Rarely, if ever, did he misread a situation and he felt sure his instincts hadn’t let him down.
The door to his right opened, and his aid George Markus, entered.
“You look tired, George, did you have a restless night?”
“A little. Ops woke me to tell me of a problem with one of the Royal Navy ships, and it took me a while to nod back off.”
Westbourne laid down his knife and fork, then pinned his aid with a stern look. “What kind of problem, and why wasn’t I informed?”
“I didn’t want to wake you because it looks like a straight forward engine problem.” Markus looked at his watch. “Besides, we’ve sent a vessel to check it out, and we should hear something any minute now.”
Westbourne got to his feet. “Why don’t you have some breakfast? In the mean time I’ll take a stroll down to the control room to see what they’ve found out.”
“But, Sir Richard, I’m sure they’ll call you if they need to.”
The old man breezed past his aid. “I know they will, but I want to stretch my legs.”
Westbourne ambled into the main control room and gazed around at the hive of activity. Hundreds of monitors lined every wall, and each monitor had someone diligently watching it. Each station fed a myriad of data into the nerve-centre of his operation. The data varied wildly from station to station. Some of them showed work rosters and work patterns, while others showed swarms of biters building on the mainland. In every case, the person manning the monitoring station took the appropriate action needed.
The old man looked from one station to the next, but he couldn’t see which one monitored shipping.
“Excuse me,” he said in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the hum of the control room. Everybody stopped what they were doing, and turned to look at him. “Which one of you is responsible for monitoring shipping?”
A sheepish looking man stood. “I am, Sir Richard.”
Westbourne shuffled towards his decidedly nervous looking employee. “And who might you be?”
“Mathew Samson, sir.”
“Mr Samson, I understand you are monitoring a ship with engine problems, what can you tell me about it?”
Samson gestured for Westbourne to take his seat, and the old man graciously accepted.
“Well,” began Samson as he leaned over Westbourne’s shoulder. “At about two, maybe two-thirty last night, I spotted the Singleton had suddenly dropped anchor. They told me they were having engine trouble, so I dispatched a vessel to take a look.”
“And what did they find?”
“To tell you the truth, sir, not a lot. The Royal Navy rarely allows us to board their ships, but at first glance it looks like they’re telling the truth.”
Westbourne diverted his eyes from the screen and looked up into Samson’s young face. “At first glance? Are you saying you don’t believe them?”
Samson grimaced. “No, sir, I don’t. I got our vessel to take a thermal image of the ship. Sometimes we’re able to see a heat signature from the engines … take a look at this.” Samson hit several keys on his keyboard and a new image filled his screen. “As you can see, the ship isn’t giving off any heat to suggest their engines are running.”
Westbourne stared at the screen and nodded. “So why do you think they’re lying?”
Samson pointed to the screen. “Look at this.”
Westbourne moved his face closer and squinted. “What am I looking at?”
“It’s the ship’s chopper, see the dull glow? Well that means it’s been in the air in the past five or six hours. I asked the Singleton’s captain about it, and she just said that they fired up its engines as part of their maintenance routine. But if that were the case, it would’ve only ran for a few minutes. The heat signature on that bird suggests its engines were running for much longer.”
Westbourne sat back in the chair and strummed his fingers on the desk. “Did radar pick anything up?”
“No, sir, but if they hugged the sea,
The door to his right opened, and his aid George Markus, entered.
“You look tired, George, did you have a restless night?”
“A little. Ops woke me to tell me of a problem with one of the Royal Navy ships, and it took me a while to nod back off.”
Westbourne laid down his knife and fork, then pinned his aid with a stern look. “What kind of problem, and why wasn’t I informed?”
“I didn’t want to wake you because it looks like a straight forward engine problem.” Markus looked at his watch. “Besides, we’ve sent a vessel to check it out, and we should hear something any minute now.”
Westbourne got to his feet. “Why don’t you have some breakfast? In the mean time I’ll take a stroll down to the control room to see what they’ve found out.”
“But, Sir Richard, I’m sure they’ll call you if they need to.”
The old man breezed past his aid. “I know they will, but I want to stretch my legs.”
Westbourne ambled into the main control room and gazed around at the hive of activity. Hundreds of monitors lined every wall, and each monitor had someone diligently watching it. Each station fed a myriad of data into the nerve-centre of his operation. The data varied wildly from station to station. Some of them showed work rosters and work patterns, while others showed swarms of biters building on the mainland. In every case, the person manning the monitoring station took the appropriate action needed.
The old man looked from one station to the next, but he couldn’t see which one monitored shipping.
“Excuse me,” he said in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the hum of the control room. Everybody stopped what they were doing, and turned to look at him. “Which one of you is responsible for monitoring shipping?”
A sheepish looking man stood. “I am, Sir Richard.”
Westbourne shuffled towards his decidedly nervous looking employee. “And who might you be?”
“Mathew Samson, sir.”
“Mr Samson, I understand you are monitoring a ship with engine problems, what can you tell me about it?”
Samson gestured for Westbourne to take his seat, and the old man graciously accepted.
“Well,” began Samson as he leaned over Westbourne’s shoulder. “At about two, maybe two-thirty last night, I spotted the Singleton had suddenly dropped anchor. They told me they were having engine trouble, so I dispatched a vessel to take a look.”
“And what did they find?”
“To tell you the truth, sir, not a lot. The Royal Navy rarely allows us to board their ships, but at first glance it looks like they’re telling the truth.”
Westbourne diverted his eyes from the screen and looked up into Samson’s young face. “At first glance? Are you saying you don’t believe them?”
Samson grimaced. “No, sir, I don’t. I got our vessel to take a thermal image of the ship. Sometimes we’re able to see a heat signature from the engines … take a look at this.” Samson hit several keys on his keyboard and a new image filled his screen. “As you can see, the ship isn’t giving off any heat to suggest their engines are running.”
Westbourne stared at the screen and nodded. “So why do you think they’re lying?”
Samson pointed to the screen. “Look at this.”
Westbourne moved his face closer and squinted. “What am I looking at?”
“It’s the ship’s chopper, see the dull glow? Well that means it’s been in the air in the past five or six hours. I asked the Singleton’s captain about it, and she just said that they fired up its engines as part of their maintenance routine. But if that were the case, it would’ve only ran for a few minutes. The heat signature on that bird suggests its engines were running for much longer.”
Westbourne sat back in the chair and strummed his fingers on the desk. “Did radar pick anything up?”
“No, sir, but if they hugged the sea,
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