean Mystery carefully backed away from the dilapidated pier and started a slow turn to head out into the deep waters of the Gulf of Oman. The Ocean Conservation Movement’s familiar green-and-blue flag hung limply from the flagstaff. Three-foot-high white letters adorning either side of the blue ship urged anyone who saw them to “Save Our Oceans Through Knowledge.”

The tiny, dusty Yemeni port of Nishtun slept quietly, just as it had for the last thousand years, and mostly ignored the departing vessel. The RV Ocean Mystery had slipped into the port to pick up some fresh vegetables—most of the crew proclaimed themselves to be vegan—as well as a passenger. Nishtun was certainly one of the most out-of-the-way, inconspicuous places for the research vessel to make a quick, quiet stop, with little notice, even for such an interesting ship.

As a Small Wetted Area Twin Hulled (SWATH) ship, the RV Ocean Mystery was an ideal platform to conduct deep-water oceanographic research. The distinctive twin hulls made for a very stable ship, even in relatively large sea states, while the extended platform between the two hulls allowed room for staging large equipment and for an oversized helicopter landing pad. And because of the twin-hulled design, the Ocean Mystery drew very little water for a ship of her size. Getting in and out of such small ports as Nishtun was possible where a normal ship would need to go to a large, well-dredged harbor. And large anchorages in this part of the world always had an abundance of prying eyes.

The downside of the Ocean Mystery’s SWATH design was that she was slow. Her twin PA-5 SEMT Pielstick diesels just didn’t send enough horsepower to the twin Rolls Royce waterjet propulsors. The crew kidded that she was so sluggish, she couldn’t get out of her own way. No matter. She was not built for speed. She was perfect for her announced purpose, doing research into the warming of the world’s oceans. And perfect for other uses, too, which were not so widely ballyhooed.

Captain Yves Monagnad sat high up on the bridge wing as the ship slowly backed away from the pier. As the vessel cleared the short seawall at the harbor’s mouth, Captain Monagnad pushed the port engine ahead, leaving the starboard engine going astern. The Ocean Mystery twisted around in her own length before steadying up on course one-three-five, the heading back to their well-publicized research grounds.

Monagnad turned to his first officer, Clyde McClellan, and ordered, “Clyde, head us back to the rendezvous location at best speed. I’d better go down and look over our cargo before I stop in the wardroom to meet our guest.”

Monagnad slid down the ladder to the main deck, three decks below the bridge, and walked aft to the equipment staging area. A stack of sixteen CONEX boxes, painted a wide variety of muted colors and bearing the names of numerous shipping companies, but each exactly forty-eight feet by 9.5 feet by 8.5 feet, completely covered the area. There was just room to slip past and get to the large yellow davit crane that perched high over the stern between the two hulls.

Captain Monagnad unlocked and opened the outermost, lowest CONEX box on the port side, a dull red one that proclaimed itself as property of the Maersk line. He gazed inside and saw a miniature submarine almost completely filling the storage container. He saw no obvious signs of damage. The monitoring panel showed that all was well with this metallic fish.

As Monagnad moved on, he did some quick calculations in his head. At the Ocean Mystery’s best economical speed of four knots, they would arrive at their designated rendezvous in about one week. Figure two nights to launch this group of fish, another two nights to pick up the last bunch, which were now out there working, completing their mission. They should be back in Djibouti in a month or so, not secretively but perfectly willing to be observed. And just in time for the resupply shipments to have made it from their storage locations in Scotland.

Monagnad glanced at his Rolex. He had better get moving. His new passenger, the United Nations Director for Ocean Conservation, waited in the wardroom, and these UN bigwigs had notably high opinions of themselves as well as notoriously short fuses. It would not be nice to bite the hand that ostensibly helped feed them. While providing them such believable cover.

The captain whistled tunelessly as he made his way to the wardroom.

3

Commander Joe Glass took a deep whiff. The sunblock’s heavy coconut aroma transported him back to fun-filled days on the beach at home. But he quickly shook his head and