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Explosive Voyage
Explosive Voyage
Explosive Voyage
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Explosive Voyage

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Somalian Pirates,Semtex and sumptuous women are all included in this new novel.
Six wealthy men, who were friends at university, embark on a retirement voyage to Hong Kong aboard a luxury yacht. Trouble ensues by the time they reach Gibraltar.
Smuggling explosives and adultery also abound in the plot.Cyclones and expensive horses lead to its disastrous conclusion in Hong Kong

LanguageEnglish
Release dateAug 26, 2011
ISBN9781465811134
Explosive Voyage
Author

Richard F Jones

I was born in Wales, but have lived in Spain, Majorca, the western highlands of Scotland and the Wye Valley.My books are mostly set in the places where I have had homes. These include ten published paperbacks and eleven e-books.I append below a review from Mr Derek J Edwards of my novel, 'Time on their Hands'.'I could not put this book down. It was full of interesting characters, with twists and turns in every chapter. I will certainly be looking for other novels by Richard F Jones. 'You can check Amazon Kindle for the authenticity of the review.

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    Explosive Voyage - Richard F Jones

    EXPLOSIVE VOYAGE

    by

    RICHARD F JONES

    To my wife Meg and our friends Ken and Dee, whose tireless efforts made the publication of this book possible. And Derek Hayford whose dream inspired the story.

    SMASHWORDS EDITION

    © 2013 Richard F Jones. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

    Smashwords Edition License Notes

    The ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

    ISBN: 978-1-291-56832-5

    To avoid any confusion I append below pen pictures of the central characters in this book

    Charles Meredith is a millionaire who made his fortune in telecommunications. His wife Alicia is a glamorous blonde woman whose family background is horses. Charles is the owner of the yacht ‘Miranda’, named after his daughter, on which the voyage takes place. He owns expensive property in the South of England and Hong Kong.

    Billy Tennant is tall, with film star looks that attract women. His current wife, Karen, is his second. None of the others know exactly what Billy does to earn his living. It could loosely be described as import/export. He has a plush office complex in Milton Keynes and owns many investment properties.

    Robert Shaw had been a trader of Financial Futures in London. His annual bonuses were legendary and ran into millions. His wife’s name is Dorothy.

    Lawrence Firmin is an architect, married to Jennifer. Many of the city centres around Britain are dotted with buildings he has designed.

    Damien Smith used to own garages and car showrooms around London and the South of England. He has a blonde, nubile young wife called Angelina, who used to be a fashion model.

    Justin Leadbetter made his money in pop music, fashion boutiques, radio stations and web sites. His wife’s name is Jennifer.

    EXPLOSIVE VOYAGE

    PROLOGUE

    ‘What the hell's that?!’ Damien shouted. They all turned to look. Through the gloom, about sixty metres away, riding one of the massive waves, was another vessel, part sail, part motorised. A mast on the stern displayed a Somalian flag.

    ‘Oh bloody hell,’ Justin said.

    ‘Pirates?’ Billy questioned.

    ‘Could be,’ Zachary responded.

    Nathaniel grabbed the binoculars. 'There's a big whaling gun on the foredeck,' he said, then handed the bins to his father.

    'They're a long way from home,' Zachary responded, as he fiddled with the focusing.

    'They’ll reckon there’s a good chance, in this weather, of catching out a few unsuspecting travellers, blown off course like us,’Nathaniel said.

    'What the hell do we do now?' Damien shouted.

    'We could jump overboard and try to swim for it, but I don't recommend it,' Nathaniel replied with a snarl.

    Zachary said, 'If they are pirates they may not be interested in us. We don't exactly look like rich pickings.'

    'Let's hope you're right,' Billy responded.

    They could see the name ‘Sara’ in bold letters on the side of the other vessel's foredeck.

    'She's coming this way,' Nathaniel said next.

    'Oh Lord,' Damien responded.

