Chapter 6 Docks

Royal Chief of Staff Robinson oversaw many of the covert schemes for the Royal family, including a fleet of submarines docked within the cliffs of a rocky islet. Under Robinson's supervision, the submarine fleet served various purposes, including espionage, smuggling, and, if deemed necessary, the use of force to advance the Royal family's interests.

Robinson waited impatiently on the bitter, unforgiving rocks of the North Sea.

In the sky, clouds began to churn. The rhythmic chop of helicopter blades intensified, rumbling loudly as the aircraft descended unevenly through the mist.

The helicopter careened erratically between fog banks, its movements unsteady.

The pilot struggled to control the small aircraft against the relentless coastal gusts. It tilted and pitched. Finally, landing on the helipad, pebbles spun out from under its skids. After the rotors slowed, the side door slid open, and Magister Gulag disembarked.

He was Impeccably dressed with a receding hairline, carrying a Gucci laptop bag over his shoulder, marching toward Robinson.

"Why have you summoned me to this miserable place?" he demanded, gesturing around him.

"I see you have been rising through the ranks, Magister." Robinson's steady voice rose above the wind.

"It appears we have both risen to positions of increased authority. Though I find it amusing you still address me as you did when I was a mere boy at Eaton College, all those years ago."

"Maybe Gulag, but to the King, you are nothing more than a tool to carry out his plans. You wanted a seat at the table with the higher-ups. Now you must prove your worth," Robinson responded.

Gulag contemplated Robinson's words.

"Perhaps there is something in it for me. Show me the terms of your offer; we'll determine if our interests can align."

Robinson regarded Gulag as an unwanted pest in his territory.

"Follow me then!"

Both of them hiked along a narrow, unevenly hewn path carved into the cliffside, the rocks slippery underfoot, coated in guano from wheeling seagulls overhead. After about a hundred yards, the pathway narrowed further, sloping steeply, twisting out of sight in the shadow of the dominating cliffs.

A metal door poked out from the weathered rock face. The rusty steel bolts were heavily corroded from years of coastal elements battering against them, leaving rust-red stains trailing down in morbid streaks.

When Robinson pressed his hand against a discrete biometric scanner, he saw a flash of green light, sending metal bolts inside blasting back with a loud clank. Gulag followed him into a utilitarian passageway, treading on metal gratings. Dim utility lights lined the corrugated steel walls, revealing handrails wide enough for two people.

"We'll have to go through standard security screenings once we get through," Robinson said.

"Is that really necessary? You know who I am?"

"All the more reason to check you then isn't it!"

Gulag glanced sidelong at Robinson, one eyebrow lifting slightly. Grime and grease covered his hands from the handrails.

"I presumed my work was going to be managed in more luxurious surroundings!"

"You'll also need to surrender any electronic devices before passing through a full-body scanner."

Gulag grumbled under his resignation. "Whatever. Understood!"

After a quarter-mile trek through the twisting tunnel, they reached the security foyer, which segwayed onto a security checkpoint.

A conveyor belt noisily dragged bags through an X-ray machine. Industrial steel cables hung suspended, giving off a harsh neon glow. Scientists in white lab coats and engineers in stained blue overalls deposited their items on the conveyor. They then entered the full-body Siemens scanners. Armed guards eyed the workers like hawks from glass-windowed booths.

Gulag fished out his laptop and phone and placed them on the conveyor belt, along with his Gucci bag.

Once he was cleared. The scanner began to rotate around his torso. The circular aperture mapped his contours in 3D relief, revealing every detail.

"I would have expected the king's Chief of Staff to extend a more gracious welcome," Gulag snapped.

"The standard security procedures apply to all visitors, regardless of rank."

"Oh, I forgot you do not have a rank, do you, Gulag?" Robinson added wryly.

One of the guards came out of the booth, patting Gulag down, heightening his sense of irritability.

"I expect a faster clearance process considering my importance."

"I appreciate your self-importance," Robinson acknowledged.

Gulag's angular features were twisted.

"Spare me the formalities. We both know why I'm here. Your boss sees me as an asset, so let's skip the bureaucratic red tape bullshit, shall we?"

"Make no mistake. The king has given me full authority here. I do not tolerate insubordination."

Gulag's thin lips pressed into a scornful smirk at Robinson's blunt words.

