Traitor (18 page)

With everyone fully rigged Stratton put them through a dry drill on the submarine, covering signals between cockpit and cabin, switching between the sub’s breathing system and individual air bottles, and climbing in and out of the vessel. He questioned them on the details of every phase of the operation, the sequence of events, who would be doing what and when. He finished by explaining emergency contingency plans for anyone failing to climb the platform or falling off it - if they found themselves alone and unattached in the water their best bet would be simply to flow with the tide away from the rig and when well out of range initiate the emergency strobe lights and the SARBE emergency radio beacon that they each carried. Even in a severe storm, as long as they remained afloat there was a high chance of rescue since a good portion of the navy and air force was concentrated in the area.

Stratton did not go into great detail about climbing the platform. That would depend on their fitness and their ability to manage a caving ladder while in a dry-bag and carrying some equipment. They couldn’t practise that in the Chinook - it was going to have to be done on the job.

He introduced them to the air-powered grapnel launcher, explaining how he planned to use it and how it was stowed and retrieved from inside the sub. He then secured it in the mini-sub’s cabin along with the rolls of caving ladders, lines and hooks. He concluded the briefing just in time. The crewman had left the cockpit and was making his way over to them, grabbing hold of whatever part of the craft he could as it yawed from one side to the other. ‘We’ll be at the drop point in five minutes!’ he shouted.

Stratton acknowledged him and faced the others. ‘Does anyone have any questions about any phase of the mission?’

‘How long do we give you?’ Jason asked. ‘I refer to your private mission.’

‘Don’t forget that’s what got you this far,’ Stratton replied, a little testily.

‘And I appreciate it,’ Jason said. ‘But the question remains.’

‘Soon as you’ve placed the device get on your way.’

‘How are you going to get away with Mackay?’ Jason said.

‘Don’t worry about that. You have your task, you have a sound plan to carry it out and you have your exfiltration options. Concentrate on them.’

The white lights went off in the cabin, to be replaced by dim red ones that barely illuminated the cramped space. The whine of an electric motor filled the air and the rear ramp began to open. A blast of wind and rain came in through the widening opening, over the top and sides of the ramp as if it was impatient to explore inside. The noise of the rotors increased, their rhythmic beating coming in on the wind. When they looked out it was pure black, impossible to see where the sky ended and the ocean began. A sheet of lightning cut through the dark and for a few seconds they saw what lay outside. The helicopter pushed on into the broiling storm. In the cockpit the faces of both pilots glowed green beneath the night-vision goggles they wore.

With the ramp locked open at a steep angle towards the water, the helicopter descended. Now they could see the sea. Every toppling white wave of it. Stratton put in earphones, tucked the loose cable behind his throat microphone and pulled on his neoprene hood to help keep it all in place. He checked that the transfer breather bottle was secure and tested his dry-suit’s inflation. He looped the mouthpiece strap of his face mask over his head and tested the equipment secured to his body, including the SMG that fitted across his waist.

The rest of the team took this as their cue and pulled on their hoods, nervousness rippling between them as the seconds passed. Stratton had done this many times before. The others had never even imagined this level of adventure. They stood inside a yawing metal crate held in the air by a couple of rotors on the ends of struggling petrol-driven turbines. About to jump into the void. Into a small submarine. Into a perfect North Sea storm.

Stratton had seen their fear a thousand times before in the eyes of young soldiers going into battle for the first time. He had been assessing them from the moment they all truly knew the task would happen. He had studied their eyes as he briefed them. He knew that none of them could really comprehend the threat of confronting the armed hijackers. They wouldn’t be able to get beyond the dangers of the journey to the platform and the subsequent climb. He couldn’t blame them: this type of manoeuvre was one of the most perilous tasks the SBS undertook, even without the threat at the other end of an enemy with lethal intent. He suspected that despite agreeing to come on the jolly old operation they were now filled with doubt as to whether they could actually pull it off.

