Stratton lay on his back, holding on to the line. He searched the nearest girders for signs of life. The wind and rain whipped through the structure in gusts and squalls, beating tirelessly against the metal. If there was someone hiding in the darkness above they would be invisible but they would also have to be holding on tight or lashed to a span. And if they were, they could not stay there for long. Stratton felt confident that the team was not being observed.
He pulled the grapnel launcher from around his neck, took hold of the stock and trigger grip and selected the ideal spar. The air-powered device had been primed since before they’d left the Chinook and Stratton removed the bungee that held the grapnel in place, checked that the line was free to uncoil and then removed the safety catch. He put the butt against his shoulder and raised the grapnel end skyward. The heavy sea made it difficult to maintain position long enough to get off an accurate shot.
‘Hold me!’ he shouted.
Rowena pulled herself to him and grabbed him from behind, her hands gripping his harness, her legs finning as hard as she could. Her head went under the water and she spluttered when she surfaced but maintained her grip. She would not be able to do it for long since the difficult position kept her head under the water more than above it. Well aware of her situation, Stratton quickly aimed once again. The angle was crucial. Too high and the wind might blow it back once it had reached its full length of cable. Too low and he risked hitting the span itself or having the grapnel fly beneath it.
He felt Rowena go under but waited until they rose to the top of a wave, reducing the distance to the span by a third. As she surfaced he fired.The butt of the launcher punched into his shoulder and they both went under the water. When they surfaced at the bottom of a trough, Rowena almost choking, they could see the all-important double cable lying over the span, the ends still attached to the launcher. The grapnel had got over the spar.
Stratton let go of the gun, kept hold of the lines and pulled on them as quickly as he could. The lightweight tungsten grapnel came out of the water up towards the span and one of the claws snagged hold of a corner. He gave it a firm jerk to ensure that it was secure. ‘Hand me your caving ladder,’ he said.
Rowena unhooked the rolled alloy ladder from her harness and handed it to him. Stratton attached the karabiner on the end of the ladder to the end of one of the lines and pulled down on the other. The line passed through a one-way device on the grapnel and the ladder rose out of the water towards the span.
Jason and Binning watched somewhat helplessly as they rose and fell on the swell. A huge wave slammed against the leg sending water cascading over them, the boom that it made sounding like thunder. It jolted the line powerfully and as Jason traced the cable back to the leg the dropping swell exposed it. To his horror he saw that it was fraying. ‘Stratton!’ he called. ‘The line!’
Stratton recognised the danger. He’d seen it before, a bad combination of extremely heavy seas and barnacles. They had to hurry. He released the line and it sank immediately with the weight of the launcher on the end of it. The lone caving ladder hanging from the spar was now their only way out of the water. Its end dangled in the water several metres away. It was across the tide, a high-risk quick burst away to bridge the gap. If he missed it he would float out to sea.
Stratton unhooked the karabiner that held him to the snag line, waited for the next trough and finned hard towards the ladder. As he came off the line Rowena got dragged closer to the leg by the greater weight of Jason and Binning.
Stratton caught hold of the ladder. ‘Binning,’ he called out immediately as he ripped his fins off and let them go. ‘You. Now. To the ladder. Let’s go.’
Binning did not hesitate. He unhooked himself and made a supreme effort to reach Stratton, which he did more easily than he had expected to. Stratton grabbed him at the same time with a free hand.
‘I’ve got it,’ Binning spluttered.
‘If you can’t carry your gear, hook it to the bottom rung of the ladder. We’ll haul it up later.’
Binning shook his head. ‘I’ll be fine.’
The climb. Not a simple affair in calm conditions. In a storm a bad dream. Requiring a combination of iron strength and real skill. In a heavy swell the trick was knowing when to begin.
‘Dump your fins,’ Stratton said. ‘Wait until we’re at the peak, then climb as fast as you can.’
‘The line’s going to break,’ Jason called out.
‘Move your arse!’ Stratton urged Binning.
