Awaken: When Dreams Converge, #3

By Stephen Massie

In the final part of Stephen Massie's 'When Dreams Converge' trilogy, Luke and Tina try to clear their names for murders they did not commit, but they become caught up in power struggle between an Asian Dictator, a Western Media Mogul and the combined forces of the Syndicate.

 

They have the tools to expose the truth, but can they reach the United Nations in time and alive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stanhope Books
• Release date: Mar 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781909893443

Book preview

Awaken

When Dreams Converge

––––––––

By Stephen Massie

© Stephen Massie 2016

All rights reserved

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without prior written permission of the copyright owner

The right of Stephen Massie to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This Edition Published by Stanhope Books, Essex, UK 2016

www.stanhopebooks.com

Cover design and format by Barbara Owczarek © 2016

ISBN-13: 978-1-909893-44-3

Dedicated to all those free spirits that yearn for adventure and freedom

GLOSSARY

Bow –

Front of a vessel.

Stern –

Rear of a vessel.

Starboard –

Right hand side of a vessel when standing on the vessel facing the bow.

Port-

Left hand side of a vessel when standing on the vessel facing the bow.

Cockpit-

Refers to the area towards the stern of a vessel where the rudder control resides.

Pushpit-

Guard rail at the stern of a vessel.

Pulpit-

Guard rail at the bow of a vessel.

Beam-

The width or sides of a vessel.

Stanchion-

Upright post supporting the guardrails along the side of a vessel.

Boom-

Horizontal pole along which the base of the mainsail runs.

Chapter 1

There was a clock, a very special timepiece although it never measured time.  Displayed inside a glass case, mounted beneath its face, lay a train of gears which ran all the way to the ground.  The bottom gear was cemented into a concrete block on the floor.  If ever the rotation of the other gears reached this one all the teeth in the gear train would be sheared and the mechanism of the clock destroyed.  It was set at five minutes to midnight.  The last occasion its minute hand had moved was just two years previously, when the last nuclear test had been carried out.  This curious exhibit was housed in the Hiroshima Peace Museum and was called the Doomsday Clock.  If ever it was to strike midnight its destruction would be complete, heralding a nuclear holocaust and the slaughter of billions.  The Doomsday Clock stood waiting quietly for man’s folly to begin.

********

Defiant, the putrid arm of a corpse punctured the earth exhumed by the thrust of a farmer’s plough cutting deep into the soil.  Fingers stretched out towards the heavens demanding the truth be known.  The sight was both terrifying and curious to the young man who stood where he considered to be a safe distance from this chilling intruder.  His chest was filled by the heavy pumping of his heart.  He willed his legs to venture closer.  They disobeyed leaving him frozen to the spot, too afraid to move.

What the hell!

The familiar sound of his father’s voice sent a rush of comfort through the teenager’s body.  Still too scared to remove his gaze from the horror before him he replied in a nervous tone, I saw it appear, Pa, from under your plough.

His father, less taken aback, walked to within one pace of the stricken arm.

Damn it son, I left my phone indoors.  Go home and call Sheriff Bingham.  Tell him we have a dead body on our farm.  I’ll keep this fella company till he arrives.  Now go.  The boy turned and ran, barely hearing his father’s parting words, And don’t come back, there is nothing here for you to see.

This could only happen in Texas, thought the farmer; a body in the middle of a hundred acre field, the nearest town twenty miles away.  Who the hell would bury a body out here?

********

Streaks of rain streamed down the tan coloured drenched mainsail of ‘Ria’.  A strong gust of wind shook the canvas, throwing out the pearls of water as if it were a dog shaking itself dry.  She heeled over, further exposing the dark silhouette of the English east coast, framed against the star laden night sky, to her crew.

Luke, look, there is the Sunken Buxey! exclaimed Tina, pointing to the distinctive yellow and black north cardinal buoy, its purpose to ward off vessels in danger of running aground on one of the many notorious mud flats that peppered the Thames Estuary.

Like old friends, names of navigation buoys and landmarks flooded into Luke’s mind.  Buxey Sand was south of the Ray Sand Channel, leading to the River Blackwater and the shores of Mersea Island, their home.  But they would not be sailing there tonight or any time in the near future.  It would be far too dangerous.  They were running from the authorities for a crime they had not committed; the murder of four people including the President of Burinda, and the criminal syndicates who wanted to silence them.  Now they were in the Whitaker Channel heading for the Outer Crouch North Cardinal, which marked the mouth of the River Crouch.

Ben, not long now, Burnham on Crouch is only about six nautical miles away.  From there you will be able to catch a train, Luke said realising as he uttered the words it would mean he and Tina would then be on their own to face the world without an ally.

