“Two minutes to target,” Buck’s voice sounds.
Thankfully, the rain isn’t more than a drizzle and providing it stays that way, we will be good to go down via the ropes. Not that I’m looking forward to the descent. I can remember the last time I fast roped. Take it slow and steady, I keep telling myself as my body trembles, the butterflies in my stomach having spread to my whole body. I need to calm down and quick, so I close my eyes for a second, then concentrating on my breathing. Slowly, my heartbeat comes under control, my composure returning somewhat.
“You okay, Captain?” Dixon asks.
“Yes, Sergeant,” I lie.
“Coming up on target, one minute,” Buck says and nearly sets me off again.
The Lynx flies over the North West corner of Hyde Park and I see the dozen or so railway lines leading into Paddington Station. Following the lines, I get my bearings as they lead across and into the Station. I look across the large span of Paddington Station’s roofs and there, sitting behind them, is the dreaded Orion building. I never thought I’d think of the building this way, but then again, I could never have envisaged I would be flying in with two Special Ops teams to infiltrate it.
Buck takes us over Paddington Station, heading straight for Orion, taking the decision that the time to recce the area has been swallowed up by the incoming weather.
The whole Paddington Basin area is masked in smoke, which is still pouring out of the tall, smouldering Hilton Hotel a few buildings across from Orion. The other remnants of yesterday’s fighting on the Edgeware Road add to the haze.
Slowing the Lynx down to a hover, Buck does at least take the time to circle around the Orion building. I’m standing right at the hold door looking down on the once-familiar building that I helped design, but it looks so alien to me now. The building looks lifeless and I suppose it is because I’m not counting the current occupiers that I know are inside, waiting, as life. The hope that I would see signs of power in the building is soon dashed, since it is impossible to see through the mirrored glass even in the relative darkness that surrounds the building, so we won’t know until we get inside and flick a switch.
Gradually, the Lynx comes around and behind it, the second Lynx hovering into formation at our tail. I am sure Dan is in the same position as me, at his hold door, looking down at the forlorn building below. Our arrival hasn’t gone unnoticed; down in the grounds at the front of the building, inside the perimeter fence, the Rabids are beginning to stir and wake up from their standing stupor. They start to look up to the sky, to the two helicopters, in the hopes that new prey is arriving, their thirst for fresh flesh insatiable. I can see them opening their dark mouths in anticipation and I imagine the deathly noises coming out of those holes, their twisted invitation to their victims.
Finally, the Lynx is at an angle that gives me a view inside the hole in the roof of the building, but darkness encases Sir Malcolm’s office. I don’t see any movement in the shadows inside the hole and that is the best I could expect; there is no time to delay any further.
“Take us down,” I say ominously into my headset.
“Understood,” Buck says and starts his descent.
“Okay, lads, here we go. This is it, so watch your speed and spot your landing,” I tell them.
As we draw close to the roof, I say “Ropes,” to Josh and whoever has the rope on the other side of the Lynx. Josh pushes out the lever bracket that holds the rope away from the side of the fuselage, his arm reaching out of the hold door as he releases the thick heavy rope. The rope tumbles down out of the helicopter, unwinding as it goes until it reaches its full length and is snapped to a stop by the protruding bracket above and its anchor to the side of the helicopter by the hold door. There is no spring back towards the helicopter to speak of, the well-designed weighted rope staying quite static and resembling a metal pole more than a rope.
This is it, I think to myself as I pull on my heat-resistant gloves as Buck gets into position, the rope dangling a foot or so off the roof and close to the hole. I prepare to exit, my legs and arms feeling numb and my stomach burning with fear and anticipation.
“Okay, hold position, Buck. Go, go, go!” I hear myself say and then I’m moving, ignoring my body’s protests and hesitation to go. I take hold of the top of the rope with my gloved hands, swing my body out from the safety of the Lynx’s hold and then I’m sliding down; my hands gripping the rope control my speed and my legs wrap loosely around the rope to direct my descent. I immediately know I am going too fast and my hands squeeze the rope tighter to slow me down, the heat vibrating through the thick gloves, making them feel warm on my palms and fingers, but they do their job.
I slow too much, coming to a near stop just short of the roof. Sergeant Dixon is already coming down fast from above, threatening to career into me. My hands release the rope and I drop the last few feet onto the roof, the extra weight of equipment causing me to land hard but my knees bend in reflex to cushion the blow.
As I step away from the landing zone, I quickly pull off the thick gloves, take hold of my M4 and immediately take up a covering position, the muzzle of the rifle sweeping