    'Just keep calm,' Zachary said. 'There's no way they could board us in this sea.'

    Very slowly, the Sara closed in on the Addela at a forty five degree angle. Gradually she caught them up and then cruised parallel to them at a distance. Both boats continued to roll precariously in the incessant waves.

    'Go away you bastards,' Billy shouted out and shook his fist. Nathaniel looked at him disdainfully.

    Then the cockpit door of Sara opened and out stepped a tall, thin, dark skinned man, wearing a yellow oilskin top. He was attached to a lifeline. From inside someone passed him a rifle.

    'What the bloody hell now?' Billy said. His question was answered almost instantly. The man pointed what appeared to be an AKM assault rifle in the air, aimed it over the top of the Addela, and fired off two rounds.

    'Christ almighty!!' Damien exclaimed as he subconsciously ducked his head. 'They're going to kill us. Have we got any guns?'

    * * * * *

    The recent history of Somalian pirates goes back to the early part of the twenty first century. Many of them are ex-fishermen who claim they have been unable make a living because of illegal fishing and the dumping of toxic waste in their coastal waters by foreign vessels. They maintain they have no national coastguard and therefore have to take on this role themselves. They say any ransom money received is used to renovate their rapidly degenerating coastal towns, and provide water, electricity, education and alternative work facilities for the local inhabitants. While some of this is true, it also a fact that massive crime syndicates have flourished there as a result of pirating. There are many instances of dollar billionaires, building and living in Hollywood style mansions out of the proceeds. Providing the armaments and weapons associated with the trade has also become a major industry along the coast.

    * * * * *

    My work as an MI6 agent brought me into this story about a third of the way along. There is however, a thread running through that relates to my childhood.

    As a youngster I was often taken to the home of one of my eccentric distant aunts. Vividly I remember it as a rambling, nineteenth century country mansion, set in endless acres of parkland. When we visited, my brother, my sister and I were all allowed to play with freedom within its vast boundaries. We swam in the lake, scrambled up the steep slopes and foraged amongst the trees and gardens, searching for the secrets of life. There were deer in the woods, swans on the lake, sheep and cattle in the parkland and donkeys, goats and horses in separate enclosures around the farm.

    My aunt, who we only knew as Aunt Beth, was a dowager something or other; I don’t remember her exact title. To us kids she appeared to be very wealthy with many servants and farm employees, constantly at her beck and call. She always wore beautiful clothes and her hair was immaculately coiffured. Years later I found out that she wasn’t wealthy at all. Her husband, Lord whatever his name was, had died a few years before and the estate was virtually bankrupt.

    What I remember most about my visits was Aunt Beth’s magnificent grey stallion. ‘You must come and see Rock, he’s in top form,’ she used to say almost as soon as we arrived. ‘He’s a Grullo stallion you know,’ she would always add with a sparkle in her eyes. To us kids that made him sound very famous and important, although what it actually meant was a complete mystery. All I remember was that he was the most magnificent horse I had ever seen, he looked enormous. What caught my eye though was the grace and athleticism of his muscular grey body. Aunt Beth used to be able get him to rise up on his back legs, by twirling her arm in the air. His front feet would kick out and he’d whinny loudly.

    Later in life I discovered that the word Grullo refers to the colour of the horse not an actual breed. It originates from the Spanish word ‘grulla’, which refers to a slate-grey crane. In America there is a breed known as Quarter Horses, which are sometimes called Grulla or Grullo. They are low slung, stocky animals and, in the early days of the west, cattle ranchers and drovers used them. The way to tell a Grullo is not only the existence of a grey or a tan grey body, but also it’s markings, which include a dark face, cobwebbing around the eyes, dark mottling on the body, dark ear tips and tiger striping on the legs. Rock however, was completely grey and that’s what made him stand out in my memory.

    Little did I know then that many, many years later such a horse would play a prominent role in these proceedings.