Sensing Luke’s despair Ben attempted to comfort him.  You and Tina will be alright.  Just do as we have planned.  Once I am ashore you must sail to Brittany.  It’s a rural part of France very popular with tourists from the UK, especially amateur sailors; you should be able to blend in without anybody noticing you.  In the meantime I will make contact with people I am sure have nothing to do with either the West or Russian Syndicates and ask for their help.  I will text you when it is safe to return.

Without meaning to sound selfish, if anything happens to you what then? enquired Tina.

Always negative; what have I been telling you, Ben? smiled Luke.

I am not negative.

He is only joking, Tina.  Neither of you are negative.  Nothing will happen to me; I am an SAS Staff Sergeant, you should be afraid for the Syndicates.

It was hard to tell whether Luke and Tina were wiping tears or rain droplets from their eyes.  Amateurs plunged into the deadly world of international criminals doing remarkably well, thought Ben.

Though the rain had ceased the decks were still very slippery.  There was nobody about this early in the morning so they decided to tie up alongside the end of a pontoon in Burnham Yacht Harbour.  Up until their approach Luke had kept the navigation lights switched off, now entering the marina he thought it best to have them on so as not to arouse suspicion.  With her sails now lowered, the sound of her diesel engine echoed within the confines of the enclosure.  Tina fumbled with the bow line, anxious to get Ben ashore and return to the relative safety of the sea as soon as possible.  Luke, distracted by climbing in and out of the cabin to turn the lights on, had miscalculated the distance between Ria and the pontoon and was about to reverse when Tina stepped over the rail and, losing her footing on the wet teak floor, fell head first into the cold water.  Immediately Luke turned off the engine to prevent her from being caught by the propeller, then leaving Ben in the cockpit, he jumped across to the pontoon, almost falling in himself before he managed to regain his balance.  Ria had drifted closer, closing the gap between her and the pontoon.  Reaching out, Luke pushed the boat away from Tina as she emerged from beneath the surface.  She was still grasping the bow line and looked very angry.

You idiot! she cried out, forgetting their situation.

I wasn’t the one who fell in, replied Luke.

Ben smiled, how on earth did he get lumbered with these two?

Let go of the bow line, Luke exclaimed.

And let Ria drift away?  Just pull me out.

Shhh, don’t make so much noise, whispered Ben who by now was also on the pontoon helping Luke to pull Tina onto the wooden platform.   After several attempts punctuated by screams and curses, Tina found herself lying face down before Ben’s feet.

OK, I’ll see you two soon.  Don’t worry, everything will be alright, Ben said, walking away to leave Luke and a soaking wet Tina, who was still struggling to stand up.  By the time they had turned to say goodbye Ben was gone.  They were now alone.

Just as well I didn’t let go of the bow line.  Goodness knows how we would have got back on board.  At least one of us was thinking.

Luke knew it was best to keep quiet; besides she did have a point.

********

Sheriff Bingham stood with the hot Texas sun scorching his back.  He removed his white Stetson hat from his head and mopped his brow with a red rag which hung from his gun belt.

This here fella has been dead for some time, O’Connor.  Give me that there spade; let’s see what the rest of him’s like.

The farmer fetched the spade from behind the seat of his tractor.  He really didn’t want to watch any more so after handing it to the Sheriff, withdrew beside his plough.  Bingham gently stroked the earth away revealing part of a crushed torso.  It was evident that the body had been smashed by a huge force.  Broken bones had pierced through torn skin.  Though they were referring to the body as male, there was no way of telling what gender it was.  The protruding arm was the only limb recognisable as human.  A deputy approached from the parked patrol car. 

What is that there? he asked, pointing to a plastic tag which they assumed had once hung around the victim’s neck.

The Sheriff knelt down and wearing plastic gloves picked up the tag.  He cleaned off the dirt then read aloud, NASA Dr Ernest Stone.  Looking up he ordered, Get on the radio.  Tell Molly to call the FBI.  What we have here is one of those there scientists killed in the air crash.

But the crash was twenty miles away.

I know.  Let the FBI work that one out.

********

Deep in thought Alpha was oblivious to the discussions and introductions of those around him.  The slight sensation of movement in what appeared to be a typical conference room with a gathering of business leaders was the only clue to the deception.   But this was by no means typical at any level.  The room was a cabin aboard US Air Force One and those gathered had control over the most powerful and wealthiest country in the world.  On his left sat Tini DeVirs, Head of the Syndicate, and on his right the President of the United States of America, James Adam.  Participating via a bank of video conference screens were the Syndicate leaders throughout the world including Valery Volodin who was in Russia.  The meeting had been called by DeVirs to enable Alpha to reveal the Syndicate’s new strategy since seizing power.  Now with the polite formalities over, all eyes were on him. 