Jason hid his fears better than the others and would probably be the first to overcome them. He had to be frightened in some way. He wouldn’t be normal otherwise. But his eyes gave nothing away, except for an occasional look at Stratton as though to assess the operative’s nerve. No doubt the man knew that his ambitious plans for MI16’s operational future hung in the balance.

Binning looked nervous but he seemed to be driven by something, as if his life depended on getting onto the platform. Stratton suspected an element of competion with his boss. And perhaps for more than just his job, judging by the way he eyed Rowena.

Smithy was the main concern. He seemed on the verge of snapping, no longer able to make a decision on his own, watching to see what the others were doing before he took the step himself. He could become a liability - if he didn’t back out at the last minute. Stratton wondered what effect it would have on the team’s morale if he ordered the man to stand down. Jason must surely be aware of the problem. The operative decided not to step in: too many variables to worry about.

Jackson appeared to be in control of his nerves, cool enough. Stratton had the distinct feeling that the man had some previous military experience. He’d let slip a fair amount of jargon, especially when he’d been talking to the crewman, and he knew his way around the equipment. With a faulty torch from the equipment box, for instance, he’d immediately unscrewed the base, removed the first battery, reversed it and replaced the base - and it had worked. A classic soldier’s trick to prevent a torch from accidentally coming on.

Rowena was the interesting one. She was nervous but didn’t allow it to get in her way. She didn’t seem to share Jason’s enthusiasm or even agree with MI16’s taking the task on.Yet she’d stayed with the team. Stratton doubted that she was there just to be alongside her lover. She was far too mature for that. He couldn’t see what was keeping her on track. Stratton assumed the affair was a secret between them. They hardly acknowledged each other when there was anyone about. If he hadn’t seen them embrace so passionately he wouldn’t have guessed it. He wondered if Binning knew. If not, that helped to explain his sometimes overt interest in her.

‘Stratton!’ a voice shouted from the back of the cabin. George gave the team leader the thumbs-up and followed this gesture by raising one finger. They had a minute before the release.

Stratton stood at the top of the ramp and looked down at the rolling black water. The peaks were rising to foaming white plumes and the swell was enormous, fifty to sixty feet. In the right gear you could float on the surface, rising and falling from peak to trough. With breathing apparatus you could slip beneath the surface and the storm would disappear. All well and good. The dangers came when a person in such a heavy sea came into contact with a rigid mass, such as a quayside, a ship, a submarine, or an oil platform. Bodies had a tendency to get slammed against surfaces. Like an egg dropping onto a stone floor. Nothing about the next few hours was going to be easy.

Stratton pulled on his fins and tightened the straps. ‘Close up,’ he shouted, tightening the thin neoprene gloves around his fingers.

The team shuffled forward in their fins.

‘Stratton,’ George shouted, holding one side of his headset tight against his ear. ‘You have to go! Charlie’s having trouble holding it. Says we’ll all bloody join you if we don’t dump this lot and get out of here.’

Stratton gave him a firm thumbs-up and the crewman ducked down to remove the blocks that held the sub in position on rollers fixed to the cabin deck. He gave the craft a stiff shove and the big black tube, its top at shoulder height, moved towards the rear opening like some kind of organ of death. When the nose reached the edge of the cabin George gave it another push and it dipped down onto the ramp. Stratton kept tight to the bulkhead to avoid the large flotation pack fixed to the sub’s side. It tipped ungracefully off the end and dropped nose down towards the roiling water.

When it hit, Stratton stepped to the very edge of the ramp, the others following close behind. Everything that Stratton had told them about the next phase went through their minds. The seconds crammed together. The point of no return had arrived.

As the sub stabilised, the two inflation bags attached to either side of the body aiding its buoyancy, Stratton placed one fin on top of the other, leaned forward and dropped into the blackness. It seemed to take longer to fall than it should have. When he struck the water he disappeared beneath the surface. The others hesitated until he came back up.

Binning was first to follow, holding the plastic box tightly, closely followed by Jason. Rowena came next, with Jackson beside her. Smithy paused on the edge and looked as if he might refuse. Had George not given him a shove he might well have done. The skinny scientist let out a cry as he fell, arms and legs spinning like bicycle wheels, out of control.

