Mark Abernethy: Second Strike

– and upwards, to stabilise the running depth – and the sled built to its top speed of ten knots.

Mac concentrated on breathing solid and long, taking his rhythm from the sound of Maddo’s breathing over the comms. Panters couldn’t be trusted with rebreathing rigs because they couldn’t properly utilise the carbon-dioxide scrubbers that gave you the four-and six-hour durations with a good military rig.

As they moved through the warm Flores waters, Maddo muttered at Smithee from time to time. Mac fought the panic urge – he hated full face masks and the sense of enclosure – and the pain building in his chest with every breath. After a few minutes of running Maddo whispered, ‘Thar she blows, boys.’

Turning, Mac saw Penang Princess moving past them, looking like a whale, its darkness ominous in the tropical waters. About one hundred metres to their left, its single prop glinted in the refl ected marine light, a trail of champagne bubbles spewing out behind it.

Mac was glad he was working with Maddo’s boys on this mission; the slightest miscalculation, a bit of bad driving, and that spinning brass disc would create what the naval world referred to as Prop Suey.

‘Bring her round, Smithee,’ said Maddo.

The sled tilted over into a big left-hand turn, the electric motors whining to keep the speed up as they came astern of the two-hundred-foot ship which was moving about eight knots faster. They held their course, waiting. If the arrangements they’d made were being followed, an Indonesian Navy patrol boat had motored out from Endeh and was about to RV with Penang Princess.

Mac had suggested the sharing deal between the fi rm and the Indonesian military intelligence organisation, BAIS. The boys from BAIS would provide the offi cial decoy, the Service would do the snatch; BAIS could detain Ahmed al Akbar, but the Aussies would join the debrief – or interrogation, if Ahmed felt the warrior stir in him.

They followed and waited, the four frogmen’s breathing now synchronised. The ship slowed visibly and Mac felt the sled lose power and then shut down. They were now drifting behind Penang Princess.

The single screw suddenly stopped and was still for three seconds.

Mac watched it sitting there with water foaming past it. Then it started turning again, in reverse, slowly at fi rst and then faster as the Indonesian Navy asked Penang Princess to stand-to.

The sled’s power came up slightly and went off again and they closed further on Penang Princess, before Penang Princess ‘s prop stopped altogether.

Adrenaline always hit Mac doubly hard when frogging and he tried to keep his breaths long and deep as they neared the ship. Pharaoh’s voice came over the radio system, breaking into his concentration.

‘Macca, watch for the loggie, mate.’

Mac was so focused on the ship, and doing what he had to do, that he didn’t quite get it on the fi rst go.

‘Repeat?’ he asked, looking over at Pharaoh, who was pointing at him, his eyes wide behind the glass plate of the mask.

Suddenly Mac sensed something and swivelled to his right to fi nd a huge black eye in his face, a massive mouth opened at him.

‘ Fuck! ‘ he yelped, whipping away from the thing, freaking at the safety belt holding him in place. He put his arms up to shield his head as a one-hundred-kilo loggerhead sea turtle – a lump of meat and shell the size of a dining room table – bore into his mask before diving down at his webbing. Mac fl ailed about, heart pounding, as the massive creature tore off one of his gear pockets with a whip of the head, and then swam away.

The sound of men in hysterics pealed through Mac’s earpiece like church bells.

‘Shit, Macca,’ choked out Maddo, crying with laughter. ‘She liked you, mate!’

‘I thought she was going for a hug,’ cried Pharaoh, ‘then she tries to get the tongue in.’

As the elite of Australia’s naval special forces shrieked with laughter, Mac tried to get his breathing back to regular – you couldn’t stuff around with rebreathers.

The laughter died as Maddo spoke again.

‘Target stationary, boys,’ said the team leader over the radio system as they closed on the ship. ‘Let’s earn our money.’

After fi ve minutes of waiting beneath the starboard stern, Maddo whispered ‘Smithee,’ and jerked a thumb upwards. The sled rose through the clear water, Pharaoh and Maddo standing as it emerged into the light. Putting their gloved hands up on the grey sides of Penang Princess, they eased the sled into place.

‘That’s enough, mate,’ murmured Maddo, and Smithee killed the pumps but left the props turning over to keep the vessel in place.

Mac pulled his mask down, slid out of his fi ns, then released the central buckle on the rebreather unit before wriggling out of it, strapping the whole kit on to his seat with the sled’s Velcro-fastener seatbelt. Looking up at the rust-streaked sides of the vessel – a classic Indonesian coastal donkey – he tried to calm his nerves. All it would take was one tango to look over the side and they’d be blown. He hoped the Indon Navy boys knew what they were doing. It was crucial to the mission that the whole crew were assembled on Penang Princess ‘s deck for at least ten minutes.

Mac checked his weapon: a Heckler amp; Koch P9S with a suppressor.

The Heckler was unfashionable because it only used a seven-round mag and its four-inch barrel was considered inaccurate over more than twenty metres, but Mac liked the fl atness of the German handgun and the fact that it was possibly the most robust pistol ever made.

Beside Mac, Maddo had freed himself of his diving kit, knee-deep in water, while drawing his marinised SIG Sauer handgun from his webbing holster and checking it for load, mag and safety.

Behind Mac, Pharaoh swung the grappling hook on the end of a black ten-mil rope and got the bottom railing on the fi rst go. It was only ten, eleven metres away. He put his weight on it and pulled, bringing the sled closer in to the side of the small freighter.

Maddo pointed at Pharaoh with one thick fi nger, then at Mac with two fi ngers and indicated himself with three fi ngers against his own chest. Pharaoh grabbed the rope with both hands and swung to the steel side, which was curved at the stern. He got to the top of his climb with ridiculous ease for a man of his size, paused briefl y and then grabbed the white railings and pulled himself over onto Penang Princess, his enormous arms rippling through the soaked wetsuit as he fl exed for the side vault.

Maddo’s hand slapped on Mac’s back and he was up. Swinging to the ship’s side, he got a good purchase with his rubberised frogman slippers, pushed out against the rope to get the best grip and walked himself hand over hand up the ship, making the top in quick time.

He gasped with the pain in his sternum as he hauled himself over the railings onto hot teak decking. Then he scuttled across the rear poop deck to where Pharaoh was pointing and crouched in the shadow of a large venting horn, water pouring out of his wetsuit.

Maddo vaulted smoothly over the railing and made straight for Mac. They caught their breaths in the shadow of the vent and refl exively checked their guns.

Next came the part they’d walked through several times back in Jakarta. Using naval architect’s drawings of this kind of coastal freighter, Maddo and Pharaoh had put together a scenario of where a special guest would be bunked, and how they’d get there and extract him.

From the other side of the wheelhouse they could hear the shouts and commands from the Indonesian Navy. Mac’s Bahasa was pretty basic but he knew enough to pick up that the navy guys were demanding all hands on deck. Mac could envisage lots of sarungs and plastic sandals and theatrical shrugs: No more, boss – we all here, boss.