Brannan’s Chase

By Stephen Cord

Murderous gangsters, lethal North Korean assassins, a stolen superweapon. The chase is on...

BRANNAN’S BACK!

As Captain of a dive boat operating out of Thailand’s sin city Pattaya Joe Brannan is living the dream. His only problem is paying the bills. So when he lands a lucrative charter he thinks his luck has changed......it has, for the worse. Plunged into a shadowy war of staggering proportions he must survive a bloody life-or-death struggle if he’s to intervene in a series of events that will bring the whole world to the brink of conflict. Caught between mobsters and government agencies, deadly females and military madmen time is running out as the clock ticks towards zero hour.

Amid the storm, the heat, the slaughter and the courage, Brannans chase is on...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Proglen
• Release date: May 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9786164560185

Stephen Cord

Stephen Cord was born and raised in the North-East of England. He left school at the age of seventeen and joined the army. Leaving the military after several years' service he pursued a career in the merchant navy. Now retired and living in the Philippine's his hobbies include scuba diving and sailing. He makes frequent excursions to Thailand from his new home.

Book preview

ONE

Joe Brannan half opened his eyes and groped for his mobile phone on the nightstand by the bed, clumsily knocking over the lamp as he did so. Cursing, he stroked the answer key and closed his eyes again.

What?

Captain Joe, I have charter for you, Mr Mongkol gleefully shouted into his ear.

Grimacing, Joe sat up, yawned and looked around the bed. The girl he had picked up last night in the Pussycat bar lay next to him, head buried in the covers, oblivious to the world. With his temples throbbing and his stomach churning he swung his legs over the side of the bed, placing his feet on the cool tiled floor. He felt every one of his thirty-eight years this morning. He certainly felt much too old to have been carousing into the early hours.

That’s good news Mr Mongkol, tell me more, he rasped.

It good one, they charter your boat for one whole week.

That was good news; Joe pressed the phone closer to his ear. So far this year business had been slow. His charter dive boat had been operating at a loss for the past three months.

They American from university, they want to do reef survey, Mongkol babbled on enthusiastically.

OK. Joe tottered over to the fridge and took out a bottle of water. He was a big man, six three, with broad, muscular shoulders honed by years of diving. When do they arrive? he asked.

They already in Pattaya, stay at Sheraton. They want to start today.

Today! Joe groaned.

Yes, I tell them no problem.

He put the phone on speaker and placed it on top of the fridge. Cracking open the bottle he took a long chug of cool water to help clear his head. Mr Mongkol’s travel agency got Joe most of his charters so he didn’t want to appear unenthusiastic.

Sure, it’s no problem. I’ll meet them at the office in an hour to go over the details. Can you give them the directions?

I send minivan to bring them.

Great, talk to you later. Thank you Mr Mongkol. He cut the connection and headed for the bathroom where he took a cool, refreshing shower and swallowed two aspirin. Emerging again he swept his eyes around the low-rent room that came with a cockroach-infested bathroom and rats living in the ceiling.

A king-sized bed rested against the far wall, next to it a single nightstand with the lamp and a clock. A cheap wardrobe stood up against the opposite wall, with a small table and two chairs taking up the centre of the room. The only other piece of furniture was a low, wide dresser that did double duty as a stand for the seldom-used television. At the far end of the simply furnished room was a sliding glass door that led out on to a small balcony overlooking the back of the property and, beyond that, the city of Pattaya, Thailand.

Pulling on a T-shirt and cargo shorts he looked over at the girl who hadn’t moved. He decided to let her sleep on, there was no point in trying to wake her, bar girls seldom stirred before noon and she could let herself out. He was comfortable with that as there was nothing of value in the apartment except his dirty laundry. Pocketing his cash and phone he plucked a battered skipper’s cap from a hook behind the door and placed it on his head at a suitable angle. Descending to the ground floor, he unlatched the apartment building’s front door and pulled it open. Outside, the air was so thick with humidity it felt like it was pushing him back, daring him to step into the street. He paused in the doorway to put on a pair of Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses. Then taking a deep breath he moved off, glancing at his watch as he did so, it was mid-morning.