Robinson proceeded through the security checkpoint, expecting Gulag to follow. Eventually, they reached the submarine docks housing the advanced fleet. The clanging of machinery, along with the shouts of workers, bounced off the concrete walls.

Gulag ran his hand along a dusty metal railing, cringing at the oily residue from the grease and dust that coated its surface.

Lit-up black subs docked at concrete piers stretching deep into the cavern.

The pungent stench of diesel fuel mixed with stale seawater and machine oil filled Gulag's lungs, nearly making him gag. Engineers worked feverishly over the vessels, checking systems on the state-of-the-art communication arrays, magnetic drives, and missile arrays. Cranes lifted fuel pods and torpedoes into hold hatches. Officers conferred over nautical charts.

"These submarines are the best in their class. The king spares no expenses when comes to his overseas operations," Robinson explained.

"They are far superior to anything that the Royal Navy can muster up! "

Gulag surveyed the whole operation with a degree of admiration.

"Impressive. I can see why you keep this place a secret."

Robinson pointed to the staff.

"These are the best scientific and engineering minds in the kingdom at work right here. Researchers spent decades creating this immense facility and the magnificent submarines you see here."

"Where do you source the personnel to operate all this?" Gulag inquired.

"They come from various backgrounds. We have contractors and experienced engineers. Many of the engineers previously served in the armed forces. Also, we have specialists recruited from abroad."

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"Recruits from abroad?" Gulag pressed.

"You mean defectors from other countries' military and intelligence agencies?"

"We require experts with a variety of unique skill sets. How we acquire that expertise is irrelevant."

Gulag contemplated Robinson's evasive response. This facility would be a valuable asset. If he could get his hands on it. The obstacle of Robinson would need to be removed first.

Putting on an air of faux sincerity, Gulag said.

"Of course, the ends justify the means. I merely sought clarification."

Gulag continued in a tone of oily flattery.

"Forgive my bluntness, Robinson. Your achievements here are truly remarkable."

Robinson acknowledged Gulag's words with a brief gesture.

"This way."

Robinson guided Gulag down a metal stairway to the berthing hold of a 60-foot Marks-Class submarine; the stairs vibrated from the nuclear reactor's hum under Gulag's feet.

"This is the black Mumba, one of our fastest attack spy subs."

Pride filled Robinsion's voice at the cutting-edge vessel.

"She's ready at a moment's notice."

Robinson forced open a thick bulkhead, releasing a gust of cool, machine-scented air, laddering them both inside the 'The Black Mumba. Beyond was a maze of machinery. Engineers tinkered, carrying out checks with readout sheets.

Gulag examined the complex control panels and monitored equipment with a keen eye.

"The work of capable hands, to be sure."

Robinson was facing Gulag now.

"It breaks my heart to say this, but all the capabilities of this facility are now at your disposal to advance your research. His Royal Highness sees something in you that I don't."

Gulag perked up with renewed interest.

"Such resources at my disposal could advance my research in ways I could have never dreamed possible!"

"We can convert these submarines, outfitting them with anything you require. All you must do is tell us what equipment you need, and we will provide it."

Gulag recklessly leaned onto a red button on one of the instrument control panels. An engineer noticed immediately.

"I wouldn't press that one if I were you. That activates the torpedo launch system!"

Robinsons, eyes widened in alarm.

"I knew this was a bad idea; I tried to tell him. You are way out of your depth with such machines of war!"

Gulag withdrew his hand snidely.

"Ah, where was I? With proper royal funding and manpower. I and the kingdom would reap untold benefits."

"These resources do not belong solely to you," Robinson said.

"They exist to further the king's agenda, of which your research is but one part. We pursue progress for the good of the kingdom, not any individual ambitions."

Disregarding Robinson now, Gulag observed the busy engineers onboard regarding them as his new servants, suddenly aware of his rising status. Robinson had his hands clasped behind his back, waiting impassively for Gulag's response. Gulag adjusted the pin on his lapel.

"Perhaps our interests do indeed align after all. Show me what else you have to offer; I believe we may prove useful to one another."

"We'll see," Robinson replied cautiously.

"There is more I can show you."

Once they were out of 'The Black Mamba'. Robinson escorted Gulag through a series of switchback stairs, away from the docking bay, higher into the compound, where they arrived at a long dorm room that was spartan at best.

It was full of men; some slept, and a couple played cards.

"This residential wing houses around fifty or so scientists and engineers," Robinson explained.

"We have a few women here kept separately for obvious reasons!"