    CHAPTER ONE

    Before I start to relate this tale I should stress that I know nothing about boats, yachts or sailing ships of any description, being a complete layman in that context. All the details I describe in this story about any form of boat have been passed on to me by the main participants.

    Six young men, friends while studying at Bristol University, had since all become very wealthy. All of them were married; two of them twice. They all had grown-up children and lived in expensive homes in the South of England. They were not close friendships, but over the years, since University, they’d kept in touch, mostly by phone, or e-mail. Occasionally there was a weekend soiree get-together at one of their costly residences. Then, wine, champagne, caviar, gossip, and more particularly the bragging rites would flow. In time jealousy crept in and the relationship cracks began to show. One wife was more beautiful; somebody’s working life was easier; someone’s kids were brighter at school. Flashy expensive motor cars were another bone of contention. You know, the usual things wealthy middle class people niggle about.

    By the time they reached their late forties each one of them had made enough money to retire on. Their businesses had been sold for cash and all of them had taken a back seat in their particular empire. So, to some extent, time was on their hands. It was at one of their weekend get-togethers that the idea for their adventure was hatched.

    ‘You know I’d love to sail the yacht down to Hong Kong,’ Charles Meredith said to the five other men who were gathered in a group, clutching iced drinks, around the swimming pool of his vast Hampshire home. Sunlight glinted on the rippling water in front of them, where five of their offspring were involved in a noisy, competitive game of water polo. Alicia, Dorothy, Demelza and Jennifer, four of their wives, were sat on the other side of the terrace laughing at the kids antics. Angelina and Karen were inside, in the kitchen, exchanging vicious gossip.

    ‘I spent all that money on the damn thing and I’ve never sailed it anywhere exciting or exotic,’ Charles added, referring again to the yacht. He’d made his particular pile in telecoms. Two years back he’d sold out to BT.

    ‘Would she get that far,’ Billy Tennant responded about Hong Kong. Billy was tall and dark-haired with film star looks and a permanent suntan. None of the others were actually sure how Billy had made his money. He was self-employed, with a flash office, situated in a business complex at Milton Keynes. That was for sure. There were four permanent staff, but a lot of other people appeared to pass through that building who nobody knew much about. For tax purposes Billy’s business was classed as Import and Export. He also owned his own Cessna aircraft.

    ‘She’s designed to sail anywhere in the world,’ Charles replied to Billy’s question about his seventy foot yacht, ‘Miranda', named after his eldest daughter.

    'But could you sail it around the world,' Billy pursued, while rotating the remains of his gin and tonic around in the bottom of the glass.

    ‘Oh yes. I’ve got all the certificates, navigation everything. Never used them in real anger though, except to sail down to the Med. Never had the time before,’ Charles paused, then added, ‘till now.’

    ‘But wouldn't you need a proper crew to go as far as Hong Kong?’ Billy said.

    ‘That’s true,’ Charles replied.

    ‘Could we all crew it for you?’ Robert cut in. Robert Shore had been a trader of financial futures in the City of London. His annual bonuses were legendary and ran into millions. He was a short rotund man, with greying hair and dark brown eyes that flashed around a room like two car spotlights.

    And so the seed was sown.

    * * * * *

    The original plan was to devote three months to the voyage. Charles, who owned a house in Hong Kong wanted to stay on there afterwards to explore some business opportunities. Billy, Damien Smith and Justin Leadbetter decided that they wanted to fly back to the UK after they’d spent a short period of recuperation on the island. Damien used to own a chain of Ford garages around London. Justin had worked in anything and everything. He’d begun as a pop music promoter, dabbled in fashion stores and web sites, as well as radio stations and property. The other two members of the crew, Lawrence Firmin and Robert Shore would sail back with Charles on the Miranda, or at least that was the original plan. Lawrence had made his money as an architect. Many city centres throughout Britain were littered with examples of his work. Other members of the immediate families had agreed to help crew with various stages of the journey home.

