Traitor

‘The SBS are not the only ones who can carry out the task.’

Stratton’s brow creased as he realised where this might be going. Every scientist was looking at him, except Rowena, who sat in front of a computer terminal typing something on the keyboard.

‘Do you want to explain that?’ Stratton asked, not particularly keen to hear the answer but curious nonetheless.

‘It’s obvious what I’m saying,’ Jason said. ‘We can do it.’

‘You’re joking, right?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘You must have your heads up your backsides. Do you think you can just climb aboard that chopper and do the task like you’re the reserve team? For a bunch of geniuses you’re pretty stupid.’

‘You’re right. We are all geniuses. Don’t you think we’d work out how we could do it before we mentioned it?’

Stratton tried unsuccessfully to suppress a chortle. ‘Why don’t you guys go and have a pink gin while I make that call? Then we’ll forget whatever madness you’re thinking about.’ Stratton headed towards Jason’s office.

‘You can’t call out without a code,’ Jason said.

Stratton hesitated a moment, then pressed on to call his bluff. He picked up the phone. There was no dial tone. He replaced the phone and looked back towards Jason. ‘I suppose I can’t walk out of here without a code, either.’

No one replied, making the answer an obvious one.

‘Take a moment to listen to us, please,’ Jason asked.

‘It doesn’t look as if I have much choice.’

Jason was determined to press on with his idea. ‘Let me first ask you this. Why do you think we’re not qualified to carry out the task?’

‘I said I’d listen to you because I have to. I’m not going to humour you beyond that.’

‘We’re more qualified than you think,’ Jason said with confidence.

Stratton’s expression remained blank.

‘The surveillance equipment they want to install on the platform, the G43, is a multi-purpose static surveillance system. We built it, making us more qualified than anyone else to install it. But your doubts about us would naturally concern our ability to actually get onto the platform. Let me tell you a little bit more about us. As far as fitness is concerned, we’re all accomplished triathletes.Take Smithy there.’ Jason indicated one of the newcomers. ‘He came third in this year’s Hawaiian Iron Man competition. Jackson here came eighth. Binning was fifteenth. I came a modest twenty-fourth.’

‘With a pulled shoulder muscle,’ Binning added.

‘Pain is not an excuse,’ Jason countered. ‘Rowena came eighteenth in the women’s competition. I wonder where you would’ve come, Stratton.’

‘In the women’s?’ Binning muttered.

‘No need for that, Binning,’ Jason said. ‘But you do have a point.’

Stratton couldn’t have cared less about the insult. Some things were beginning to add up for him. ‘This isn’t a coincidence, is it?’

Jason’s eyes narrowed as he wondered what Stratton meant by the remark. ‘What isn’t?’ he asked.

‘The varied skills you’re accumulating. You’re all pretty young when I was expecting most of you to be quite old. You keep yourselves fit. You have a killing house. I suppose you’re all good shots too?’

Jason smiled thinly. ‘I see what you mean. You’re right. It’s not a coincidence. We’ve been preparing for a more active operational role for some time now.’

‘Since you got here,’ Stratton suggested.

‘Since I got here,’ Jason admitted happily. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

‘Why should I?’

‘If you were in a position to, would you approve?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Would you be specific? Please. We’d all like to know. What are we up against?’

Stratton felt reluctant to answer.

Jason pushed him. ‘Come on. You criticise, but without an explan ation. I would respect your thoughts more than most.’

Stratton gave in. ‘It’s simple. You’re not soldiers.’

Jason looked at the others. ‘I happen to agree with him. I have said as much myself.’ He looked back at Stratton. ‘However, we can learn to soldier. But if, for instance, that surveillance device went wrong in the field, you couldn’t fix it. You couldn’t defeat a sophisticated alarm system with a couple of old cellular phones. I could go on.’

Stratton was growing irritated with the conversation. ‘And you couldn’t take part in the operation without London’s say-so.’

‘True.’

‘Then what is the point of this conversation?’

‘We could do it, though.’

‘Because you can run, swim, ride bicycles and shoot a gun at a rubber target?’

‘I accept that we lack the know-how for climbing the oil platform.’

‘Which is only one of many reasons why London wouldn’t let you do it.’

‘Let’s just play this through a little further, then I’ll let you make your call. If we went together, you and us, that would give us all the expertise we would need to complete the task. That’s my point right now.’

‘That’s it? Are we done? Can I make my call now? I’ll keep this conversation to myself. No one would take me seriously, anyway.’

‘What are you afraid of?’

Stratton sighed. ‘If London called right now, gave you permission to go ahead and ordered me to go with you, I’d tell them to get stuffed. Okay?’

Jason was disappointed.

‘I don’t think he’s going for it,’ Binning said.

‘CNN has just released some breaking news on the Morpheus,’ Rowena piped up, scrolling through a web page.

Stratton looked up at the mention of the name. ‘Morpheus?’ he asked.

‘The hijacked platform,’ Rowena explained.

Binning looked over Rowena’s shoulder at the monitor. ‘Put it up on the screen,’ he asked.

She hit a couple of keys and swivelled in her chair to face a flatscreen television on the wall across the room.

It came to life, showing the CNN newsroom and an anchorman talking about the hijacked oil platform. A picture of the structure filled the background. It had the attention of everyone in the room, including Jason.

The news anchor was saying that only moments ago video footage from the platform hijackers had appeared on YouTube. They were threatening to kill six workers within the next twenty-four hours if their demands weren’t met.

The image changed. Six oil workers stood in a line on the windswept deck. The camera panned across their faces before zooming to a body hanging from the crane in the background. The picture was grainy, as if it had been processed for several generations.

Stratton stood transfixed, certain the man on the end of the line was Jordan. ‘Is there any way you can play that back?’ he asked.

Rowena typed something and the image began to rewind to the beginning of the footage and then played again at normal speed. Stratton watched intently as the camera panned to his friend once more.

In the live broadcast the news anchor was reiterating that the selected workers were to be shot within twenty-four hours if the hijackers’ demands weren’t met. The anchor cut to a man in a studio and Rowena reduced the volume.

A myriad of issues went flying around inside Stratton’s head. But there was really only one that mattered. Jordan, an old friend, had been singled out for execution. The two men’s relationship was a more complex one than