As they rose up the next swell Binning unstrapped his fins, frantically wiggling them free, and at the same time struggled to grip the ladder. They went up as if they were on an escalator.
‘Grab high as you can! Now!’ Stratton shouted.
The wave peaked and Binning reached for the highest rung he could. When the water dropped he dangled like a fish on a hook, his hands bearing the weight of his body, suit and equipment. He fought to get a foot on a lower rung to take some of the strain from his fingers.
Some forty feet below him now, Stratton watched Binning cycling in the air. ‘Climb, Binning! Climb!’
If Binning did not gain a few feet before the top of the next wave arrived it would punch him off. He climbed for all he was worth. The peak struck his legs hard but he hung on.
‘Go!’ Stratton urged.
Binning focused his strength and as he closed on the span Stratton turned his attention to the others. ‘Disconnect together as I start my climb!’ he called out.
‘You ready?’ Jason shouted to Rowena.
‘Yes!’ she shouted.
The fraying line, however, was a second ahead of them and as Jason unclipped his karabiner the line snapped and both of them shot away from the leg.
Stratton was about to start his climb when he saw that Rowena wasn’t going to make it to the ladder. He slid down as the trough dropped away, grabbed hold of a lower rung and lunged in the direction of her track. Jason made the ladder and grabbed a firm hold on it that did not help matters. Rowena finned towards Stratton as hard as she could but as they stretched out their arms towards each other their fingers barely touched. She passed him by, staring at him, finning madly even though they knew it was hopeless.
The line attached to Rowena suddenly went taut. She was yanked to a stop as Stratton lurched towards her, twisting the line that he had managed to grab with his free arm while holding on to the ladder with the other. Jason made a grab for the line and together they began to win the battle of hauling her in.
‘Swim!’ Stratton shouted as a heavy swell suddenly put her above them.
Binning reached the top of the ladder and hauled himself over the span in time to see the drama below.
Rowena grabbed Stratton’s arm and pulled herself along it to his harness where Jason helped to hold her.
‘Climb!’ Stratton ordered him. ‘It won’t hold three of us for long!’
Jason ripped off his fins and as they went up the wall of water he grabbed the highest rung that he could reach. The swell moved on and when his foot found a rung too he climbed as quickly as he could.
‘Go!’ Stratton said urgently to Rowena before Jason had reached the top.
She gritted her teeth, then took a deep breath before ducking below the water to remove her fins. Stratton kept hold of her as they rose up the next wave and at its peak she surfaced, grabbed a rung of the twisting ladder and began to climb. She was strong and nimble, which Stratton was thankful for. He hung on for dear life as the water fell away beneath him. With the next swell, he followed behind her to the top.
Binning and Jason helped them onto the wide spar and when they were all secure the four of them remained seated for a moment to thank whatever gods might have helped to get them through the last hour.
Rowena looked across at Stratton, her breathing laboured. ‘Thanks,’ she said. It seemed difficult for her to say it.
He ignored her. There was no need for gratitude. It was what team members did for each other.
‘This might be an appropriate time to spare a thought for Smithy,’ Jason said.
‘I suggest you stay focused on your own lives,’ Stratton advised. ‘You may yet join your colleague.’
The platform shuddered as the waves crashed relentlessly against the legs. Stratton eyed the upper structure that was a web of crisscrossing steel spars. Light filtered through grilles in the decking, creating shadows and dark spaces.
‘Where do you need to place your device?’ Stratton asked.
‘The higher the better,’ Binning replied. ‘Especially in this weather.’ He got to his feet and scanned the complex of black steel above as if looking for the ideal spot. ‘I see why they call them spider decks.’
‘How do we get up there?’ Jason asked.
Stratton indicated the nearest leg. ‘From here on we’ll have to use the rungs. Not the best option but we don’t have the kit for anything else. I’ll lead. Beware of booby traps. Keep an eye out for taut wire or fishing nylon. If in doubt, don’t touch it. Let me know.’