Gulag glanced around disdainfully at the surroundings.

"These workers live like prisoners," he remarked.

Robinson shrugged. "It allows us to conduct our work with few disturbances."

Robinson checked his watch. "Come, I will show your lodgings."

Upon ascending another flight of stairs, they arrived at the quarters designated for higher-ranking officials.

"And this will be yours during your time here."

Gulag sneered. "This accommodation will hardly do. I require a suite befitting my status, with proper comforts."

"I'm afraid this is the best we can offer," Robinson said.

"Nonsense. I demand a suite with all modern conveniences—a warm study, a sitting room, and an en suite bath. Do not forget who will make the breakthroughs that advance your king's plans."

"Ah, let me fetch the brochure for the penthouse suite then, shall I? Will the platinum interior design set suit your lordship better?"

"Now you're talking, Robinson. I knew we'd come to an understanding."

"I will not arrange any special suite that is unreasonable. Extravagant quarters would breed resentment among the staff."

"Yes, yes, discretion and all that. Just be a dear and arrange the suite with all the proper comforts and mod cons, would you? I have important work that requires a peaceful atmosphere."

Robinson sighed. "I'll do what I can. Your lodgings will be secluded for privacy. Outwardly, you must blend in with the staff, but otherwise, you'll have access to the same facilities."

From the observation platform outside Gulag's living quarters. the personnel swarming over the submarines looked like ants from a higher vantage point.

Gulag studied the workers.

"Are they competent and discreet?"

"They are the best in their fields!"

"But are they killers? If things go wrong, I need men I can trust."

"These are scientists and engineers, not killers."

"But that is precisely why I was brought here," Gulag countered.

"To administer and strategize the gray areas, the dirtier sides of the job. You have the engineers and scientists; I bring a particular set of skills your king finds useful."

A hardened edge crept into Gulag's voice.

"I need the Bloodies back under my command. Those assassins will answer to me; I will orchestrate their missions from now on!"

"The king has been... pleased with the Bloodies' recent work. He may be reluctant to recall them from their current contracts."

Robinson shook his head.

"I cannot request their recall without a good reason."

"Either you bring back the Bloodies or we have no deal," Gulag demanded.

"Your personnel are inadequate for such an undertaking of this complexity and finesse."

Robinson considered Gulag's proposal.

"I will make the request. But a substantial amount from our funds will likely be required."

"Money is irrelevant now that I have some control over the royal kitty," Gulag retorted.

"I'll ensure the work furthers the king's goals by any means necessary, obstacles be damned."

"The king values your intellect, Gulag," Robinson replied, trying to control his rising tension.

"But do not mistake that for trust. Should your ambitions threaten the stability of the Royal crime cartel, I assure you, the king will put an end to it. He tires quickly of new playthings."

Gulag's expression tightened, though he kept his tone polite.

"A fair warning, Chief."

Gulag continued. "Now, Robinson, show me again how these vessels work. And send word to the Bloodies. I will need them back at our annual meeting at Buckingham Palace."

After enduring a few more rounds of frustrating negotiations with Gulag, Robinson then gave a succinct tour of the key features of the submarines and facilities, heading back to the rocky coastline once they had finished.

Robinson asked wearily.

"Is there anything else you require?"

Gulag paused in mock thought with a small smile.

"A jacuzzi in my quarters would be nice. And I need a 3D special effects artist."

"A jacuzzi? A 3D special effects artist, Gulag? This is not a movie set!"

"All work and no play. When was the last time you got laid?"

"I'd give up while you're ahead, Gulag!"

Robinson brought his new problem child back to the helipad. The helicopter pilot had been waiting patiently for him, ready to return him to the mainland.

"You have shown me very impressive resources today, Robinson."

Gulag extended his hand, which Robinson shook limply.

"With careful management, our partnership could work out to our mutual advantage for both of us."

"For the good of the kingdom," Robinson replied evenly, though he eyed Gulag with caution.

Gulag smiled. "Of course."

He turned towards the helicopter, not looking back, climbing aboard.

As the chopper began to rise, Robinson watched Gulag giving him an insubordinate wink.

The helicopter soon disappeared into the clouds, leaving Robinson alone on the rocks. He stared at the choppy waters. It was stirring and restless. Much akin to Gulag's unwelcome influence now that he was on his patch.

There was much to prepare before Gulag's return. With a resigned sigh, Robinson headed back inside the compound.