*

At breakneck speed the motorcycle taxi swept around the long curve of road that hugged the southern end of Pattaya bay. Joe clung on, stoically determined not to show any reaction to the several hair-raising stunts that the teenage driver had performed so far on the journey. As they sped along he gazed around at nothing in particular. To his right, between parked speedboats, he caught occasional glimpses of the harbour. To his left reared a jungle-covered headland, its steep side adorned with a construction of huge letters that spelt out ‘Pattaya City’. The sign was visible for miles, especially at night when it was brightly illuminated. Tucked up against the foot of the hill was a row of drab business units, nothing more than concrete cubes fronted with roll down shutter doors. The motorcycle taxi came to a skidding stop in front of the concrete cube that displayed a sign reading ‘Brannan Diving’. Showing no outward sign of the relief he felt at reaching his destination in one piece, Joe dismounted, paid off the driver and entered the unit.

Morning Gan. Joe greeted a tall, Thai man who was sorting through the racks of diving gear. Gan turned his head and grunted. Gan was first mate on his boat and had been crewing for Joe for some years now. Joe sat down in his creaking chair behind a battered metal desk and plugged his phone into its charger. Gan crossed to the coffee maker and began fussing with it.

Well I’ve got good news, Joe announced, as the Thai man placed a mug of his excellent coffee on the desk. Mongkol’s got us a week-long charter.

Gan grunted again, his face showing no excitement. Joe wasn’t fazed, Gan rarely got excited.

American students conducting a survey, he continued. Probably with a big, fat grant under their belt, which we’ll help them spend.

How many? Gan asked.

Joe took a sip of the coffee, savouring its smoky richness before answering. Dunno, but they’ll be arriving soon, so put out the welcome mat and work on your smile.

Showing no reaction to his captain’s teasing, Gan returned his attention to the racks.

Taking his coffee with him, Joe went outside and crossed over the road. It was almost noon now and the heat was rippling off the tarmac. At the edge of the harbour he stopped and, waiting for the caffeine to kick in, stared across the water to where his pride and joy floated. The forty-five-foot motor cruiser was hitched to a mooring buoy in the centre of the bustling harbour, her sleek white hull, streamlined superstructure and stainless steel fittings gleaming in the brilliant tropical sunlight.

Good morning my darling, he called to her, running his eyes over the elegant and powerful vessel. She was a glamorous boat, incongruous and dominating in the harbour. A line of four portholes led to a name on the bow; Betty.

A small wiry man, his arms and legs corded with sinew, was making his way forward along the Betty’s narrow port side deck. It was Runjit, the second member of his crew. Runjit saw him and waved, white teeth flashing in his nut-brown face. Joe raised his coffee cup in greeting. A car horn sounded behind him and he turned to see Mr Mongkol’s courtesy minivan pulling up in front of the unit. The door in its side slid open and three people climbed out, a couple of young men and a girl. Both of the men were tall, one was black, one was white. The girl was a head shorter than the men and carried herself in a way that made Joe surmise she was the one in charge. The first impression he got from all of them was the same; cool, confident, in shape, in other words, young Americans.

Plastering a professional smile on his face, he started back across the road. As he drew closer to the group, he could see the girl was talking to the men. Though Joe couldn’t hear the exact words, he picked up the tone – impatient, even urgent. He stepped up to the group.

Good morning. Welcome to Brannan Diving.

The talk stopped abruptly and they turned towards him, returning his greeting with good-natured smiles.

"I’m Joe Brannan, owner and captain of the dive boat, Betty. I understand you’d like to take a trip?" Joe said, giving them his standard speech of welcome and shaking each of their hands in turn. They introduced themselves as he did so. The black guy was George, the white guy, Chad and the girl, also white, was Sandra.

