"No talking," Danilov said in his limited English.

They reached the gates the articulated lorry had come through and Dennis was shoved forward again. He turned. The Russian, Danilov, was towering over him.

"Look I don't know about your boss but I think you and I could be friends. We got off on the wrong foot back there," Dennis said extending his hand. Danilov spat on the hand.

"I guess not," Dennis said wiping his hand on his trousers.

Danilov drew back his fist and punched the journalist hard in the stomach knocking the wind out of him. Dennis sank to the floor unable to breathe. He reached out and grabbed a handful of Danilov's combat trousers but a well placed knee into his face sent Dennis spinning onto his back. He was coughing as the grinning Russian padlocked the gates and left him.

It was a full two minutes before the journalist felt strong enough to stand. He was still coughing and spat to clear his mouth. He unclenched his fist. In his hand was Danilov's I.D. card that had been attached to his trousers by a chain. Dennis put it into his jacket pocket and, rubbing his abdomen, left as quickly as he could.

"What the hell has happened to you?" Natalie asked startled at Peter Dennis' appearance. His right cheek was bruised. Of his ribs he felt sure at least one if not more were possibly broken.

They were on the bridge of the 'Volante'. Hutchinson and his team, Ali and the first mate. Dennis sat gingerly into a chair. His hand holding his side.

"I walked into a door."

"That was some door," Hutchinson replied.

"About six feet eight and 300lbs."

Natalie went for the first aid kit mounted next to one of the fire extinguishers. She opened it and began looking for something she could use for the scuff marks on Dennis' face. She took out some cotton wool and put some antiseptic liquid on it and dabbed the wounds.

"This might sting a little."

The first mate put a mug of steaming coffee down in front of him.

"Thank you," Dennis said, in between Natalie tending him.

"Do you need a Doctor or hospital?"

"No Jim. I'll be fine."

"As long as you're sure. Perhaps you'd care to tell us what happened. I'm assuming they caught you spying."

Dennis took a sip of the coffee and nodded.

"They did but not before I got some pictures and a short video."

"Is it any good?"

"I haven't looked at it yet."

"How did they catch you? I'm guessing they had patrols."

"Machine guns and dogs. I was out of sight when a message came through on my phone. It's my fault I should have put it on silent."

Dennis now looked at the message received. It was from Natalie. She was biting her bottom lip.

"Sorry. I just sent you a message to tell you that Tom had your jacket."

"And got me beat up."

"I didn't know you were going to break into their compound."

"It's all right. I know you didn't. It wasn't one of my better ideas."

Dennis undid his shirt so they could see the bruise forming over his ribs.

"That looks painful."

"A bit."

"I'm sorry Peter."

Natalie put out a finger and touched the reddening skin. Dennis gritted his teeth.

"If I can take your phone," Alex said, "I'll see if I can get the pictures and video onto a laptop.

Dennis passed his phone over.

"It's a good job I did have your jacket Tom. Your phone was in the pocket and they checked it. Luckily I was able to hide mine. They also went through your wallet I'm sorry to say. I don't think they took anything."

Tom checked it. They hadn't. He pulled out the I.D. card.

"Sergei Danilov."

"I managed to take that from the man who did this."

"That's all it says. Sergei Danilov and then a list of medication and blood group."

"Here is the video," said Alex. He'd found a suitable USB lead to fit the little SONY Ericson phone. The playback was grainy. At first in the dark between the containers the 1.3 mega pixel camera had struggled to focus. It left trails from lights as Dennis had moved it about. Then the 'Wavecrest' came into view. They could see that she was modern and much better equipped. The footage of the Lynx helicopter was very good.

"That chopper definitely looks new," Dennis said.

"It's also armed with the latest air to air missiles," Tom said pointing to the rockets.

"Where on earth would they get those," Hutchinson asked, "And where would they get such a helicopter? Are they Russian?"

"British," Dennis replied, "They're built by Westland at Yeovil in Somerset. Lovely part of the country."

The video briefly showed the bridge.

"They have all the modern communications devices," Tom said.

Abruptly the video ended.

"That's about it," Dennis told them, "I closed the phone when I heard footsteps and your message came through Natalie and alerted them."

"They beat you up?" Hutchinson asked.

"No they were with a another man. I'm sure he's a Russian. Danilov, did you say Tom?"

Tom nodded and read the card again.

"Sergei Danilov."

"He held a knife to my throat and called for, presumably, his boss. I don't know."

Dennis finished his coffee before continuing.

