hand. With an irritated sigh, he lifted himself inside the tube.
He inched his way along, keeping the pistol close in front of him, confident he could get the shot in even in the darkness.
A heavy metal object flew into the tube, bounced off the side and struck Deacon hard in the face, only serving to rile the man further. ‘You bleedin’ twat!’ he shouted, his voice echoing in the cavelike dwelling. ‘Right,’ he muttered, more determined than ever to get the bastard. He stopped before the end of the pipe and fired into the blackness of the accommodation. The round ricocheted across the metal room. He fired again and again in different directions, certain that he would hit the man eventually. Deacon was well aware of the risks of being struck himself but his obsession with killing Stratton was muddying his judgement. ‘Come on, you little shit! The SAS are ’ere now. The boss men. The numero unos! Your betters! Accept it and take it like a man!’
Deacon fired again and as the echoes of the gun’s discharge and the bullet’s ricochet subsided he could hear a sound. A change in the dim light came from the opening of another tunnel at the other side of the accommodation section. Deacon squinted, wondering what it could be. He realised there was movement in the tunnel and that the light was coming from outside. Stratton was climbing out through another hatch.
Deacon fired wildly towards it and scrambled as quickly as he could. He dropped onto the floor of the habitat and ran across it to the other tube. He struck the table with his hip and cursed, lunging into the pipe. In the dim light he saw a hand reach in to grab the handle in the middle of the hatch. Deacon struggled to bring the weapon up on aim, then changed his mind and grabbed for the edge of the hatch before it closed. It was ripped from his hand and slammed shut. He lunged for the internal wheel in the darkness but it spun in his hand and bolts moved into grooves to lock the hatch solidly into place.
Deacon pulled as hard as he could on the wheel but it would not budge. The bastard had blocked it with something. The implications of his predicament filled him with panic. He had been outsmarted. But there was still the original entrance. He slid back into the living chamber as quickly as he could.
Stratton finished hammering the cleat into the hatch wheel and ran around the outside of the habitat. He paused at the control panel and quickly scanned the valves and gauges. Time was running out. He identified the valve he needed and turned it brutally several times. Something behind the panel began to hiss. He rushed to the original entrance hatch to complete the manoeuvre, reaching inside as Deacon scrambled into the tube.
Deacon raised his gun to fire and as Stratton pulled the wheel of the hatch towards himself the pistol went off.The round bounced off the inside of the hatch. Deacon lunged forward, grabbing for the wheel, this time getting hold of it before Stratton could close it. They began a desperate tug-of-war.
Stratton raised a knee up against the outer seal as Deacon hooked his feet around the edge of the tube. Stratton almost had the hatch closed but he could not pull it that last inch to turn the wheel. The gas building up inside the chamber began to escape through the hatch. Stratton put all he had into one big effort and almost managed to close the opening. It was the escaping gas that eventually worked in his favour and the hatch suddenly slammed shut like a safe door under the internal pressure.
Stratton slumped limply, hanging from the wheel in pain. He did not need to turn the handle to lock the hatch. The increasing pressure inside would ensure it remained firmly shut. Just a few pounds’ difference in pressure between the inside and outside was enough to keep the door closed against the strength of a team of horses.
Stratton was in pain, his bullet wounds giving him hell after his efforts. None had penetrated deeply since all had been third- or fourth-generation ricochets. But they had done some damage.
He forced himself to his feet, all too aware of the imminence of the explosion. He checked the pressure gauges on the control panel and felt the side of his chest and dug a flattened bullet out of his dry-bag.
As he was about to set off to the main deck there came a crash nearby as a body landed from above. It was a hellish fall and if the person hadn’t been dead beforehand they had to be close to it now.
Another figure scurried down a duct pipe to land nearby. Jason walked over to inspect his work, then realised the presence of someone close to him and prepared to face another attacker.
Stratton was impressed. Until then he’d considered the man to be little more than a highly intelligent stuffed shirt but it appeared that he could turn his dojo skills to some real use. He’d also clearly decided to do something about Binning. Credit had to go to Rowena for coming with him, wherever she was. But the situation for all of them was about to get much worse, Stratton was sure of it.
Jason didn’t relax his stance when he realised it was Stratton before him. ‘Are there any more?’ he said.
Stratton straightened up, his body aching. ‘I hope not,’ he said, stiffly.
‘Where’s the other one?’
Stratton indicated the habitat. ‘We need to get to the main deck.’
‘Inside?’ Jason asked. ‘I hope I look better than you.’ He looked through a glass porthole no bigger than a tennis ball on the control panel. ‘He’ll need to be questioned.’
‘He has a gun and he’s very angry and I don’t think we have the time.’ Stratton glanced at the gauges. ‘He’s also at the equivalent depth of a saturation dive. He’s not getting out of there any time soon . . . We need to get the workers to the lifeboats.’
‘Right,’ Jason agreed, about to move away when he saw movement inside the habitat. He flicked a switch on the panel that turned on the chamber light. ‘I see him.’
Stratton couldn’t resist a last look at his beaten enemy. As both men peered in through the thick glass porthole, Deacon looked up at them, his face red and sweating. His lips formed into a snarl as he brought up the pistol and fired at them.
They both jerked back as the tiny window fractured but held for the moment. Yet the glass continued to crack under the pressure building inside. Deacon angrily approached the porthole to look through it.
Jason and Stratton stepped away and the porthole exploded. Pieces of shattered glass shot from the rim like bullets as the highly compressed gas blasted from the small opening. Deacon couldn’t prevent himself being sucked towards the hole, his face acting like a plug. In seconds the pressure began to push him through it. The man screamed as his flesh started to protrude through the hole.
Jason and Stratton backed away in horror as a mass of flesh emerged.
‘Oh my God,’ Jason muttered.
They ran across the opening to a set of stairs. As they looked back the skin balloon burst and Deacon’s face exploded into the swirling wind. Fine strings of mangled flesh filled the air, coming back down to coat everything on the platform, Stratton and Jason included.
They ran from the grisly spectacle up to the top of the stairway and onto the deck, hurrying towards the living quarters.
‘Have you seen Binning and Rowena?’ Stratton asked.
‘No.’ Jason went suddenly to the rail to look down onto the line of lifeboats. One of the cradles was empty. He looked out onto the black, rolling water, moving along the rail to cover a greater area as he searched it.
‘There! A lifeboat!’ he shouted, pointing. ‘It’s Binning, I know it.’
Stratton could see the orange craft rolling up and down on the heavy swell as it drifted away from the platform. ‘And Rowena?’
‘He wouldn’t hurt her.’
‘You still think you know him?’
Jason realised the stupidity of his comment.
‘Why would he take her?’
Jason shook his head. ‘I don’t know!’
Stratton looked around at Jordan’s body and as he hurried away he said, ‘Go to the galley and tell the workers to get to the lifeboats.’
‘Where are you going?’ Jason shouted after him.
‘To the control room - I’m going to call the navy, tell them to come in and pick up Binning and the rest of us. Get going!’
As Jason moved to go a massive explosion rocked the entire platform, throwing both men off their feet as the giant rig slewed to the side. A sheet of flame lit up the air beyond the furthest corner of the platform.
The deafening sound of yawing, cracking metal rent the air like satanic thunder. Seconds later there came another, lesser explosion that echoed across the sky. One of the massive steel anchor cables that held the huge platform in position snapped like a rubber band and whiplashed out to sea. Another boom was followed by a second cable snapping and the entire rig rocked once again before slowly turning on its axis and leaning heavily to one
