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Although the sovereign ownership of Edzell base never left the RAF, it was for years leased to the US Navy, even though it is miles from the sea. It is actually situated in the Scottish county of Angus, due north of Brechin and north-west of Montrose, on the southern threshold of the Highlands.
It lies well off the main A90 highway from Forfar to Stonehaven. The village itself is one of a thinly scattered number spread over a large area of forest and heather with the North Esk flowing through it.
The base, when the two executive officers went up to visit it, served all their purposes. It was as remote from prying eyes as one could wish; it contained two good runways with control tower, and all the buildings they required for the resident staff. All they needed to do was add the golf-ball shaped white domes hiding listening antennae that could hear the click of a beetle half a world away and convert the former USN Ops block into the new communications or comms centre.
Into this complex would be diverted links to GCHQ Cheltenham and NSA Maryland; direct and secure lines to Vauxhall Cross and Langley to permit instant access to Marek Gumienny and Steve Hill; and a permanent ‘feed’ from eight more intel-gathering agencies from both nations, prime among them the yield from America’s space satellites, run by the National Reconnaissance Office in Washington.
With permission granted, the ‘works and bricks’ people from the Royal Air Force went on a ‘blitz’ assignment to bring Edzell back into commission. The good folk of Edzell village noticed that something was afoot but with much winking and tapping of the sides of noses accepted that once again it would be hush-hush, just like the good old days. The local landlord laid in some extra supplies of ale and whisky, hoping that custom might revert to the level he had enjoyed before decommissioning. Otherwise, nobody said a thing.
While the painters were running their paintbrushes over the walls of the officers’ quarters of a Scottish air base, the office of Siebart and Abercrombie, in a modest City of London street called Crutched Friars, received a visit.
Mr Ahmed Lampong had arrived by appointment following an exchange of e-mails between London and Jakarta, and was shown into the office of Mr Siebart, son of the founder. Had the London-based shipping broker known it, Lampong is simply one of the minor languages of the island of Sumatra whence his Indonesian visitor originally came. And it was an alias, though his passport would confirm the name and his passport was flawless.
So also was his English, and in response to Alex Siebart’s compliments he admitted that he had perfected it while studying for his master’s degree at the London S
chool of Economics. He was fluent, urbane and charming; more to the point, he brought the prospect of business. There was nothing to suggest he was a fanatical member of the Islamist terrorist organization Jemaat Islamiya, responsible for a wave of bombings in Bali.
His credentials as senior partner of Sumatra Trading International were in order, as were his bank references. When he asked permission to outline his problem, Mr Siebart was all ears. As a preamble Mr Lampong solemnly laid a sheet of paper in front of the British ship broker.
The sheet had a long list. It began with Alderney, one of the British Channel Islands, and continued through Anguilla, Antigua and Aruba. Those were just the ‘A’s. There were forty-three names, ending with Uruguay, Vanuatu and Western Samoa.
‘These are all tax-haven countries, Mr Siebart,’ said the Indonesian, ‘and all practise banking secrecy. Like it or not, some extremely dubious businesses, including criminal enterprises, shelter their financial secrets in places like these. And these’ – he produced a second sheet – ‘are just as dubious in their way. These are merchant shipping flags of convenience.’
Antigua was again up front, with Barbuda, Bahamas, Barbados, Belize, Bermuda, Bolivia, Burma and Cambodia to follow. There were twenty-seven in this list, ending with St Vincent, Sri Lanka, Tonga and Vanuatu.
There were African hellholes like Equatorial Guinea, flyspecks on the world map like Sao Tome and Principe, the Comoros and the coral atoll Vanuatu. Among the more enchanting were Luxembourg and Mongolia, which have no coast at all. Mr Siebart was perplexed though nothing he had seen was news to him.
‘Put the two together and what do you come up with?’ asked Mr Lampong in triumph. ‘Fraud, my dear sir, fraud on a massive and increasing scale. And alas most prevalent of all in the part of the world where I and my partners trade. That is why we have decided in future to deal only with the institution renowned for its integrity. The City of London.’
‘Very kind of you,’ murmured Mr Siebart. ‘Coffee?’
‘Cargo theft, Mr Siebart. Constant and increasing. Thank you, no, I have just had breakfast. Cargos are assigned, valuable cargos, and then vanish. No trace of the ship, the charterers, the brokers, the crew, the cargo and least of all the owners. All hiding amidst this forest of different flags and banks. And far too many of them highly corrupt.’
‘Dreadful,’ agreed Siebart. ‘How can I help?’
‘My partners and I have agreed we will have no more of it. True, it will cost a bit more. But we wish to deal in future only and solely with ships of the British merchant fleet flying the Red Ensign, out of British ports under a British skipper and vouched for by a London broker.’
‘Excellent.’ Siebart beamed. ‘A wise choice, and of course we must not forget full insurance coverage for vessel and cargo by Lloyd’s of London. What cargoes do you want shipped?’
Matching freighters to cargoes and cargoes to freighters is precisely what a shipping broker does, and Siebart and Abercrombie were long-standing pillars of the City of London’s ancient partnership, the Baltic Exchange.
‘I have done my research well,’ said Mr Lampong, producing more letters of recommendation. ‘We have been in discussion with this company: importers of high-value British limousines and sports cars into Singapore. For our part, we ship fine furniture timbers like rosewood, tulipwood and padauk from Indonesia to the USA. This comes from North Borneo, but would be a part-cargo with the remainder being sea containers on deck with embroidered silks from Surabaya, Java, also bound for the USA. Here’ – he laid down a final letter – ‘are the details of our friends in Surabaya. We all agree we wish to trade British. Clearly, this would be a triangular voyage for any British freighter. Could you find us a suitable UK-registered freighter for this task? I have in mind a regular and ongoing partnership.’
Alex Siebart was confident he could find a dozen suitable Red Ensign vessels to pick up the charter. He would need to know vessel size, price and desired dates.
It was finally agreed that he would supply Mr Lampong with a ‘menu’ of vessels of the needed tonnage for the double-cargo and the charter price. Mr Lampong, when he had consulted his partners, would provide desired collection dates at the two Far Eastern ports and the US delivery port. They parted with mutual expressions of confidence and good will.
‘How nice,’ sighed Alex Siebart’s father when he told him over lunch at Rules, ‘to be dealing with old-fashioned and civilized gentlemen.’
If there was one place that Mike Martin could not show his face it was Edzell air base. Steve Hill was able to call into play the array of contacts that exists in every business called the ‘old boys’ network’.
‘I won’t be at home most of this winter,’ said his guest at lunch in the Special Forces Club. ‘I’m going to try and see a bit more of the Caribbean sun. So I suppose you could borrow the place.’
‘There will be a rent, of course,’ said Hill. ‘As much as my modest budget can afford.’
‘And you won’t knock it about?’ asked the guest. ‘All right then. When can I have it back?’
‘We hope to be there no longer than mid-February. It’s just for some instructional seminars. Tutors coming and going, that sort of thing. Nothing . . . physical.’