Actually we’d like to charter your boat for an entire week Mr Brannan, Sandra told him, her stare direct and assured.

Returning her gaze, Joe noted that she was young and strikingly pretty and that her eyes were big and brown and flecked with gold, making them tawny like those of a big cat. Well, let’s talk about that Sandra, he said, motioning for the three of them to precede him into the unit.

Joe found chairs for them all and once they were seated went and sat behind his metal desk.

One week, he sucked at his bottom lip and looked thoughtful.

Sandra leaned closer, the movement causing her glossy blonde shoulder-length hair to swing forward and frame her pretty face. We understand that it might not be convenient as you may have other charters, but we would pay you above your standard rate. The University of California has given us a generous grant to carry out our work.

Music to my ears thought Joe, but kept his face neutral.

George shifted on his folding chair making it creak and flex beneath his heavy frame. The work we’re doing is very important, he said, in a deep bass voice. As part of our thesis we’re carrying out underwater surveys to locate the best sites for the creation of artificial reefs. Thailand’s coral reefs are shrinking fast. Unless we act now, they could be gone in twenty years. We have a couple of sites in mind along this coastline.

Joe looked back at him, noting the bulging muscles beneath his T-shirt, and reasoned that he must be on a sports scholarship. Reaching down he opened a drawer in the desk, took out a clipboard and began thumbing through the sheets of paper attached to it. The papers were outstanding bills; Brannan Diving had no charters booked for at least the next two months. These were lean times and the Betty was an expensive boat to run. Every day that passed without a customer lost them money. Lowering the clipboard Joe turned his attention back to the trio of expectant faces.

Well I suppose I could shuffle a few things around, he announced, with a heavy sigh.

There were smiles all round and Sandra even clapped her hands. We’d have liked to start today, but early tomorrow is fine, she told him.

Not a problem. Joe returned their smiles. "The Betty will be ready and waiting for you, seven a.m. at the Bali Hai Pier. Just tell us where you want to go and we’ll get you there, along with all the dive gear you’ll need."

Outstanding, Chad spoke up, plunging a hand into the satchel he carried. We’d like to pay you in advance. He withdrew his hand and placed a wad of US dollars on the desk. Cash OK?

Also not a problem, replied Joe, eyeing the bundle. We can discuss the final bill when you’ve finished the charter.

They all stood and shook hands again. Joe led them out of the unit to where Mr Mongkol’s minibus waited. They climbed in and with a final wave from Joe, were whisked away.

Right! Joe clapped his hands together and strode back into the unit where he was joined by Gan. Sweeping up the money, he waved the bundle of notes in the air. "God bless America. I’m off to the money changers. When I get back we’ll go and get the Betty fuelled up and pay our long-overdue harbour fees. Then we can take your pickup down to the market and load up on some Yank grub…"

Where they want to go? Gan cut in.

They never said but that’s OK, we won’t be going far, somewhere along the coast and islands. They’re looking for reef sites, so we’ll be staying inshore in shallow water. We can take them wherever they want during the day, make a couple of shallow dives and be back home every evening.

Gan nodded. "Good. We can move Betty to the pier after fuelling and load up there."

Excellent. Let’s crack on.

*

Seven o’clock next morning the Betty, engines burbling, was singled up to one of the plastic pontoons that were attached to the Bali Hai Pier. Joe was stood up on the flying bridge sipping at a cup of Gan’s coffee, letting his eyes wander idly along the waterfront to where the buildings of that famous tourist magnet, ‘Walking Street’, hung their backsides out over the water. Shed of their night-time neon, the harsh daylight exposed the sagging, cracked, grey concrete structures to a reality that did them no favours. Like an over the hill hooker making her way home in the morning mused Joe, smiling. A hooter sounded and he looked around to see an island ferry wallow past, her engine popping gently as she made her ungainly way out of the harbour. Top heavy, her two tiers of decks were crowded with life-jacketed tourists. Her skipper grinned and waved from the wheelhouse and Joe waved back, happy that everybody was making money today.

