He inhaled deeply again, this time leaving his chest out, and chin pointed. There was nothing more satisfying than giving a voice, and a strong arm, to creatures of the sea who could not defend themselves. Doing right, never felt so good. From the corner of his eye Olander saw the camera lift, following his every move. And doing right never looked so good. He fixed his expression. Annabel’s head also came up this time.

“Sir, we’re only a few miles out from the Slava.”

Olander nodded. “Signal Flying Bird-1, and we’ll commence our tandem approach.”

He looked down at the coils of the wrist-thick elasticized polymer rope. Whalers today had developed sharpened and armored propellers and bows to cut standard cables. But not this one. This one would bend and slide under the prow, and then find the props, wind around them and hang on, getting ever tighter.

He reached a hand out behind him. “Glasses.”

An expensive pair of polarized field glasses was handed to him, and he lifted them to his face. A warm smile spread there as he caught sight of his quarry – there she was, coming right at them out of the sinking sun – the Slava, a big, fat Russian whaler.

He turned, handing the glasses back. “Get ready people.” He put two fingers to his lips and whistled, loud and sharp. Flying Bird-1 veered in towards them, and one of his four crew handed across one end of the elasticized rope.

“Stay tight – on my word.” Olander’s mouth set in a firm line. In each of his dinghies, he had a crew of six: two would hold the rope, one would steer, one would film, and the others would be ready with stink bombs, paint and grappling hooks.

Olander grinned; today would be a good day. They were now within three hundred feet of the bow of the Slava.

“Now!”

The two craft split apart, and the rope stretched out between them. It was a colossal tripwire designed to hamstring ocean-going vessels. Flying Bird 1 and 2 dragged it, allowing more of the rope to feed out so it moved just below the water line. More bodies were called on to help, as the weight became a monstrous burden.

“Hold it, hold iiit!” Everything counted now on precision timing. They needed to maintain their grip and tension just long enough to ensure it went under the bow evenly, but not hold on long enough that one of their people could get dragged out.

Both dinghies passed each side of the whaler, losing sight of each other behind the huge steel hull. Olander had one arm raised in the air, and Annabel waited, walkie-talkie pressed to her lips and eyes round with excitement. He suddenly waved it down.

“Drop, drop!” Annabel yelled.