Traitor

With the drag effect of the load, had he finned with less vigour he might have simply maintained his position. He still had plenty of time. The Inessa was not expected to leave her jetty for another hour or so and he would receive a warning when she did.

He studied the top of the brightly lit concrete mole as he finned along. It appeared to be deserted. A vessel went past a few hundred metres out to sea. It reached the main channel between the moles and went into the harbour. There appeared to be a steady stream of traffic moving in both directions between the ends of the two structures, with a good half-mile between each vessel. Stratton altered direction and gradually closed on the base of the northern breakwater.

The lights on top of it shone right into his face as he approached the massive concrete mouldings. He moved into the shadows of the parapet that ran around the top some thirty feet above him and manoeuvred himself inside a niche that had been formed by the breakers. Stratton carefully secured the equipment and settled in the lapping water.

He felt uncomfortably warm but he knew from experience that within minutes of sitting still the cold would start to penetrate his dry-suit and clothing.

Every now and then a heftier wave from a passing vessel threw him about despite having taken several minutes to cover the distance from the ship. Unlike the Inessa, none of the ships would risk coming too near either mole. The green light on the southern one flashed in the darkness.

The vast harbour hardly looked its size from where Stratton was. Most of Sevastopol’s street and building lights along the waterline were obscured. It was impossible to see the narrowing channel that led into the harbour proper without climbing to the top of the mole. He settled in to play the oh-so-familiar waiting game.

If the Inessa did not depart that night, Stratton would have to be back at the villa before first light and then return to the cache the following evening to repeat the whole process. This could go on until the Russian vessel did eventually leave. He wasn’t looking forward to that option at all. The longer he remained on the ground the greater the risk of exposure and of being detected. The task didn’t concern him as much as the time he would have to spend in the villa during the day and especially his need to sleep for part of it. That alone could arouse suspicion.

Voices drifted down to his ears and he shrank deeper into the cranny. They could only be coming from the top of the mole. Men’s voices, at least two, speaking in Russian. The sound was clear, as though the men were leaning over the parapet.

Stratton felt a sudden vibration by his right ear. The signal originated from a small receiver tucked into a pocket on the side of his hood. It was a GSM and GPS Sim-card device that could be activated from a cellular phone. There were three distinct vibration patterns: one to order him to abort completely, another to abort for that night only and the third to indicate that the Inessa was departing. He received the third signal, sent by an observer stationed where they could see the vessel or at least the finger of water that it would need to pass along to reach the main channel and the harbour mouth. Stratton had somewhere between fifteen and twenty minutes to get into position.

His adrenalin level rose and he eased his head from cover to look above. He could see two figures partially silhouetted against the night sky. The men moved along the wall and Stratton quickly turned on the gas bottle at the front of the diving apparatus. He pulled on the face mask, put the mouthpiece between his teeth, opened the flow valves and took several deep breaths before exhaling the gas through his nose to clear the device of excessive nitrogen. He craned his neck to look up again, the action made more difficult by the breathing apparatus. The men appeared to have gone further round the mole and out of sight. Gathering his equipment and looking and feeling like some kind of aquatic gypsy, Stratton moved away from the breakers and slipped below the surface.

Every step of the operation except the next one had been somehow quantifiable. It all depended on a handful of bolts remaining in their holes in a slab of rock. Deep down Stratton hated relying on single physical bits of apparatus - the rings that secured a man under his parachute, for instance, or the karabiner and line that kept him from falling to his death when he was climbing. It was a visceral complaint. Stratton could control the inner conflicts. They did not alter his reliance on such devices. But the concerns remained, components of his fear that were probably essential to his success.

Visibility was reasonable, at least ten metres, better than average in his experience. The rubber suit grew tighter as he finned, gripping his arms and legs as the air inside compressed. He looked at the needle of a luminous compass attached to his wrist.

The concrete mouldings gave way to huge boulders. Stratton followed them until they abruptly ended and a flat shale seabed stretched into the gloom. He had swum too far. The Inessa would pass closer to the mole, above the boulders. He turned back to look for a place to set himself up.

He inspected the boulders as he moved over them. They all looked like granite. The only obsidian ones, as far as he could tell, were some smaller rocks between the larger gaps. He had taken Binning’s advice and studied the differences between the two rock formations. Confident at the time, he was less so now that he was on task and in darkness.

Stratton found what appeared to be a choice location: a broad, almost flat boulder, although it lay at a slight tilt. It was not big enough to accommodate the entire frame but another, slightly smaller boulder beside it looked ideal to take the overlap. A check of his wristwatch showed he had around eight minutes before the earliest moment the Inessa could arrive, if the calculations were correct and the GSM signal had arrived as soon as it had been sent. The bolting and harnessing of the frame could be completed in a couple of minutes or so, according to Binning’s trial-timing average. Stratton could not afford to waste a second. He quickly undid the straps and locked the frame’s joints into position.

After loading the bolt gun Stratton positioned the two holes at the top of the frame over the boulder, checking to ensure that the rock was solid and that the bottom corners, where his feet would go, rested on the adjacent slab. Satisfied that it was well positioned, he pressed the bolt that protruded from the end of the gun firmly into one of the top holes, pushing down on it to release the automatic safety lock. He pulled the trigger. A powerful jolt slammed the steel bolt through the eyehole and into the rock. When he removed the gun he gave the frame a tug. The bolt was firmly home.

He reloaded the gun and slammed the next bolt into the opposite corner. In a couple of minutes he had planted all five bolts and the frame appeared to be rigidly in place. But another firm tug revealed a loose bolt at one of the bottom corners. Unperturbed, he loaded a fresh bolt into the gun and tugged at the loose one in an effort to remove it. It twisted around inside the rock but would not come out. A fierce tug on the frame didn’t budge it.

Stratton felt reluctant to spend any more time on the faulty bolt. It would require far more force than he could exert to remove it. Typical of what he disliked about technology, and this was the simple kind, according to Binning. There was no tangible reason, that he could see at least, why any of the bolts should remain in position. It was clear how a screw worked, and even how a nail hammered into wood could hold strong. A bolt punched into rock, and not a very long bolt either, failed to inspire him with confidence.

A check of his watch revealed time quickly moving on and Stratton suddenly feared he might not have enough. He pushed aside any doubts about the frame, untied the gun from his belt and let it sink to the bottom. If the Inessa came at that moment he would fail. He sat on the frame, strapped both his legs to it as tightly as possible, and lay back to secure the waist and chest straps. Before fitting the head harness he found the recorder on the end of its line, opened the container, removed the device and activated it. He set the arming switch and checked the series of LED indicators. The system appeared to be functioning. He removed his face mask, letting it hang from the back of his hood, and placed the cumbersome device over his face, pulling the head straps tight. Exhaling through his nose into the optical compartment displaced the water inside it and he blinked quickly to clear his eyes. A brief adjustment of the lenses brought his immediate surroundings into focus. The device could penetrate low light as well as some of the murkiness, improving overall visibility. So far so good, he decided. He was still not quite ready.

The Inessa would make all haste to get out of the harbour once it had slipped its moorings. It had a speed limit of ten knots in the main channel but the captain was committed to turning on the disrupter and accelerating to a cruising speed of thirty-five knots as soon as he could. He would get out of the harbour as quickly as possible.

Stratton passed the strap that secured the device to his head over the top of the recorder housing, clipped it into place and tightened it. He could only move his arms now. He was firmly secured to the boulders.

As he stared into the hollow grey glow around him, he picked up a faint noise - the water was a more