Boss! Here they come, Gan shouted up from the foredeck.

Looking along the pier he saw two large black SUVs making their way slowly along its length. They were brand new Chevy Suburbans with black tinted windows. He whistled softly, fancy rides. Their university must be well funded. As they drew closer Joe flagged them down, so that they slid to a stop at the head of the concrete steps that led down to the floating pontoon.

Doors swung open, tailgates popped and the three students jumped out of the vehicles. Sandra immediately began directing the others to begin unloading equipment from the back of the SUVs. Gan and Runjit hurried up the steps to lend a hand and were soon returning loaded down with heavy plastic cases. Joe looked on, raising an eyebrow when the students began easing a two-metre long missile from the rear of the second vehicle.

What the hell is that? he called out.

Sandra’s head jerked around. It’s a towfish. We’re going to survey the seabed with it.

Looks like a sidewinder missile.

Really? I wouldn’t know, she smiled up at him, as they began manoeuvring the pointed cylinder with its jutting stabiliser fins on to the landing stage.

Joe hurried down the narrow, curving steps that led to the afterdeck and arrived just in time to grab the towfish’s pointed nose as it came across the gunwale.

Lighter than I thought, he grunted.

It’s made of polycarbonate, Chad informed him.

They laid it on the deck alongside the cases. The students immediately returned to the rear of the vehicles to gather more gear. Gan and Joe watched them go.

We need a bigger boat, Joe chuckled. Gan harrumphed but said nothing.

The tailgates slammed closed and the two SUVs began reversing back down the length of the narrow pier, beeping loudly as they went. The invisible drivers had remained in their vehicles the whole time.

Where can we set up the SCU? George asked, dropping coils of cable to the deck.

The what? Joe gave him a puzzled look.

The surface control unit, George answered, picking up one of the heavy cases as though it were filled with feathers.

Oh, in the saloon I suppose. You can sit on the couch and use the table. Joe jerked his thumb towards the cabin door.

OK. George hefted the case and made his way into the saloon.

Sandra and Chad were crouched down sorting through their equipment.

You got everything? Joe asked, being ironic.

Yes it’s all here, Sandra answered him seriously, without looking up.

Wasted, he muttered, before turning to his first mate. Right Gan, cast off and let’s get underway.

The weather was perfect. It had been since the heat of April had abated six weeks ago. As always, Joe felt a sense of well-being as he cruised out of the harbour leaving the landlubbers behind. Something in his make-up made it impossible for him to feel completely comfortable ashore. Only at sea did life make any sense at all; away from the petty officialdom of the bureaucrats, the rip-off merchants and the hustlers. Out here under the blue bowl of the sky, with the salt spray and the fresh breeze, a man could find genuine satisfaction in being alive.

*

Joe eased back on the Betty’s throttles and brought her bow around until they were beam on to the wind. She slowed to a stop, then began rocking from side to side. He unhooked a portable GPS receiver from the console and checked the coordinates displayed on the small screen.

Right on the money, he remarked, passing the device to Sandra, who was sitting next to him on the flying bridge.

She glanced at the screen and smiled. Right you are Captain. We can start our first sweep now. Jumping up out of the companion seat she quickly descended to the cockpit, where she joined the others in preparing the towfish for its first submersion. Gan and Runjit helped the students manhandle the submersible over to the swim step at the Betty’s stern. From there they slid the long cylinder into the water where it immediately sank. Looking up at Joe, Sandra made a winding gesture with her hand and he eased the throttles forward. With the Betty cruising along at a steady ten knots, Chad paid out the nylon line that was attached to the nose of the towfish and they all watched as the device fell away behind.

All that morning, under the direction of the students, the Betty cruised up and down the inshore waters twenty miles south-west of Pattaya. After a couple of hours Joe handed the wheel over to Gan and went below.

Entering the main cabin he had to step over a tangle