conduct themselves while it was under the water. When the briefing was complete the team climbed into lightweight dry-bags, tightened harnesses and clipped on fins, masks and the small transfer air bottles they would need when they were not connected to the sub’s breathing system. Binning strapped the surveillance device securely to his side and jumped up and down a few times to ensure it was solidly attached. He had clearly seen it done on some kind of military training film since it did not quite apply to a dive operation. At least he was keen.
Stratton allowed the team to carry pistols but insisted that he alone would have a sub-machine gun, a silenced H&K to go with his pistol and two stun grenades. He neglected to mention during the briefing his own private operation: the only points he covered were the planting of the surveillance device and the move to the rendezvous pick-up location. The way he questioned Jason on all details of that last phase of the operation ought to have suggested something to them. In truth, it was blatantly obvious that he wouldn’t be able to get Jordan away from the oil platform on the submarine, assuming of course that he could rescue him at all. As far as he could see the only option he had was to secure one of the platform’s lifeboats: a broad enough plan - if it could be called that - for him not to have to think of it any more. First he had to locate Jordan, then separate him from the hijackers. He couldn’t do much planning for that. Every stage would be a process of discovery, assessment, action and follow-on. Another reason to put it to one side.
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.
