Traitor Page 10

  Deacon decided to use the situation to his advantage. ‘I warned you people not to step out of line,’ he said, addressing Jordan and then the others. ‘We’ve already had one execution.’ He pointed to the body swinging from the crane. A look of revulsion came over the faces of all the prisoners except one. Mackay’s. ‘Don’t give me a reason for another. As you can see, my men are enthusiastic . . . That way.’

  Jordan glared at the Lebanese hijacker before shuffling off. The others followed him across the deck towards the crane where Viking was setting up a video camera on a tripod.

  ‘Stand in a line along here,’ Deacon said, positioning them between the camera and the crane.

  Some of the men began to shiver. Jordan refused to.

  Viking looked through the lens. ‘Put your hood up,’ he told the Lebanese thug. The Arab reached for the hood at the back of his jacket and pulled it over his head. Viking struggled to adjust the settings on the camera with his oversized fingers. ‘You,’ he called out, pointing to Jordan on the end of the line-up while looking through the lens. ‘Move a little over.’

  Jordan did as he was told. The wind suddenly picked up and whipped at them all.

  ‘A bit more,’ Viking ordered.

  Deacon moved beside him to view the scene. The Lebanese stood at the other end of the line, pointing his gun at the men aggressively.

  ‘I like the shivering. Adds something. Abdul’s got the ’ang of this,’ Deacon muttered to Viking. ‘Bet ’e’s done this before.’

  Viking grinned. ‘They’re good,’ he said, holding the tripod to prevent the wind from blowing it over.

  ‘Take a long shot of ’em. Pan from one side to the other and back again. End on the dead guy. Zoom in on ’im. That’ll be a nice finish.’

  Viking did so. ‘That’s it,’ he said finally, standing upright.

  ‘Take it to the control room. Jock’ll meet you there. I want that on YouTube soon as you can.’ Viking picked up the camera and tripod and headed away.

  ‘And tell Jock not to forget to send a copy direct to CNN,’ Deacon shouted.

  Deacon looked out to sea at the blackening sky. The clouds really were building. ‘Get ’em back to the galley. And Abdul - in one piece if you can manage that.’

  Abdul removed his hood to reveal a disgruntled expression. ‘Get going,’ he said, aiming his remark at Jordan.

  The line of men traipsed off the way they had come, the wind whipping at them. Freezing drops of rain began to fall. Deacon pulled up his collar and headed towards the control room.

  The theory chamber was locked when Stratton got to it. He pushed a buzzer beside the keypad and after a pause stepped inside to find Jason, Binning, Rowena and two other men standing around one of the tables. He felt like he’d interrupted something.

  ‘I should call Poole. They need to know what’s happened in case London hasn’t told them yet,’ he said.

  None of them replied. All of the scientists looked strangely conspiratorial.

  ‘I need to use your phone,’ Stratton said, taking a step towards Jason’s office.

  Jason held up a hand. ‘Can I ask you to hold off on that for one moment.’

  Stratton looked at him enquiringly. ‘They need to know right away.’

  ‘Another minute won’t hurt . . . There’s something we need to discuss.’

  Stratton found the mood odd indeed. ‘Why can’t it wait until I’ve talked to Poole?’

  ‘It’ll be too late then.’ Jason looked thoughtful, as if he was searching for the right approach. ‘I’ll get straight to the point. The task to the oil platform should continue, and immediately rather than tomorrow.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with you?’

  ‘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 surv
eillance 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 that of mere former colleagues. Jordan had saved Stratton’s life. Of course that was all part of the job: the teamwork, covering each other’s back. Stratton owed his life to others in the SBS who’d fought alongside him over the years, as several owed theirs to him. But the situation with Jordan differed greatly. Jordan had almost died trying to save Stratton because of a decision that Stratton had made in the first place. Jordan would still be in the SBS - and as an active member - had it not been for that decision.

  Things sometimes went wrong on operations, and when they did it was down to human error, equipment failure or interference from the gods. You went into the special forces knowing this. In fact you volunteered. You had to. The extreme risks and the inevitable failures demanded it. Those responsible for the mistakes were rarely dealt with severely. It could not be described as forgiveness, more a level of understanding, among the top brass at least. Yet the operatives were harsh on themselves as well as on each other. Those who failed colleagues could never forget it, even if others chose to leave it unmentioned.

