MISRATAH, LIBYA
Marcel Hurtubise was in the business of prediction. He had become a competent forecaster of potentially unpleasant events, and the fact that he remained alive was testament to his ability in that arcane art.
Now he transferred his skill from the land to the sea.
In the Tarabulus Pride’s chart house, Hurtubise huddled with Abu Yusuf Zikri, pondering the many options before them. Both were concerned with avoiding the worst that could befall them while hoping to manage things so that they met with the best.
“You are sure you do not want to go via the canal?” Zikri asked. “It is much shorter and therefore faster.”
The mercenary nodded decisively. “Yes. We are liable to be boarded and searched at Suez, and we could easily be intercepted in the Red Sea.” On the map he tapped the northwest coast of Africa. “Once past Gibraltar, we would have all that room to maneuver, and we could change our schedule as needed.”
Zikri stared at the map. At length he exhaled, blowing tobacco breath on his new associate. “It is all the same to me, mon ami. Our employers pay me by the day. Actually, by the nautical mile, and I do not object to receiving four times the pay for the same destination.”
Hurtubise suppressed the wry grin he felt building at the corners of his mouth. The same pay rate applied to him. Considering that his future employment was uncertain with Groupe FGN, let alone the French government, it would do no harm to add to his lifetime nest egg in Geneva.
“All right,” Hurtubise concluded. “We will take the long way around. Now, what protective measures do you recommend?”
“Well, you have your guards. What else do we need?”
“No, no. The men I bring are mainly to protect the cargo. But we are not sailors. What measures can be taken to prevent us from being overtaken by another ship?”
Zikri rubbed his chin and fingered his bushy mustache. “Well, the best protection against pirates is a convoy. You know, two or more ships sailing together. But that is not an option for us, unless our Iranian friends wish to lease more vessels.”
Hurtubise leaned toward the Libyan. “Captain, I am not worried about pirates. As I understand it, most piracy these days occurs in Asia. But we could have visitors from places like Paris or Washington. Or Tel Aviv. And they would be well equipped. They might bring helicopters.”
“Helicopters! Oh, no, you worry too much. There is no room to land a helicopter on this ship.”
After a slow three count, the Frenchman kept an even tone to his voice. “Captain, they do not need to land. They can hover a few meters overhead and lower commandos on ropes. With two aircraft they could have a dozen men on deck in a matter of seconds.”
“Well then, your men would just have to fight them off. Besides, how would they know about this ship? You said that security is perfect.”
“I said no such thing, Captain Zikri. I said that security is as perfect as we can make it. But there is always the possibility of a leak. A careless word, one greedy man. We can take nothing for granted.”
Zikri massaged his chin again, chewing his mustache. After a moment he said, “We can do certain things. We can change course from time to time; we can slow down during the day or the night. We can put into port to refuel more often. And we can have anti-pirate watches. Or anti-Zionist watches, as you might say.”
“Extra lookouts, day and night?”
The captain nodded. “Certainly. But it takes more men, especially at night. And that means more cost. I do not know if our clients will support such things.”
“Oh, I think they will. Considering what they are already spending, and what’s at stake, a few more men will be a small expense.”
Zikri accepted the logic of that argument. “I will make some calls.”
“Please do, Captain. As soon as possible.”