    For five months before they embarked on the voyage, the six men spent their weekends on the Miranda, learning the aspects of crewing a sailing yacht. She was docked at Falmouth and they used the Admiral’s Inn, near the harbour, as a base. A professional yacht skipper was employed to help with the training. The Miranda was seventy feet long with a draft of nine feet. She’d cost the best part of a million quid. There were eight berths, in five separate cabins, all with en-suite. The joinery was in light American oak. Pushing buttons could set the mainsail. The Hood rollaway main was hydraulically driven. The outhaul electrically controlled, as are the winches. Most of the gear could be set from the cockpit, which was large and comfortable. The lounge was spacious with panoramic views. The master suite had a Queen size berth with settee. Mostly, during training they sailed in the Channel, but before they finished the occasional trip to France was ventured to test their sea going ability. Robert and Lawrence also attended evening classes to learn the rudiments of seamanship and basic navigation. The other three were not quite so diligent but they did involve themselves enthusiastically at the weekends.

    So, by the time they were ready to sail they had all had acquired a limited amount of skill in the rudiments of sailing. Their plan was to sail eastward through the Med to the Suez Canal and then across the Indian Ocean to Hong Kong. Their ladies would fly out to join them for a stop somewhere in the Eastern Med, and again when they reached their destination at Hong Kong. I repeat, money was not a problem for any of them. The boat was overhauled, refitted to modernise the navigation facilities and loaded to the rafters with provisions. They planned a first stop at Gibraltar to restock.

    Their embarkation date was set for the second week in May. There were last minute panics, minor medical problems, and more than the odd tantrum or disagreement, but by the twelfth of May they were ready to go. Their six wives and assorted children watched and waved as the Miranda drifted slowly away from the Discovery Quay at Falmouth harbour, around Pendennis Castle, and out into the channel.

    CHAPTER TWO

    Despite all the modern labour saving equipment, it was a busy and tiring first few days on board the Miranda. Their practice outings hadn’t really prepared them for the Bay of Biscay with a gale up. By the end of each four hour shift every one of them was exhausted. They worked in groups of three. Charles or one of the other two, who had some navigation training, would always be on each watch, although they all took turns at the helm.

    For the most part they got along. They were too active to do much else. Male bickering and one-upmanship was of course prevalent. Most of it though was the sort of banter any group of blokes would indulge in.

    During those early days though Charles did spot that Billy, Justin and Damien often went into a private huddle together. It was nothing really tangible. To begin with he wondered perhaps if over the years they had just become closer pals. Billy and Damien also worked on the same shift together and shared the same cabin. But he didn’t want any cliques forming. Charles knew, on a boat like his, that you had to work as a team. The more he saw however, the more he convinced himself that something might be going on. When they were in one of their huddles, they never laughed or joked, as they did the rest of the time. And occasionally, one of them would look across at the rest of the crew to see if they were listening in. If somebody came near they’d curtail their conversation.

    Throughout those first few days the weather in the Bay was unpleasant. On deck all of them wore lifelines. The boat was big enough to cope with the condition, but each of them showed their inexperience. All of them, except for Charles were seasick. Gradually though, in varying degrees, they began to acquire the traits of mariners.

    One night, in the dark early hours, Charles was on watch with Lawrence, watching rain filled clouds scudding across the sky. ‘Have you noticed anything about Billy, Damien and Justin?’ he said quietly to Lawrence. Lawrence possessed a tall stocky body, a large head, blue eyes and a shock of thick, white hair.

    Lawrence turned to look at him. ‘They’re all beginning to smell,’ he replied, ‘but then again I expect I am as well.’

    Charles chuckled. ‘No not that. Have you noticed that they often go into a huddle together over some private matter.’

    ‘Can’t say I have. Does it bother you? They’re all a few years younger than us remember. Maybe it’s a generation thing? They’re probably talking about sex.’

