of drugs. Blah-blah-blah, grumbled Jimmy to himself. These guys ought to be called The Four Newsmen of the Apocalypse: Conquest, Slaughter, Famine and Death. Especially Death, on his pale horse. That’s all they bloody think about .
But then he stopped dead in his tracks as he headed back to the kitchen, half listening to some other late report from the newscaster:
“ Reports are coming in of a major oil spill in the Gulf of Iran. A giant crude-oil tanker is currently listing off the coast of Oman, with an apparently damaged bow section. According to Dubai shipping sources, oil is pouring out of her for’ard tanks .”
“ HOLY SHIT !” The Lieutenant charged right back into the living room, but the item was over. They were back on the President’s forthcoming visit to India. Jimmy picked up the phone, dialed Fort Meade, spoke immediately to Lt. Ray Carpenter…. “ You got anything on a tanker leaking oil in the gulf ?”
“Come on, Jimmy. What do you think this is? Greenpeace? Nothing right now.”
Despite himself, Lt. Ramshawe laughed. Then he called CNN news headquarters in Atlanta and asked if they had an accurate fix on where the tanker was. He announced himself as a director of Texas Gas Transport, told them he was afraid it might be one of his ships. In return he’d keep them posted if it was.
The CNN foreign desk was not much help but said he was more than welcome to call their man in Dubai, since it was already almost nine o’clock the following morning in the Middle East.
He thanked them profusely, dialed the number in Dubai and spoke to the reporter, David Alidai.
“Sorry, pal. I’m dealing with the Omani Navy’s public affairs office. The only person in there’s called Hassam, but he doesn’t know much. I think he’s been told to shut up until they assess the damage to the environment. But if you guys own the ship, he might be a bit more forthcoming. I’ll give you his number…. Good luck.”
Jimmy hit the dial buttons to Oman, and was put through to the aforementioned Hassam.
“I’m sorry. I cannot tell you anything. We know very little ourselves.”
“Listen, Hassam, this may be our ship. We had a VLCC right in that area…. I’m just asking for a position…. Surely you can provide us with that…. Please try, otherwise I’ll have to speak to the Admiral.”
Jimmy had no idea what Admiral he was going to speak to, and Hassam could not have cared less, kept him waiting on the line for five minutes. Then he came back and said, “Mr. Haig, the damaged ship is positioned at latitude 26.19 north, 56.49 east. She’s in 250 feet of water.”
“Hassam, I’m grateful. But I don’t think that’s us. It’s a bit too far south. Do you know if there are any other ships in the area?”
“Well, we have two Qahir Corvettes out there trying to keep order. The strait is very busy. All tankers are being brought to a halt right now…. I believe there are two Iranian frigates out there also, but I can tell you no more.”
Jimmy hung up and sprinted out of the apartment, willing the elevator to take him instantly down to the parking lot. He unlocked the Jaguar and retrieved the chart that he had left in the leather side pocket. He relocked and sprinted back to the elevator, which had not yet resumed its upward journey.
Inside the apartment he spread the chart on the dining table, scrabbled around for a ruler and measured. The stricken VLCC in the Hormuz Strait was only nine inches from the missile site, a fraction less than 18 miles.It was six inches from the Global Bronco , just less than 12 miles.
And it was pretty much on the line that joined the Iranian missile site and the spot where the Bronco had exploded yesterday.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” breathed Jimmy. “The bastards have mined the strait. And it’s dollars to doughnuts the VLCC hit one of ’em with its bow.”
He reached into his pocket and found the scrap of paper with the White House phone number. He checked his
But then he stopped dead in his tracks as he headed back to the kitchen, half listening to some other late report from the newscaster:
“ Reports are coming in of a major oil spill in the Gulf of Iran. A giant crude-oil tanker is currently listing off the coast of Oman, with an apparently damaged bow section. According to Dubai shipping sources, oil is pouring out of her for’ard tanks .”
“ HOLY SHIT !” The Lieutenant charged right back into the living room, but the item was over. They were back on the President’s forthcoming visit to India. Jimmy picked up the phone, dialed Fort Meade, spoke immediately to Lt. Ray Carpenter…. “ You got anything on a tanker leaking oil in the gulf ?”
“Come on, Jimmy. What do you think this is? Greenpeace? Nothing right now.”
Despite himself, Lt. Ramshawe laughed. Then he called CNN news headquarters in Atlanta and asked if they had an accurate fix on where the tanker was. He announced himself as a director of Texas Gas Transport, told them he was afraid it might be one of his ships. In return he’d keep them posted if it was.
The CNN foreign desk was not much help but said he was more than welcome to call their man in Dubai, since it was already almost nine o’clock the following morning in the Middle East.
He thanked them profusely, dialed the number in Dubai and spoke to the reporter, David Alidai.
“Sorry, pal. I’m dealing with the Omani Navy’s public affairs office. The only person in there’s called Hassam, but he doesn’t know much. I think he’s been told to shut up until they assess the damage to the environment. But if you guys own the ship, he might be a bit more forthcoming. I’ll give you his number…. Good luck.”
Jimmy hit the dial buttons to Oman, and was put through to the aforementioned Hassam.
“I’m sorry. I cannot tell you anything. We know very little ourselves.”
“Listen, Hassam, this may be our ship. We had a VLCC right in that area…. I’m just asking for a position…. Surely you can provide us with that…. Please try, otherwise I’ll have to speak to the Admiral.”
Jimmy had no idea what Admiral he was going to speak to, and Hassam could not have cared less, kept him waiting on the line for five minutes. Then he came back and said, “Mr. Haig, the damaged ship is positioned at latitude 26.19 north, 56.49 east. She’s in 250 feet of water.”
“Hassam, I’m grateful. But I don’t think that’s us. It’s a bit too far south. Do you know if there are any other ships in the area?”
“Well, we have two Qahir Corvettes out there trying to keep order. The strait is very busy. All tankers are being brought to a halt right now…. I believe there are two Iranian frigates out there also, but I can tell you no more.”
Jimmy hung up and sprinted out of the apartment, willing the elevator to take him instantly down to the parking lot. He unlocked the Jaguar and retrieved the chart that he had left in the leather side pocket. He relocked and sprinted back to the elevator, which had not yet resumed its upward journey.
Inside the apartment he spread the chart on the dining table, scrabbled around for a ruler and measured. The stricken VLCC in the Hormuz Strait was only nine inches from the missile site, a fraction less than 18 miles.It was six inches from the Global Bronco , just less than 12 miles.
And it was pretty much on the line that joined the Iranian missile site and the spot where the Bronco had exploded yesterday.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” breathed Jimmy. “The bastards have mined the strait. And it’s dollars to doughnuts the VLCC hit one of ’em with its bow.”
He reached into his pocket and found the scrap of paper with the White House phone number. He checked his
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