Jack paused just long enough to take a deep breath and gather his wits.
Big mistake.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw another rogue wave suddenly breaking over him in a white-capped fury.
He braced himself against the ladder just as the wave hit.
Too late.
2
All Jack could do was hold on grab-ass tight. The wave hit him like a great gray bull, smashing the side of his helmeted face against the ladder’s steel, but somehow he hung on.
A second passed and the furious gray monster sped away into the forbidding dark.
Jack couldn’t believe his luck. He didn’t wait for the next one.
He untangled himself as quickly as he could and began the ascent, spitting and coughing up briny seawater through his mouth and nose. He scrambled as fast as he dared on the frozen steel, driven upward by John Clark’s raspy voice ringing in his brain: “Shit happens in threes.” Comms going down and a big-ass rogue wave counted for two. He didn’t want to think about what the third might be.
The first few soaking-wet steps were easy, but his left foot slipped badly on the next ice-coated rung. Once again his heart raced, but his fast reflexes secured him tightly to the ladder. His mind was clearer now — running from death had that effect on a man’s brain — and in a moment he was in his stride, carefully but swiftly alternating hands and feet in the dangerous ascent.
He climbed several rungs before glancing up to locate the rest of his team. They were already near the top and scrambling fast, unaware of his near-death experience. The gunshot to Adara’s leg in Chicago last year clearly hadn’t slowed her down.
Gaining confidence in his stride, Jack picked up the climbing tempo. The adrenaline was fueling him now, which helped cut the cold, even though he was drenched and the exertion was warming him up despite the blasting snow. The burning in his thighs was a good sign that he was still alive. Even the seawater still stinging his sinuses helped clear his mind.
So far, so good.
He slowed as he entered the guardrail cage near the top of the ladder, expecting Adara’s gloved hand in the open hole to signal him to hold. The plan was for the three of them to rally at the entrance, then split up and assault their respective targets some ninety feet apart. He popped his head up quickly to scan the platform.
Adara and Midas were gone. What the hell?
So much for the plan.
Jack cleared the hole and the guardrails and assumed a crouching position on the steel-grated deck, designed to keep seawater from accumulating. Most of the snow fell through, so there were no clear boot prints for Jack to follow. He glanced to his left, where the crew’s quarters were located. He didn’t see either Midas or Adara, but according to the plan that’s where they were headed. The schematics indicated that the entrance door was around the corner from where he was, so if the two of them were positioning there, he wouldn’t be able to see them anyway.
Jack checked his watch. If the other team was in place, they’d hit their door in the next thirty seconds.
Time to get to work.
Jack racked the charging handle of his MPX. The terrorists would all be inside in weather like this. Of course they were. He smiled to himself. What moron would be outside in this shit? The snow fell heavier now in the fierce wind — near-blizzard conditions. Jack brushed away the ice crusting on the back of his gloves.
He tried his comms again but still got no reply. Even if Adara and Midas were squatting here next to him, they couldn’t talk to one another — in this wind they’d have to shout, and even if they could hear one another they’d risk giving their positions away.
Jack watched the seconds tick by. He was grateful for the long, tedious hours of training he’d spent over the last week on a platform not unlike this one, especially now that he was finally here in the freezing dark, getting hammered by gale-force winds and with time slipping away. He checked his watch again.
Go!
He ran in a low squat past a steel storage crate and rounded the corner when something near the deck caught his eye. “Head on a swivel!” Ding had shouted at him time after time in training reps. It saved his ass again.
Jack froze in place, the toe of his boot just short of a line of snow.
A tripwire.
It stretched across the steel grating, heavy flakes perching on it like fat pigeons roosting on a power line.
Jack knelt low and lit up the tac light on his weapon, following the tripwire to its terminus — an MRUD, a Yugoslavian knockoff of a Claymore mine.
Tricky bastards.
Gavin’s intel brief didn’t mention mines, but Clark said to be ready for anything. Maybe these Green Army Fucks deployed a jammer to screw with their comms, too. But now Jack wondered, Are the tangos just covering their perimeter, or are they setting us up for something worse?
Jack stepped carefully over the tripwire, his eyes keenly alert for more of them in the green glow of his NVGs and the falling snow. He saw none as he reached his position to the right side of the outward-opening steel door.
According to the dated schematics, the square control-room building he leaned against was thirty feet by thirty feet — identical to the other three structures on the old platform. Jack was entering on the east wall. On the far west wall was another door, leading to the crew’s quarters. On the north wall was a door to the machine shop. That was his goal.
If I survive the control room, he reminded himself.
Inside the control room there were no interior walls. All of the control panels, desks, and workstations were along the exterior walls. Once he was inside, there was nowhere to hide.
Jack checked his watch again. Ten seconds to go. He laid a gloved hand on the doorknob and turned it gently. Unlocked. Good.
Gunshots rang out on the far end of the platform. Sounded like AK-47s. That meant Ding and Dom were in it. But they weren’t shooting AKs. He didn’t hear return fire. Maybe the sound of their suppressed guns wouldn’t make it to him in this wind.
Jack felt the blood rush. His friends were in trouble. Suddenly he wasn’t cold at all. Time to kick some ass.
Jack pushed the door open and quickly drew back, pressing against the corrugated steel wall, certain the terrorists would fire at the open doorway.
They didn’t.
Jack glanced in for one second and jerked back. He’d seen nothing in his NVGs except the exit door on the north side of the room, slightly open. He was grateful for the advantage the low-light tech gave him.
More loud gunshots blasted around the platform. A few muffled bursts as well. He needed to move his ass.
He dashed low and fast through the doorway—
BAM!
Light stabbed his eyes like daggers.
His wide-open pupils in the NVGs turned the light in the overhead lamps into photon shrapnel. Jack hit the deck and rolled just as gunfire broke out from the open north door. He raised his weapon blind, pulled the trigger, and sprayed full auto in the direction of the noise, but as soon as his magazine emptied, the GAF shooter stopped.
Jack jumped to his feet, yanking off the goggles and rubbing his blinded eyes as he bolted for the north wall. By the time he slammed into the wall near the door, his vision had mostly cleared. He wondered if it was a motion sensor or a fast hand that had tripped the room lights. Guess it didn’t really matter.
A quick check of his body confirmed he wasn’t hit. He wasn’t sure why not. The linoleum floor near where he had dropped was shredded.
All Jack could think was Shit comes in threes. And that was number three.