    Charles chuckled again. ‘I expect you're right. But would you keep an eye on it for me? I know we're all old mates, but apart from you, I suppose I don’t know any of the others that well. On a voyage like this a thousand things can go wrong.’

    ‘I’ll do that for you Charles,’ Lawrence said. ‘Anyway how is your sex life?’

    ‘Oh for God’s sake don’t let's go into that.’

    * * * * *

    By the time they approached Gibraltar their days had developed into a pattern of work on watch, and then rest. The gales had tested them. Charles noticed as they got closer to Gib that there were more huddled conversations between the three younger ones; and they spent an increasing amount of time on their individual mobile phones.

    ‘Have you three got a secret you can share with the rest of us?’ he asked when his patience finally ran out. They were all together in the saloon. The faces of the three instantly looked sharply back at him.

    Damien replied, ‘I’m sorry Charles. It’s nothing that secretive. The three of us agreed to buy our wives expensive presents to compensate for our absence. Gib is the cheapest place to pick them up.'

    Charles nodded in response, but he wasn’t convinced. He mentioned it to Lawrence again when they were alone. ‘There you are, I told you it was about sex,’ Lawrence replied jokingly.

    They were all excited about entering Gibraltar. It’s a magical town with a great maritime history and a massive dockyard. The Miranda drew admiring glances as she entered the harbour. Spectators gathered on the quayside and watched as she came alongside. For days Charles had nagged them about the docking procedure. This was a class boat and he knew the onlookers would be taking note. Fortunately they’d practiced the routine repeatedly at Falmouth and to his pleasure they managed it without a hitch.

    It was mid-morning by the time they tied up. Charles went off immediately to see the harbourmaster and to arrange fresh supplies. Afterwards he went up to town. The three younger ones were also anxious to get ashore, so Lawrence and Robert agreed to remain on board as security watch. The Miranda would present an expensive target for potential thieves. Through the window of the harbourmaster's office, Charles spotted Billy, Damien and Justin hurrying across the quay.

    'I'm still worried about those three,' he said to Lawrence and Robert when he got back to the boat. For Robert’s benefit he reiterated his suspicions.

    'I think he's becoming paranoid,' Lawrence interjected.

    Robert looked puzzled. 'I don't know Lawrence,' he replied, 'I've been thinking the same thing myself, just didn't want to say anything in case I looked foolish. We haven't exactly been close buddies with them all these years and I don't think I'd trust Billy or Damien with my life savings or my wife for that matter.'

    Lawrence chuckled, Charles nodded his head, and they all agreed to keep a closer watch on the matter.

    It was late in the afternoon when the younger ones arrived back on board. They'd lunched in town, and according to them, had spent the rest of the time 'shopping'. Each of them was conspicuously clutching onto a well wrapped parcel. There were jokey comments about how much money it had all cost, but in response to enquiries there was no mention about the nature of the gifts. Robert, Charles and Lawrence just looked at each other. That evening they went out for a meal leaving the others on board to security watch.

    'I may be mistaken, but I’m beginning to smell a rat,' Charles said as they settled into a reasonable Chardonnay in a town centre restaurant. 'Those parcels worry me. Why wouldn't they tell us what they'd bought?'

    'It could still have something to do with sex,' Lawrence responded. 'These guys nowadays buy all sorts of things for their women folk. It could be sex toys or slinky underwear. Would you own up to that?' The other two laughed.

    'I wouldn't know what to get,' Charles responded with a chuckle. 'I'm still worried about it though.'

    'We'll keep an eye out,' Robert said while sipping at his wine. 'Don't worry too much Charles, up to now we've all got along quite well. Much better than I thought actually. It’s been a long time since we've worked with these guys. I did wonder if we'd get this far without a bust up. To me it seems they all work hard, and I don't think they've ever challenged any of your instructions.'

    'No, you're quite right,' Charles said. 'Perhaps I'm being too edgy. This trip has been on my mind for a

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