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Setting the phone down he walked over towards the fireplace, the man sitting on the sofa looked at him, one eyebrow arched. The man wanted to ask, but knew better than to break the silence.
MacDonald sat heavily in the armchair and looked towards the night outside. Rain was still falling, occasionally the wind would shift and drive that rain hard against the window panes, as if someone had just thrown a handful of pebbles at the glass.
"They said no."
Gordon sighed and sat back against the sofa, "No? Just like that, no. I don't suppose ..."
"There is no argument I could make which would change the man's mind. You know what he's like. That business in the Gulf has them tied down for the moment. They've just squeaked through another contentious election and he's got a lot of house cleaning to do. He can't spare the money or the resources to help us."
Gordon stood up and began to pace, "Sure, we've made our bed and now ..."
"At least not publicly ..."
Gordon stopped in midstride, "What are you saying?"
"What I'm saying is technically treason, but it's the only chance we've got. The only choice really."
"What in God's name are you talking about, Mac?"
"Mercenaries, men we'd have to pay for ourselves, but not right away. The man said that he'd front us the money to get, as he put it, the party started."
Gordon shook his head, he had never gotten used to the way the Americans phrased things. Most of their upper leadership spoke the way a European would, nuanced and polite on the surface, but the man in charge over there now was something of an anomaly. His predecessor had been a bull in a China shop at times but he knew how to conduct business. The new fellow was altogether something else.
Gordon allowed himself a slight grin, "So the man's a cowboy after all?"
"It would seem so."
The boat surfaced some ten miles to the west-northwest of the Fife Ness Lighthouse. There was virtually no chance of being spotted by the Royal Navy, what few ships they had left were in port or in drydock. The nation which once ruled the seas barely controlled the approaches to London these days.
The captain had wanted to stay submerged, "All we need to do is raise the radio mast, there's no need to expose my boat to ..."
The passenger had overruled the captain, "I understand, Sir. But my boys need to get a feel for the seas and the wind. It's a bit of a haul in our small boats from ten miles out. If the signal comes in and it's a 'go,' we'll be on our way and you can slip beneath the waves. But if the weather is shite, I'll need to see that first hand."
The OOD let the captain know that the lookouts were in place on the sail, "Heavy swells, light rain, but not a lot of wind. Manageable for our visitors, barely."
"Con, radio," came over the speaker near the captain's head.
"Captain here, report."
"Signal received, dogsbody is a go. Repeat, dogsbody is a go."
"Understood."
Before the captain could say another word, his passengers were in motion, getting their gear topside and making preparations to head for land. As their commander brushed past him, the captain reached out and grabbed the man's sleeve.
"Godspeed."
Special operator Martin Wolf (a pseudonym), nodded and said, "Thanks for the lift." Then disappeared through the after hatch.
"Sir, what the hell is going on?" the XO sounded pissed off, he had not liked the mission when it had been explained to him two days out of Norfolk. He liked it even less now that he realized that they were putting armed men ashore on the coast of their closest ally, without their knowledge.
"The less you know the better, Mike. Prepare to get underway as soon as our passengers have departed."
"Aye, Captain, but ..."
"Enough Mike, talk to Chaps, I've heard enough. I'll be in my cabin."
Author's Note: Bit of an experiment really, we'll see where this goes. The idea has been camped out in my head for a few days now, time to get on with it I suppose.
