The helicopter passed by once more, shining a bright spotlight at the rig. Popov and Levin moved hastily out of the path of the light and into the stairwell.
From the inside of the elevator, Les Gorski gently pulled the doors open with his fingertips, enough to peer through with one eye.
He studied the lit hallway. There was no movement.
He could hear the repeated calls on the radio several rooms away.
Gorski fought to control his breathing and turned his head, pressing an ear against the slit between the doors to listen.
Nothing. He’d heard two voices before, followed by a pounding down the steps in the stairwell. But he didn’t know whether that meant they were going down or more were coming up.
He also couldn’t hear any of the distant gunfire coming from the Pathfinder, only the sounds of the helicopter circling the rig. That meant whatever had happened over there was over. And now they were here.
In the end, none of that mattered. What did matter was for him to get to the radio. He needed backup. And the crew aboard the Pathfinder needed to know what was waiting for them on the Valant.
All he needed was thirty seconds. Just enough time for one message to warn them. A quick trip down the hall and back.
Gorski took a deep breath and pried the doors further apart. Once wide enough, he stepped forward with one foot and braced the left door open with his boot and shoulder. Then the second foot, forcing the right door back until both doors were separated. Once it was far enough for him to position his rifle between them, he propped them open. He had nothing else to use, which meant he would not only have to do it quickly but unarmed as well.
He stared down the hall and counted.
One. Two. Three!
Near the other end of the hall, Levin’s man stood waiting, casually shifting his weight. It was now less than ten minutes until the Yak aircraft arrived.
The loudspeakers of the radio echoed again, while outside the American helicopter continued to circle. And even though the message was in English, the Russian soldier still made out a few faint words. It was a language that all Spetsnaz troops had recently been instructed to learn.
Curiously, the soldier stepped into the mouth of the hallway then inched gradually further, listening intently to the broadcast. It was only then that he was close enough to hear the footsteps.
The sudden gunfire startled Popov and Levin, leaving them scrambling up the metal stairs, then out the rusted door of the stairwell.
Levin’s rifle went instantly to his shoulder as both men ran into a large room before the ringing of the shots completely disappeared. They rounded the corner into the wide hallway.
He whistled to his man who promptly answered.
“Down here!”
The soldiers ran down the hall, passing several rooms, until they reached the doorway where their teammate was standing. Intensely focused with his rifle aimed downward, he towered over the crumpled figure of Les Gorski.
Levin stepped aside to make room for Popov, who then also looked down into the eyes of Gorski. The front of the American’s shirt was covered in blood and spreading.
Just a few feet away, the radio blared again. This time with a different message. “I repeat, roger that. If you still copy, evacuate the vessel immediately! Repeat, immediately!”
It was clear from the Russians’ expression that they didn’t fully comprehend the message. Too bad for them. Les Gorski leaned his head back against the wall and smiled up at all three men, the blood seeping between his teeth. With his last breath, he extended his middle finger.
Two minutes later, Popov reached the top deck and walked out onto the landing pad. Something was not right. He waited several seconds before he was sure: the sound of the helicopter was gone. Replaced by something else. A low, distant rumble. No, not a rumble. A roar.
It rapidly grew louder until the thunder could be heard clearly. It was the scream of a jet engine. And the pitch did not sound Russian.
It was the last thought Sergeant Alexander Popov ever had.
100
The explosion was massive. Engulfing the entire rig in a gigantic ball of flame, huge areas of the vessel were ripped apart by a blast so powerful and so hot that many pieces of the walls and flooring melted in midair. The wreckage plunged over a hundred feet into the sea below.
Two towering cranes stood desolate amid the Valant’s flames, powerful and unshaken until their supports beneath finally turned to molten steel, collapsing. As each crane was brought down, it smashed upon the disintegrating platform and broke into pieces.
The flames lit up the dark sky like a miniature sun, from which clouds of thick black smoke billowed upward and disappeared.
It was a display that could be seen perfectly from the Pathfinder, where many of the crew were already caring for their wounded and fallen sailors.
But what no one noticed against the bright burning backdrop of red and orange was a tiny silhouette moving across the top of the water — a short distance away but swimming directly toward them.
It was the outline of a dolphin. Dirk. Pulling the unmoving figure of Alison Shaw.
101
Clay approached Caesare in the early morning darkness, as his friend sat propped up against a large rock. When Clay got to within ten feet, Caesare spoke softly, resting his head back against the stone and his gun across his lap.
“Morning.”
Clay stopped in front of him. “Time to switch.”
“Oh-three-hundred already?”
“Mmm hmm.”
Caesare inhaled before gripping his gun and standing up, haphazardly dusting off his pants. “Time flies.”
“Hear anything?”
“Nah. Just some animals. They’re keeping their distance. I’m sure they can smell us.”
Clay grinned. “And we don’t even smell that bad yet.”
He could see Caesare smile in the darkness. “Yeah. We’ve sure smelled a hell of a lot worse. Remember Panama? Hiding waist deep in a swamp for four days. Talk about stink.”
Clay chuckled and looked around. “Makes this place feel like a resort.”
“I do still miss some of it,” Caesare mused. “Not so much the conditions, but the team. Being with a group of guys that would do anything for one another. Whatever it took to keep each other alive.” Caesare looked out into the darkness. “God, we were a force to be reckoned with.” He turned back. “You ever stop to think, Clay, just how much we’ve done? And how much crap we’ve seen?”
“Hard to remember until you step back.”
“It’s true,” Caesare nodded his head, his smile returning. “Remember jumping out of that C-130 loaded with all that gear? Christ, with that launcher you couldn’t even stand up.”
“Hahn and Pidilla had to help lift me.”
“I can still see you standing in that doorway. I was laughing so hard. But I’m guessing that jump is what really did in your knees.”
“Well, one of ‘em.”
“It’s funny how so many people think of the military as careful and calculating. But they pushed us to do things that were just insane. I can’t believe any of us can still walk.”
“Yeah, we were all beginning to feel like crash test dummies in the end.”
Caesare put his hands on his hips and looked up at the moon, crawling closer to the horizon. “I thought things were political back then. It’s even worse now. Things are messier.”