He began in his deep southern drawl, We have changed.  Our organisations, the Russian and West Syndicates, have merged.  We hold greater power over the world than ever before.  However, today we have many challenges.  Our grip on power in the United States is relatively short with only two years before the next elections.  To ensure we hold onto this level of power in the future we must infiltrate other governments, powerful but less democratic nations.  We are evolving from the mentality of the hunter to the farmer.  We can now use our power and influence with little chance of detection to exploit the global population, no longer having to manipulate chaos to increase profits like a stalking hunter.  No, today we can farm our profits by infiltrating the world’s money markets.  To obtain maximum profits we need a more stable and peaceful world.  The wealthier the planet the wealthier we become.  Wars are bad for business.  Using our underworld contacts and techniques we will neutralise the most disruptive countries and organisations.  We are not hampered by democracy or idealism.  So we infiltrate and control, stabilising the political world to increase wealth, thereby ensuring a platform from which we will operate in the future.

Genius, genius, DeVirs cried, clapping her hands, with the others soon following. Now is there any other business? she asked once the applause had died.

What of the British couple, Tina and Luke Feakin? enquired Valery Volodin.

They should be monitored.  We only intervene if they pose a real problem.  We don’t want to inadvertently draw attention to ourselves, replied Alpha.

We shouldn’t underestimate them.

We won’t, Valery, Alpha continued, sounding a little irritated.  The slightest sign of trouble and we will snuff them out.

********

Hot grit blown up from the shoreline on the island of Socotra, off the coast of Yemen, irritated the Iranian as he tried to speak.  He spat on the ground to clear his mouth then, catching hold of a loose end of his headscarf, covered his lips.  He looked before him at a broken ship aground on the beach.  It had been cut neatly in half, the bridge and stern on their side propped up against the bow which sat upright facing away from the sea.  It was a surreal scene created by the blowtorches of a team of ship-breakers who, for reasons of their own, had abandoned the vessel to the elements.  Now resembling modern sculpture it was a caricature of its past.

It must be in there, he told his three companions.

Why do you trust them? he was asked.

They have served us well in the past.  If it hadn’t been for their support we would not have been able to make our glorious cause reach all corners of the globe as it has today.  I understand with this new consignment of weapons we will be able to create even greater terror in the hearts of our enemies and paralyse the West, both by action and fear.  These people are the source of our power.  That is why it is important that only us four know who they are, it is in all our interests.

We understand; however it is highly irregular for us to meet them like this.

I know but we live in dangerous times.  The people of the United States are still blaming us for the killing of their President.

If only we had.

Unsure of what lay ahead the men cautiously approached the wreck, passing beneath the intimidating huge stern which shielded the sun casting a shadow over the open wound of the decapitated bow.  Slowly, as their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they could make out a lone figure.  The Iranians simultaneously produced handguns from within their robes, training them on the stranger. They drew closer and it became clear that, though wearing traditional costume, he was not a local, for from beneath his headscarf a clump of unruly blonde hair was visible.  Aware of their growing concern the stranger addressed them, No need for that, he said in a strong Swedish accent.  We are all on the same side, aren’t we?   When there was no reply he continued, We are all victims of the Western oppressors.  When there was an attempt to detonate a nuclear device in Morocco we got the blame, brothers.  Now with the death of their cold-hearted President, again we have been accused.  With these weapons which I bring you, he said as he gestured towards the dark cavernous opening inside the bow, You will be able to reap our revenge.

There was no movement by the four as they continued to aim their guns at him.

Who are you?  You are not our usual contact, one of the Iranians asked.  Another interrupted,

We know you claim to be an arms dealer but you certainly don’t look like one.

I am Aake Eld, sickened by capitalism and the West’s growing influence in the oil producing areas of the Arab States; I decided to make a stand.  I want to help.

You are just like all the rest; you just want to make a profit.

No, I offer you these for free, he replied, raising his voice.  Come closer, look and see what we have for you.  Each of you, as leaders of the most feared terrorist cells in the Middle East, will with these weapons be able to inflict a devastating blow on the corrupt western capitalist states.  Come brothers, let’s embrace the future together.

The four Iranians lowered their weapons and ventured forward, only to be met with rapid fire from six machine guns.  Blood spouted as the projectiles from the weapons pounded into their flesh.  In the confines of the rusted hulk the air filled with gunsmoke, obscuring the grotesque spectacle from their assailants.

Hold your fire.  Mr Compton won’t be happy if we waste our bullets,   Eld ordered as he emerged into the daylight followed by six armed men in black jumpsuits and blackened faces, who had been hiding in the darkness behind him.  His soft voice was soon drowned out by the sound of a helicopter as it skimmed across the beach, landing just metres from the ship.  He raised his voice above the din, Grab the bodies, we will dispose of them out at sea.