Stratton got to his feet and removed the bungee that secured the silenced SMG to his waist. He gave it a brief check and left it to hang from the strap across his back. He felt for the pistol in its holster at his thigh. Satisfied, he made his way across the spar to one of the vast legs and the rungs that led up into the gloom.
‘Whenever you’re ready,’ he said, looking back at them.
Binning was right behind him.
10
Deacon sat in the control room in front of the explosive-tripped box that had contained Jordan’s letter of reference. The challenge to Deacon’s leadership had been an upset, despite his best efforts to reason a way through it. He knew what was behind it. It wasn’t so much that he had been challenged but by whom. A former SBS twat. Just because this happened to be an oil platform on the ocean, did that make him more qualified to run the operation than Deacon? Typical of the kind of decision civilians made. Just because Mackay knew more about how the SBS operated, that qualified him to be in charge, did it? Only a military specialist would know that the terrain made no difference. A specialist was a specialist on land or sea. The only difference was a little technique when it came to certain environments. The CEO of an envelope company doesn’t need to know all there is to know about envelopes in order to run it. By rights Jordan should have been hired simply as an adviser to Deacon.
He felt like calling the emergency number on his sat phone and insisting on talking to someone in charge about it.They needed to be told that you don’t put an SBS bloke in charge of an SAS bloke. That sort of thing might go on these days but it hadn’t in his day, or at least not to him.
Deacon picked up the sat phone to check for the number when the inner door opened and Jordan walked in, his coat and leggings soaked and dripping water. Deacon put the phone down with a frown. He put the box back in his bag.
Jordan shuffled past the technician monitoring the control panels and hung his coat on a hook. He went over to the makings corner, put a tea bag in a mug, filled it with water from the permanent heater, added a couple of spoons of sugar and powdered milk and stirred it.
He sat down at a desk, dumped the tea bag and took a sip of the hot, sweet liquid. It felt good as he warmed his hands around the mug. Jordan contemplated his situation. It had become something of a habit over the last few months, and more so since he’d taken on this task. The road to the Morpheus had been a strange one. He’d had bouts of guilt about his decisions but had managed to beat them off. He could do it easily enough. Whatever he could get out of his country, his government, he would. And he felt justified. They owed it to him, those wankers in the Ministry of Defence. His umpteen requests to stay in the SBS in any role other than as a storeman? Ignored. It hadn’t been much to ask. They’d done it for others in the past. He was an invalid but not useless. It was their decision to ignore that, and so he would prove it. Give the nobs a demonstration. If they wouldn’t let him stay on the team, then he would be against them. It sounded extreme at times but he had to do it to believe in himself.
The only problem that he had with this operation was the potential threat to the SBS lads themselves. They weren’t to blame for anything that the MoD had done to him. If it had been up to them, Jordan would have been able to stay in the service. He was reasonably confident he could work it so that none of them got hurt. As long as he could control Deacon and his apes. It had been one of his bargaining chips with the organisers. To his surprise they had accepted this reasoning without debate. They didn’t want anyone to get hurt either. This was a pure money-making task and had been planned in such a meticulous way that violence could pretty much be avoided.
Jordan had practically given up on life after leaving the SBS, with little to show for the forty years he’d been on the earth apart from a terraced house in Dorchester. He’d paid off the mortgage with his meagre medical-discharge payment. The monthly pension was all right but it was just paying him to sit around until he died. He’d been feeling dead already. When his girlfriend of ten years left him soon after the discharge he pretty much stopped believing in anything. Who wanted a civilian cripple? She’d told him that the spark had gone out of his life. It was true enough, although he didn’t think that was exactly what she meant. He wasn’t special any more.
When he received a call out of the blue to meet a man in a nearby pub to talk about a job that could not be discussed over the phone it was more intriguing than anything that had come Jordan’s way in years. There was a time when he would have punched the man across the floor for even suggesting a task that threatened members of his former unit. But time and experiences could change a person. Into something that they would never have believed possible. He even found himself offering suggestions on how to increase the value that the planners had already attached to him. Admittedly the offer of a million dollars placed in an offshore account had been a more than attractive incentive.