Drug Runners

H.C Hannah

Description

Redundant airline pilot Johann Ryan is offered his dream job flying a light aircraft in the Caribbean. It seems too good to be true. It is. Too late, Johann discovers what his cargo is.In a violent storm off the coast of Antigua, Oliver Jacobs makes a distress call from his luxury yacht. The Coast Guard discovers the yacht packed full of cocaine. Oliver's villa has, like most homes in Antigua, a large water storage cistern. Except this one doesn't contain water.For Johann Ryan, there appears to be no escape from the far-reaching tentacles of his new employer, a notorious drug cartel. But he unwittingly holds the key to the secret of Oliver Jacobs's cistern, information urgently sought by both the cartel and international drug enforcement agencies. As both sides close in on the truth, Johann must decide whom he can trust as he is compelled to make one last perilous flight...

Informations

• Publié par: H. C. Hannah
• Date de parution: 09 septembre 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781839780769
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Copyright 2020 by H.C. Hannah
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
ISBN: 9781839780769
John, this is for you, with love Thank you for sharing my dreams
CONTENTS
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Author s Note
ONE
00:05 am, Thursday, September 19
Coast Guard Station Headquarters, Deepwater Harbour, Antigua
The distress call came in at just after midnight. It was taken by Melford, one of two crew members on duty in the comm room that night. He swallowed a bite of an oatmeal and raisin cookie and took a large gulp of lukewarm coffee as he picked up the radio handset. The frantic message was barely audible. Spoken by a male voice with a British accent, it was panic-stricken and urgent. A man on the edge of losing his cool. Melford hurriedly took down important details. The name of the sailing yacht, Atratus, reported to be approximately fifteen nautical miles southwest of Sugar Reef Bay.
Melford paged a launch request to the English Harbour crew who were based out of a small station on the south coast of Antigua. It was one of three locations manned by the Coast Guard, the maritime branch of the Antigua and Barbuda Defence Force.
Returning to the radio handset, Melford asked the captain of the Atratus if he had a DSC radio linked to his navigation equipment.
No. The crackled reply was just audible.
Melford frowned. A DSC, or digital selective calling radio, was used to transmit a distress signal to the Coast Guard and other ships within range. When connected to the onboard GPS, it could also send the location of the vessel in distress. If the search and rescue team had this information, they knew exactly where they were headed. Without it, guesswork, search patterns and luck were required.
Problems electrics on board, came a muffled voice through a roar of white noise and static.
I m alerting the lifeboat crew now, Melford said into the handset. What sea survival equipment do you have onboard, over?
He waited for a reply. None came. He tried again.
Mayday Atratus, do you have a life raft on board, over?
Radio silence from the yacht.
Mayday Atratus, this is the Antigua Coast Guard. Do you read, over?
Melford took a deep breath as he realised he d lost radio contact with the distraught captain. He glanced at the pair of monitors on the desk in front of him. The one on the left contained radar images; smatterings of coloured dots and blurred shapes against a dark blue background. On the other screen was an electronic chart display of the coastline. A boat-shaped symbol represented every significant vessel within range of the Coast Guard station. The short range coastal tracking system known as the AIS, or automatic identification system, was used extensively in the maritime world for the exchange of navigational information between AIS-equipped receivers, both on and offshore. By clicking on a symbol, information such as the name of the ship it represented, its course and speed, and call sign, could be obtained. But in order to transmit this information, a dedicated VHF transponder was required. As far as Melford could see, the Atratus was either out of range of the Coast Guard station or did not have a functioning transponder. He spoke into the handset once more.
Mayday Atratus, this is the Antigua Coast Guard. Do you read me?
There was no response. Not the faintest hiss or a crackle. It was clear the Atratus had suffered some kind of electrical failure and had lost all means of communication. Or the vessel had capsized and was sinking. Or the captain had become incapacitated in some way. Or had been thrown overboard by a giant wave.
As sheets of rain lashed angrily against the shuttered windows of the Coast Guard station, Melford glanced uneasily at a third monitor on the desk which displayed current weather information. Another complication. Outside, a violent storm raged. According to the latest charts, radar images and data alerts, a force ten gale with winds of up to sixty miles an hour was battering the south of the Caribbean island and surrounding area. Somewhere out there in the darkness of the night, the sailing boat Atratus was being tossed and buffeted mercilessly by giant, rolling waves in a blinding mist of driving rain, sea spray and dense white streaks of foam.