Stratton pushed off hard with his fins to grab the side of the mini-sub. He had to release the flotation bags. Taking hold of the cable coupling, he yanked down on it. The bags drifted, the swell and the wind taking them into the darkness.The vessel dropped into a trough and Stratton pulled himself along it to the cockpit. The sub rose up the steep wall of the next wave, which broke over it, almost turning it over. Stratton was thrown into the cockpit. He struggled in the confined space to manoeuvre himself into the seat, hating how cramped the damned boats always felt when he was wearing operational equipment.

He couldn’t afford to search for the others yet. The water sloshed around his chin and he ripped off the fins, jamming them in the side of the seat. He turned on the instrument panel, plugged his breathing apparatus into the sub’s air outlet and put the mouthpiece in his mouth. He breathed in the oxygen, his mouth under the water more than not. The vessel leaned heavily and slid down into the next trough. If he didn’t bring the nose around into the waves it would tip over. Very inconvenient. He flipped the power switch and gave the propeller full throttle, twisting the rudder hard over.

The sub responded well, then seemed to stall. Stratton could feel the powerful electric motor working, yet the nose didn’t want to come around. The vessel slammed into the bottom of another deep seawater trench. As it came up the other side the nose suddenly turned as if it had been nudged by a greater power. The sub went almost vertically up the wall of water and gouged into the dark mass of the peak. It levelled out for a moment before tipping over to nose down into the next trough. He had it under a semblance of control.

Stratton looked out of the cockpit for any sign of the others. Two of them were hanging on to the passenger cabin and struggling to get inside. He twisted in his seat to look through the grille behind his head and saw movement. Something grabbed at his arm and a heavy limb struck him as Jackson scrambled unceremoniously in through the other side of the cockpit. The man’s size didn’t help. The tumbling rodeo-bull sub yawed at his arms as it lifted him and then dragged him under. No amount of training could have prepared him. Certainly not the bathlike waters of Puerto Rico where the US SEALs often did their initial mini-sub training. Jackson fell into the seat but then lost his fins after a wave smashed in through Stratton’s side of the cockpit and ripped them from his fingers. He almost drowned when a brute of a wave filled the cockpit before he’d found the end of his breathing tube. Stratton realised that the man was in trouble. He grabbed hold of Jackson’s mouthpiece, using the strap around his neck, found the end of the tube and plugged it into the panel outlet. Jackson put the mouthpiece between his teeth and coughed and spluttered as he fought to inhale. He’d nearly had it.

Stratton looked back outside the vessel to see that the bodies had gone. He hoped that meant they were all inside. He glanced up to see the rear of the Chinook, its ramp still open, a figure leaning out of the red glow. Stratton extended a thumb towards George, a gesture which looked to him as if it was returned. The huge chopper thudded away into the darkness and the sound of its rotors, a constant background noise for the past few hours, was replaced by the roar of the wind, the thrashing of the sea and the sizzle of the rain coming down in heavy sheets. Another streak of lightning lit up the sky and the rolling thunder that followed it seemed to surround them.

A hand came through the grille near Stratton’s face, its thumb in the air. It was Jason indicating that everyone was on board and connected to the sub’s air supply. Stratton blew the ballasts and the submarine began to sink.

The roller-coaster effect quickly reduced to nothing as the boat dropped beneath the water and away from the influence of the heavy swell. Stratton increased the throttle and the sub eased ahead under the power of its propellers.

Stratton plugged in a cable connected to his throat microphone and earplugs and looked over at Jackson who appeared to have gathered himself. He nudged the man and offered him a thumbs-up. Jackson returned the gesture, accompanied by a nod to confirm that he was okay. Stratton indicated his own mouth and mimicked talking with his fingers. Jackson searched for the ends of his throat-mike cables and plugged them into the sockets.

‘Can you hear me?’ Stratton asked, his voice sounding slightly strange.