Pirate - Duncan Falconer [16]
Hopper gave Stratton a glance that appeared to question the claim. When Sabarak looked at him, he adopted an expression that wholeheartedly supported the threat.
‘Get up,’ said Stratton.
Sabarak got unsteadily to his feet.
‘Stay right behind me,’ Stratton ordered.
The three of them walked quietly between the houses. Hardly any had lights on but that didn’t mean they weren’t occupied. It was hard to tell. The locals were very poor. They used their minimal resources sparingly. That meant going to bed and getting up with the sun to avoid using all their fuel on lighting.
The men arrived at a high wall, part of the harbour’s perimeter, that kept them from the water. They went left and followed it to a large metal gate. The harbour entrance. It wasn’t locked and they made their way on to a broad concrete jetty. A man-made boulder mole went out to sea at a right angle to the jetty and after a couple of hundred metres turned a sharp corner and ran on a few more metres, where it ended to face the end of the opposite mole a hundred or so metres away. This was the sea entrance.
They paused to survey the scene. The walkway was dimly illuminated by a spread of lamps. Dozens of small craft were moored to the inside perimeter or to each other. Mostly fishing boats of varying sizes, from little row boats to thirty-foot sailing boats. There were a handful of powered metal tugs, all of which could have done with a lick of paint. A building set back from the jetty and surrounded by the perimeter wall advertised itself as a fishery in English as well as the local dialect. They could see no sign of life other than a couple of scavenging dogs.
‘Nice evening for a boat ride,’ Stratton said.
Hopper noted the gloomy skies.
‘All we do is follow the coastline to Salalah,’ Stratton said. ‘What can go wrong?’
Hopper rolled his eyes at the effort to tempt fate. ‘Would be nice if we could find something with a bit of speed.’
‘And comfort.’
Hopper moved to the edge of the jetty to look down on the boats. ‘What about that one?’ he said, pointing at a long skiff with twin outboards.
Stratton felt a twinge of guilt about taking any one of them. ‘These people struggle enough to make a living without us coming along and nicking their livelihood,’ he said.
‘Right. What are those over there, by the entrance?’ said Hopper. He jutted his chin towards the mole entrance and a couple of low-profile, sleek black semi-rigid inflatables.
Stratton’s interest in them was immediate. They didn’t look like fishing boats, more like some kind of security or military craft. And they looked fast. Hopper kept a hold of the Saudi and the three stepped along the concrete path at the base of the mole. They came to a building at the end, in the corner of the mole. The sign above the door said it was AUSTIN OIL TERMINAL SECURITY. The boats had twin 250 outboards bolted to the transoms.
‘We don’t feel guilty about borrowing one of these, do we?’ Hopper asked.
‘We don’t. Check out the fuel. We need around forty litres. I’ll look into starting this one up.’
‘Give me a hand, Sabarak,’ Hopper said, pulling the Saudi with him.
Stratton climbed down into the first boat and looked at the controls and battery housing. It appeared to be in good order.
By the time Hopper and Sabarak returned, both straining to carry a couple of large petrol containers each, Stratton had prepared the wires behind the ignition lock on the coxswain’s consul. ‘We’ll need water,’ he said to Hopper. ‘Hand those down to me,’ he said to the Saudi, who obeyed tiredly.
Beams of light suddenly flashed across the top of the mole. A second later they could hear the low rumble of vehicle engines and tyres on gravel.
‘I suspect our Chinese friends have discovered the ruse,’ said Stratton. ‘Hurry up, Hopper.’
Stratton connected two wires then struck them with a third and they sparked and the starter motor turned over. They were spared the drama of having to wait for the engines to gun to life. The sound was loud and immediate and the two-stroke engines gave off