Blood Prize by Ken Grace

eliminate the chance of capture as a group.
    Tom considered the logistics of transporting seven wanted activists on a journey of around eleven thousand miles, without anyone noticing.
    He nodded to himself and mumbled his growing admiration for their leader.
    Noah, you’re very bloody clever.
    Tom’s group set out first, travelling overland on a range of country roads and lanes, towards South Wales. They utilised an old grey Land Rover for the trip; the vehicle left purposely dirty with dried faeces splattered over the fenders and wheels. Only a farmer drove such a vehicle. Noah registered the four-wheel drive in the name of Tait & Sons Pty Ltd; a fictitious farming business with a genuine address.
    The deceased estate, entitled, John’s farm, a legitimate property and residence, lay on the Wells Road, in Totterdown, just south of Bristol. Noah instructed Petra to hack the UK Births, Marriages and Deaths database and swap the previous owner’s title with their own. With slightly less difficulty, she also hacked into the UK Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency and repeated the process.
    After an incident free drive, they arrived at their destination early, then spent twenty-five minutes waiting in their vehicle in a side street, not far from the port of Cardiff. Ten minutes before the scheduled departure, a representative of the Alexander Line approached Noah.
    “Theodore, you old goat. It’s good to see you.”
    “Ah, Noah, I didn’t recognise you with that barrel above your balls.”
    Tom could imagine the two men getting drunk together and sharing bawdy stories in some seedy bar.
    “Theo, this is Tom Fox.”
    He looked at Tom; evaluating him from head to foot, before nodding without enthusiasm.
    “We haven’t much time. Follow me.”
    Theodore ushered them aboard a freighter, bound for Istanbul, via Italy and Greece. Tom followed the group down several stairwells and as many corridors to a tiny cabin in the bowels of the ship.
    “You don’t have to worry about being noticed. As you can see, there are no portholes and no-one will hear you above the noise of the engines. Farewell and good luck, my friends.”
    Tom heard the metallic click as Theodore left the cabin.
    They locked the door …?
    “At least we’ll all drown together, if this old bucket sinks.”
    No-one responded. No-one heard him above the noise.
     
     
    _____________
     
     
    At one point in the seemingly endless journey, Tom saw Noah check his watch, stand and then gather his rucksack. Almost immediately, there came a knock on their cabin door and without being bidden, a sailor entered.
    The man led the group back up to the starboard gunwale where Noah checked his watch once more.
    “It’s five past bloody seven. Where are they? They’re late.”
    Tom heard a low growling noise out through the darkness and felt Noah’s hand on his shoulder.
    “Alright, Tom, you’ll be the first to be lowered down. Then Petra. I’ll come down last.”
    Tom swung out into the darkness. Half way down he could hear men below him radioing instructions to the sailors at the top. The ocean remained calm and the operation smooth. They repeated the process until they all stood together aboard what appeared to be a large speedboat with a wooden hull.
    They shared the boat with three other men. Tom overheard Noah referring to them as the Corsicans; one in the bow at the controls, while the other two guarded the stern. Both carried automatic weapons.
    For most of the trip, Tom didn’t see much of anything, except darkness and the occasional dot of light. After an hour of travel, Noah grabbed his shoulder and shook him.
    “Tom, we’re heading into the Strait of Bonifacio. There’s to be no light of any kind and no talking, alright?”
    Tom nodded; too cold to speak.
    “There may be other boats and we don’t want to be seen. We’re pretty close to the bottom of Corsica, but we’ll be travelling in Italian waters. We’re staying just off the northern tip of