********

With her dodgers that clearly displayed her name in large letters stowed below deck, Luke hoped Ria’s identity would be safe from prying eyes.  Daylight had broken and he could see La Corbière lighthouse on the extreme south western point of Jersey.  Tina was below studying the chart which lay across the mahogany saloon table.  Brittany was just fifty-two nautical miles away.  The tides around here were huge; at thirteen metres the highest in Europe.  All the inlets and rivers dried out at low tide except for the River Rance, protected from the natural tidal cycle by the barrage, a hydro electric power station which spanned the river from St Malo across to Dinard.  The only way to enter the river was via a large sea lock which, when opened, brought the road traffic crossing the barrage to a standstill.  So that was where they were headed.  Luke had programmed the waypoints into the plotter and ‘Bertie’, the autohelm, was now steering them towards it.  With nothing else to do Tina joined Luke in the cockpit.  A strong wind from the north filled both of Ria’s sails.  With a force 4 behind them, the main set to port and the foresail to starboard, it was exhilarating, smashing into the steep waves lining up before them as fine spray moistened her decks. 

Balanced on the edge of the horizon was a sight which filled Luke with excitement.  He grabbed his telescope then smiled with delight.

It’s a square rigger, a triple masted barque, he declared, handing the telescope to Tina.  The romantic yearn for yesteryear, forgetting the harsh reality of today, was compelling.

She looks so beautiful, Luke.  She is sailing out from the direction of St Malo.

We should get a better look at her in about twenty minutes; she appears to be coming our way.

In their excitement both momentarily forgot the problems they had.  It was a glimpse of normality and what they should be doing in their retirement; having fun.

Majestically the old ship sailed closer towards them.  On a broad reach her port side would pass Ria’s bow.  Both her main and mizzen masts had all but the royals flying from their yardarms.  Two headsails hoisted from the bowsprit forced her down and into the waves.  The tourists aboard waved and shouted at the sight of Ria.  For one eleven year old the small yacht with her sails bellowing and the island of Jersey in the background was too good a photo opportunity to miss.  She zoomed in with her smartphone for a better view of the crew, then without a moment of hesitation posted her pictures on the internet to her friends.  The wonder of modern technology, thought her proud parents.

Gracefully the square rigger passed by, slicing effortlessly through the water.  The sight of her stern, with its gaff rigged spinnaker sail reaching out from the jigger mast, began to blur as she gradually shrank into the distance and slowly Luke and Tina’s minds were brought back to their current predicament.  For them there was no longer the joy of a carefree sail or the innocence of not knowing. 

********

Compton stepped from an elevator hidden deep below the ground, just a few miles from the outskirts of Washington DC.  Here in the Syndicate’s control centre, known simply as Control, lay an array of computers and monitors manned by the Syndicate’s personnel.  Since the infiltration of Alpha as the head of the CIA, under the pseudonym of Al Phillips, the amount of data links within Control had quadrupled.  Alpha had brought a team of Syndicate technicians to join the computer maintenance department within the CIA’s Directorate of Intelligence Office based in their headquarters at Langley, Virginia.  The access afforded to the technicians had enabled them to link direct feeds of intelligence into Control’s database.  Now whatever the CIA observed or influenced so could the Syndicate.  Every piece of electronic data was screened and sometimes changed without anybody from the outside world knowing.

Compton had had his demons.  Broken by the strain of responsibility in a role beyond his capability he was indebted to Alpha who had supported him in his depths of depression.  Later Alpha had shown trust and confidence by making him Head of Control.  Compton was determined not to let Alpha down.

He climbed the steel staircase leading to his office which overlooked the activities below, the sound of hurried footsteps not far behind him.

Sir, the mission, an enthusiastic voice blurted out.

Ian, can’t it wait till I get to my desk?

Ian Bleksley, a young man in his early twenties possessing a sharp analytical mind, was clearly embarrassed and stopped in his tracks, waiting whilst Compton proceeded to his chair.

Well, come in then.

Sorry about that, Sir.  I have news of the mission and also...

One thing at a time, Ian.  Was the mission in Socotra a success?

Aake Eld and his team have disposed of the four most influential terrorist leaders in the region.  It will take their cells some time to reform before they pose any significant threat.

And the bodies? enquired Compton.

Food for the fishes I believe.

Good, we must now starve their organisations from obtaining weapons; all outstanding contracts between them and the Syndicate will cease.  We no longer deal with terrorists; it is bad for business.  Talking of which, have you managed to obtain the Central Bank’s dealing codes?  It is time we did some farming, as Alpha would say.

We are still working on it, Sir.

Very good.

He turned and was about to leave the room when Compton asked, I thought you had something else to say?

Bleksley blushed, Oh, I am sorry.

Ian, you have a brilliant mind but you would be no good at poker, Compton laughed.

Thank you Sir ... I think?  We ran a filter over the internet searching for keywords or images that corresponded to Ria, Luke, Tina, Feakin, Macwester 26.

I don’t have to hear the entire list or the techniques you performed.  What have you discovered?

"We have located them.  We