The AIS screen showed that there were no other boats in the vicinity of the last reported position of the Atratus. It was hardly surprising. The weather forecast and subsequent warnings had been clear and accurate. A storm was approaching. It was the middle of the hurricane season. Only a foolhardy sailor would leave the safety of harbour in a storm of this intensity. The closest ship to the Atratus was a research and survey vessel sailing under a German flag at least thirty nautical miles away. With a cruising speed of just over three knots, it would take the ship until lunchtime to reach the Atratus. Even so, Melford put out the call, just in case.
All stations, all stations, all stations, this is the Antigua Coast Guard, Antigua Coast Guard, Antigua Coast Guard. Report received of a fifty-seven foot white vessel Atratus, taking on water. Last reported position fifteen nautical miles southwest of Sugar Reef Bay. All mariners requested to keep a sharp lookout. Assist if possible.
The telephone rang. Melford reached across the desk and picked it up. He knew who was calling.
Max, he said.
English Harbour, the coxswain of the rescue boat replied briskly.
Brushing cookie crumbs off the desk, Melford relayed the details.
Yeah, I just took a Mayday from the captain of a fifty-seven foot sailing vessel, the Atratus, last reported fifteen miles southwest of Sugar Reef Bay.
What s he doing out in that storm? There was a note of disbelief in Max s voice.
Good question. He s reportedly taking on water and requesting immediate assistance.
How many on board?
Just him apparently.
Is he wearing a lifejacket?
I don t know. I lost comms with him minutes after he put out the call. Maybe his electrics are out, or maybe he capsized, I ve no idea, but I ve told you everything I know.
Did you get any information on injuries? Medical needs?
No, like I said, the comms went down before I had chance.
Any other vessels nearby?
None close enough to offer immediate assistance.
Okay, thanks Mel. I ll see if I can make contact once we re on our way.
Take care out there bro, Melford said as they hung up. He felt helpless. Although he was the mission coordinator and would stay in touch from the comm room, the rest of the search, rescue and recovery operation was down to the five-strong English Harbour crew who, within less than fifteen minutes, were launching their response boat, an imposing looking thirty-eight foot vessel with an aluminium hull, an enclosed cabin and three powerful outboard engines.
Did the yacht send a distress alert? Linroy, one of the crew, shouted to Max at the helm. Cupping his hand behind his ear, Max motioned to Linroy to repeat the question. The powerful roar of the engines, combined with the driving rain and noise of the wind, was almost deafening as the boat rocked and lurched in the dark water of the harbour.
Was there a distress alert? Linroy yelled. He stepped into the small cabin and closed the door at the rear, shutting out the storm. Joining Max and the other three crew members, he checked his lifejacket was secure before he took a seat and fastened his safety belt. Colin, the navigator, was already punching buttons on the electronic chart plotter and scribbling various pencil marks on a paper chart of the coastline. He frowned in concentration as he studied the search pattern they would adopt to locate the Atratus.
Alvin, seated at the radar display, was keying in data for the search and rescue mission and tuning out interference from the rain and storm clutter. Shawn, the mechanic, was in charge of the engines and other mechanical components on board. It was down to him to ensure everything functioned properly while they were at sea.
No distress alert according to Melford, Max replied as he engaged the throttles and skilfully began manoeuvring the lifeboat through the harbour. He held the wheel firmly as the boat was buffeted by the waves. Rubber wipers flapped back and forth across the windshield in a vain attempt to keep up with the relentless rain. A red light illuminated the area inside the cabin to protect the night vision of the crew. The glare from the radar display and the other electronic screens, the chart plotter and the GPS, were tilted away from Max to enable him to pick out objects on the darkened horizon as clearly as possible. In addition, Colin had a pair of night vision binoculars beside him.
As they advanced through the channel, leaving the lights and safety of the harbour behind, they entered the wide open sea, where the waves became taller and rougher. Passing the final set of channel markers, with their red and green lights blinking rhythmically, the crew of the rescue boat were engulfed in darkness. The moon and stars were obscured by thick, angry storm clouds, churning and boiling in the night sky overhead. The stark glare of their own navigation lights reflected on the white crests of the waves, as the hull of the boat pitched violently over the swells and plunged