"Then a man in a white suit interrogated me. Right there on the dock. I thought they may have taken me inside their ship but they didn't. He just spoke to me, checked your wallet and phone Tom which he obviously thought was mine. I told him I was a ship nut."

Hutchinson looked puzzled.

"You know. Like a bus nut or train nut. Someone who's interested in ships. I thought it was funny but he didn't. Then they marched me out of the gate and this Danilov hit me in the stomach and I tell you what. It's the hardest I've ever been punched and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I mean if we're up against them I don't know who is going to take him on."

"Well let's take a look shall we," Tom said entering the name into a search engine.

"I doubt very mucha." Hutchinson began.

"Found him," Tom said.

They all looked, startled, at the screen.

"Sergei Danilov," Tom said. He double clicked on an image and brought the Jpeg up to full size. It showed a bald headed man with sharp features.

"Is that him?" Tom asked, turning the laptop towards Dennis.

"It was dark but I think so."

"Sergei Danilov," Tom began reading, "Born 9 October, 1970 0r 71, Chernobyl, Russia. Father, postmaster, mother a textile factory worker. Spouse, if any, unknown. Became a lieutenant in the army. Fought in Afghanistan. Lost two fingers on his right hand when a member of his squad trod on a landmine. By the time of the Iraq invasion of 2003 he was a Major with Spetsnaz, Russian special ops working with coalition forces. Wanted by the FBI and CIA for questioning following the suspicious death of a U.S. marine killed in Baghdad and the deaths of four Iraqi civilians. Also wanted by the British for a bungled mission that left three SAS dead in Basra. Is a suspected mercenary and has a price of $500,000 U.S. on his head."

Tom looked up from the laptop.

"He's not a very nice man."

"The question is? What is he doing here in Tunisia on board a research vessel?"

"There's something else," Dennis added, "The man in the white suit."

They all looked at him.

"There's something familiar about him."

"You've met him before?" Natalie asked.

"No I don't think so. I just feel that I know him."

Hutchinson stood up to his full height.

"I think Captain Ali that it's time we alerted the Tunisian navy of our unfriendly visitor."

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

The divers entered the water in pairs as usual. Peter Dennis' ribs were still too sore following the punch he'd received. A doctor in Gabes had yesterday diagnosed the possibility that his ribs were probably cracked, possibly broken. He had wanted to send Dennis to a hospital in Tunis for x-rays but Dennis had refused due to the lack of time the team could afford. He had been prescribed with strong painkillers and had been told to stay out of the water until at least the bruising had gone. Dennis was furious. He knew it would be at least a week. This morning he had tried to convince them that he was fit enough and after an argument with Natalie Hutchinson had invited him to suit up.

On his own.

Without help.

Dennis had put on a show of bravado, for their benefit mainly, but as he'd swung the oxygen tank over his shoulder to put it onto his back the pain from his ribs had made him gasp and he'd dropped it.

"You're not fit enough," Natalie had said.

"No I just didn't have the right grip that's all."

"Nice try," Natalie said.

Finally Hutchinson had ruled against the journalist and a dejected Peter Dennis watched once again as the diving team disappeared beneath the waves. Natalie pairing with one of the ship's crew.

The dive was for a little known wreck. The *Volante' had it marked on the chart only as a question mark. At one hundred and seventy feet the divers found the seabed. At first the team found it dark but after a while their eyes became adjusted. The water at this depth appeared deep blue. Starfish crawled along the sea floor. Apart from them it appeared to be devoid of life.

Above on the ship Peter Dennis, Jim Hutchinson and the Captain watched the monitors. The one they were most interested in showed an ordnance survey style mapping of the seabed. At the edge of the screen the lines ran out.

"That is deep ocean, just there," Ali said, "Now, the wreck the divers are going to be working on is sitting, sort of perched on a rocky outcrop. Little is known about it. It hangs over very deep water."

"How deep?" Hutchinson and Dennis asked at the same time.

"It is believed to be over six hundred feet. No one has ever bothered to investigate it because it is considered to not be of interest or importance. The Tunisian navy and of course merchant shipping are aware of its position so they avoid it but apart from them I don't know that its ever been touched, certainly not by treasure seekers."

"Can you bring up any more information on any of the monitors?"

"Information?"

"Can you improve any of the images? Get us closer."

"I'll try, Ali said.

He began clicking with a mouse and typed some key words in on a keyboard. It brought the graph up larger on the screen. Hutchinson leaned in closer.

"The distortion you can see is the shipwreck itself."