  Stratton had not failed Jordan officially, not according to the subsequent inquiry. Opinions among the operation planners and those who had been on the ground at the time differed depending on who you talked to. Justifiable or not, Stratton had never truly come to terms with the results of his decision. At the time he had stood by it as the best he could have done under the circumstances. That had not made the outcome for Jordan any easier to accept, particularly when the man had knowingly risked his life in order to comply with the order. Time could not heal the wound for either man. If any opportunity came along for Stratton to make amends he would grab it with both hands.

  Stratton was well aware that the kidnappers could be bluffing, if not about the execution then about the timing. That was often the case and a part of the strategy of negotiation. But not always. Quick executions had sometimes proved helpful in speeding up the decision-making process in the kidnappers’ favour. The group that had hijacked the Morpheus had already killed one worker. They had to be taken seriously.

  Stratton felt a sudden jolt of fear: this could be his only chance to make amends. He needed to think it through - he couldn’t afford to be rash. Time was the major factor. He just wouldn’t be able to work out every phase. He’d have to go step by step until he got to the point of no return. By then he would hope to know if the risks of continuing were acceptable.

  His first thought was to get out of this nuthouse and back to Poole as soon as possible. If the SBS were planning to act fast, another team would have to be put together and he would probably be the ideal person to lead it - if he could get there. But that would take time. And if they didn’t have the manpower they couldn’t mount the operation, which would put him in the wrong location. The planners might have to ignore the threat, wait for the time lock, and use the original team. Jordan would be screwed if they did.

  Stratton wondered if he could find a way onto the platform alone - a private operation. Even a brief consideration of the idea led nowhere. He didn’t have the right kit, for one thing. For another, he would never be able to get a vessel within fifty miles of the rig without being stopped by the Royal Navy. It might theoretically be possible in a small rubber inflatable, if he could carry enough fuel. But if the weather was anything like it usually was in the North Sea that plan could only lead to disaster.

  Stratton looked around at the scientists as he pondered these choices and he felt suddenly horrified. Out of all of them, theirs seemed to have the best chance of success in the time-frame. Yet it was rife with obstacles.

  London would not go for it, of course, so he would have to begin with subterfuge. The first step was to get on board the waiting helicopter and convince the crew to continue the task with the new team. But even if he could get them airborne, keeping them in the air and heading towards the objective was another big obstacle.

  Unable to think of a solution, he moved on to the next major problem: getting this lot onto the platform. It would be putting them at too great a risk. These arrogant nutters were no doubt capable of much but learning to climb an oil rig for the first time in operational conditions was madness.

  He had to be mental for even considering it. But as soon as he tried to put the idea from his mind, Jordan was there instead, looking at him, waiting for him to come and pay him back. That was one image Stratton could not delete so easily. The answer was to use what he had available to get as close to the platform as he could and then go it alone. If the scientists were crazy enough to try, he would use them to his advantage. How, he was not yet sure.

  Jason realised Stratton was staring at him and with a strange look in his eyes. Binning saw the same thing.

  Stratton went over the Poole options once again just
in case he had missed anything. He imagined arriving in Dorset that night, and also the airlock opening to free Chaz. In both cases he heard Mike saying he could not be a part of any team because he was not ‘operationally fit’. The thought of it made him angry.

  The only option that had any hope lay with the nutters. Even then, it didn’t have much chance of success but it looked like it was all he had. He thought fast. Equipment. What did they need? MI16 had dry-bags, and the chopper would already hold nearly everything else they’d want in the team’s boxes. One step at a time, he reminded himself. Up until the point of no return.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Stratton said.

  The other men stopped talking to each other and looked at him.

  Rowena turned in her chair to face Stratton, her eyes not filled with expectation like those of the others but with suspicion. ‘What changed your mind?’ she asked. ‘Five minutes ago I’d have said there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of you going along with it.’

  ‘I don’t particularly care,’ Jason said, jumping in. ‘We can’t get the operation going without him.’

  ‘You trust him so easily, don’t you?’ Rowena flashed Mansfield a look. ‘You’re really that naive?’

  Jason resented the dig but respected her point and faced Stratton in the hope of an explanation.

  ‘Tell us. Why the change of heart?’ Rowena asked the operative again. ‘It would have to be an exceptional reason. Let’s face it, you’d need to be insane to even attempt the operation with this lot.’

  Her directness required a response.

  Stratton suddenly found himself in the most bizarre position of having to convince them. He ran his fingers through his hair as he pondered the answer. The truth was more convincing than any story he could come up with. He saw no harm in telling them. ‘One of the men they’re threatening to execute on the Morpheus is an old friend.’