John Schettler - 9 Days Falling, Volume I

It was the worst possible time for military trouble, given the fragile state of affairs in the West. That same afternoon, while Princess Royal burned in the Straits of Hormuz, oil futures began to spike up in an unusual trading session that should have never been called by the Boyz on Wall Street. They were just trying to apply the most basic rule of plunder when it comes to financial dealings — cover your ass. But when bad news hit the trading pits, bad things could happen very quickly.

“Howcould we have missed this?” said Elena Fairchild in an exasperated tone. “How?” She looked squarely at her intelligence chief, Mack Morgan, who had been called on the carpet to answer for the lapse. They were in the executive offices on the ship, and Captain MacRae stood by Morgan’s side, hat in hand, hoping to lend his mate a little moral support.

Out in the Aegean, the Fairchild flagship Argos Fire was leading her small flotilla through the long channel of the Bosporus along the planned route to the Black Sea. The frigate Iron Duke had caught up with the flotilla, and she was a welcome sight. Elena Fairchild had a little pull with the government, and she had made a few phone calls to make the arrangement earlier. The frigate now led the way, with Princess Irene next in line and then the two larger tankers followed by Argos Fire . They would enter the Black sea that night, a worrisome prospect given the rising tensions. Now, however, Elena Fairchild’s mind was beset by the news in the Persian Gulf and the fate of Princess Royal.

“Salase only told us half the truth,” said MacRae. “He floated that malarkey about a mine, but from the angle on that damage the attack was made by a missile, and it was fired from a position well behind the ship.”

“We had the report, m’lady,” said Morgan sheepishly, “but there were no details; no confirmation. His heavy dark brows were lowered with concern and just the right amount of regret played over his dark eyes. “Salase had us watching our nose with that hint about the mines, then someone gave it to us in the ass, eh?”

“What Mack says is true, m’lady,” MacRae spoke up. “I stopped by the radio room to check on black channel traffic right before the dinner. We had a message on the BTC pipeline trouble, and a nebulous warning of mines in the Persian Gulf. I had the damn message in my pocket during dinner, but never got the chance to pull you aside.”

“Salase knew more than he was delivering,” said Fairchild. “I’ll have that fat pig on a spit the next time I see him.” Elena was furious. “What do you think he really knew?”

“Hard to say,” said MacRae. “It was clear he wanted to warn us of the attack. He could have kept his mouth shut, you know.”

“I don’t think he was doing me any great favor,” said Elena. “He threw that bone on the table just to shake things up and close the deal the other night. The fat little bastard was laughing at me behind those bulging eyes of his all evening. We’ve got five dead and one missing on the Princess Royal. Damn, we’re getting very sloppy.” She was pacing nervously, agitated by the bad news and a long, sleepless night.

“Well, it could have been worse,” said MacRae. “A mine, I mean. This was a missile, and at least she was struck well above the water line. There’s no danger of her sinking, and from the looks of this video,” he gestured at the monitor on Fairchild’s desk, “only the center compartment seems to be involved.”

“God,” Elena breathed. “I can’t lose that ship. That’s twenty percent of her cargo on fire. What if the rest goes up? We’d be ruined! We won’t be able to deliver the oil to Chevron as agreed.”

“We’ve got to get Princess Royal out of the straits,” MacRae said, in a calm voice. “We can move her to Al Fujairah on the coast of the UAE. It’s one of the largest bunkerages in the world now, bigger than Singapore. And just our luck, they can handle ships in this class.”

“What about the report of engine damage?”

“Some flooding affected the engine room, but she can be towed,” the captain reassured her. “This is all theater. If they wanted to sink her they would have hit her closer to the water line, or used a mine to gut her hull below the water line. This was just a gun and run media show. The real damage is there, right on CNN. Do you have any idea what this will do to oil futures and tanker insurance rates? With everything shut down in the Gulf of Mexico, the price of crude is going to double very soon, mark my words.”

That was the first thing he had said that gave her any solace. Fairchild composed herself, her eyes tightening with sudden resolve.

“Do you think we were deliberately targeted—by our rivals, I mean?” She looked at her intelligence chief now.

Morgan ran a hand through his thick, dark hair and breathed heavily, thinking for a moment. “No,” he began. “No, I don’t think so. And I doubt Salase knew anything more than he revealed at that contract dinner, from what I’ve heard of it. Oh, he got wind of the attack, and he knew he couldn’t come to the meeting without revealing it, but he didn’t have the details either. His network wasn’t that good.”

“Better than our information,” Elena fumed.

“We had it, just as the Captain says,” Morgan countered. “Had it in our pocket the whole time.”

“Not soon, enough,” she said quickly. “You slipped up on this one, Mack. We should have had it days before.”

“I’ll not argue that, m’lady. But now it’s done and we’ve got to consider the advantages in the situation.”

She bit her lower lip, her mind racing. “You think they can get the ship to Al Fujairah, Captain?”

“It’s just 30 miles south, the only port that could handle Princess Royal. If this is an isolated attack, as I think it is, she’ll make it with no problems. I got a hold of Volker there. They have a couple of KC-air tankers they can rig for fire-fighting. Their engineer thinks we can get retardant on the fire and contain the damage—but it’s likely we’ll lose everything in the central fuel bunker.”

“Even so, if we save the rest we still come out ahead. We’ll have 80% of our cargo, but it will be worth twice as much as we thought.” She was shaken with sudden energy, moving quickly to her desk computer to pull up her operators file. Her hands moved quickly over the keyboard, the Claddagh ring catching a gleam of light as she typed.

“Hello…” she said, noting a priority alert on the intelligence channel of her screen. With their feet to the fire over the missed threat to Princess Royal, her spooks had been very keen to make up for lost ground, and regain some face. “Well, what have we here?” She waved MacRae and Morgan over to have a look at her screen.

“Thunder Horse down?” he gave her an unknowing look.

“Radio intercept,” she said, eyes alight. “It’s a big BP platform in the Gulf of Mexico. I’d say they have some significant damage out there if a platform of that size is having trouble.” She tightened her lips, deciding something, then started typing.

“That hit CNN this morning,” said Morgan, “but I can tell you what won’t be on the news about it, and that what’s most likely in that intelligence report.”

“Trying to cover your backside, Mack?” she prodded him, still perturbed but willing to forgive. “Alright, let’s have it.”

“Word is that that damage to Thunder Horse was not all from the hurricane. The Yanks took down a Russian sub in the Gulf of Mexico just last night. Akula class attack boat. They think the damn thing put a torpedo right into the rig.”