‘We have to take the rough with the smooth, sir.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
The ambassador caught his nephew hovering over his shoulder and reluctantly acknowledged his presence. ‘Brigstock.You met Stratton?’The old man didn’t want to share Stratton with his nephew but these parties were all about meeting people of influence.
‘’Em, not exactly sir,’ Brigstock stammered.
‘Special Boat Service. One of the top operatives in the country, and that’s not just my opinion.’
Stratton ignored the two men who started to offer their hands but changed their minds when they realised they would not be taken. Brigstock’s girlfriend smiled at Stratton as if she had always been on his side.
Stratton’s phone vibrated in his pocket.‘Excuse me a moment, sir,’ he said as he took it out, checked the screen, pushed a button and put it to his ear. He heard a loud noise that sounded like interference. ‘Scouse.That you?’ he said loudly, trying to compensate for the noise.
‘Stratton,’ a voice shouted.
‘You in a chopper?’ Stratton asked.
‘Yes. Where are you?’
‘Lord Balmore’s estate. We’re covering a garden party.’
‘I know that. I’m towards your location. This isn’t a social call.’
Stratton then heard the throb of a helicopter and looked to the skies. It sounded like it was coming from the south but a wood bordering that side of the estate concealed anything flying low from view.
‘Get your arse into the open,’ Scouse shouted. ‘We’re coming to pick you up.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Something big.’
The helicopter suddenly roared out from the tree-tops, right over the lawn, putting an abrupt halt to every conversation, and banked low over the estate. It was an SBS Super Lynx, a nine-seat jet assault helicopter.
‘Get yourself a marker,’ Scouse said.
‘I’m on it,’ Stratton said, then to the ambassador. ‘Gotta go, sir.’
‘Something come up?’
‘Looks like it,’ Stratton said.
‘That’s more like it, eh?’
Stratton scanned around for something bright and saw it draped over the shoulders of Brigstock’s girlfriend.
‘May I?’ he said to her as he took her pink jacket.
‘Oh. Yes . . . um . . .’
Then Stratton was off, jogging to a clear part of the lawn.
‘Look after yourself,’ the ambassador called out to him.
The man in the white suit stepped out of the building as Stratton went past. ‘I say. Where’s my Buck’s Fizz?’ he said, then noticed the circling helicopter. ‘Oh, my word.’
Stratton held the phone to his ear as he swung the pink coat around his head. ‘Scouse, I’m waving pink.’
‘Seen,’ Scouse replied, and the Lynx continued its spiral back to the lawn. It headed directly for Stratton rapidly losing height and then a few metres from him tipped its nose up to halt its forward movement, levelled out and dropped rapidly on to its trolley wheels as Stratton ran towards it. The marquee took a pounding from the rotors, as did the nearby guests, tables and ladies’ hats, which went flying.
The side door was already open and Stratton jumped in. The Lynx rose quickly, nose dipped dramatically, and accelerated forward and up, engines screaming and the blades carving hungrily into the air as it gained height. The pink jacket came flying out of the door and landed not far from the two officers. Brigstock’s girlfriend ran to pick it up and then waved farewell with it as the Lynx thundered over the house and was out of sight and sound in seconds.
Morgan and Smudge came running on to the lawn amid the whirling debris in time to see the helicopter go.
‘Lucky bastard,’ Morgan said looking thoroughly pissed off.
Scouse slid the door shut, closing out the wind and some of the noise, and Stratton regarded the five SBS operatives who shared the cab behind the cockpit. They were all dressed in black assault clothing, with bulging chest harnesses filled with various pieces of equipment and ordnance, leather gloves, helmets on laps, throat mics, MPK5 sub-machine guns and P226 semi-automatic pistols strapped to their thighs. Scouse, sat beside Stratton, slid a heavy-duty black holdall along the floor and dumped it on top of a large coil of heavy thick rope at Stratton’s feet, one end of which was shackled to a strong point in the ceiling near Stratton’s door.
‘Here’s your kit,’ Scouse shouted over the shrill of the engines.
Stratton took his jacket off and started pulling at his tie. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Possible hijacked supertanker. Sometime before dawn. It’s way off course and doesn’t respond to any radio calls.The coastguard’s alongside but it’s too high for them to climb on deck. They have a chopper in the area but they’ve been told not to board her. The bad news is it’s heading for the coast at top speed, towards the Torquay area, and it’s full to the gunwales with oil.’
‘How long’ve we got?’
‘It’s gonna be tight. By the time we get there I reckon we’ll have about fifteen, twenty minutes to take it.’
‘Anything on the bad guys?’ Stratton asked as he pulled off his shoes and trousers and dug his one-piece fire-retardant assault suit out of the bag.
‘Helicopter reports no sign of life on deck and the bridge looks empty.’
‘Where’s it from?’
‘It’s an Aralco oil company boat. One of their big ones. Last stop was Sidi Kerir oil terminal off the coast of Egypt in the Med where it took on its load. It was on its way to Rotterdam. Last known contact was with its headquarters in Dubai one a.m. this morning.’
‘What’s the plan?’
‘Two under-slung VSVs are on their way by Chinook. We’ll take the bridge as the lads hit the main deck. A bunch of bio-chem and nuclear specialists are on their way.’
‘Who’s in the VSVs?’
‘Jacko’s got Alpha in VSV one, Stevens has Echo in two. And you’ve got us.’
Stratton looked at the other faces: Fred, Nick, Tip and Foster. ‘All right, lads?’ he asked. They gave him a thumbs up. Stratton didn’t know them very well though he had worked with Tip a couple of times. Because Stratton had spent so much time away from the squadrons he hadn’t rotated through the various teams as much as other seniors such as Scouse. Now that he had been back almost a year he was getting to know most of the guys again and meeting the new ones. Everyone knew him, of course, even the new operatives who had just joined. It was generally considered, although it was not a subject particularly discussed, that Stratton was the SBS’s top operative, and often other operatives’ first choice of team commander if an operation was going down.That was influenced by the fact that Stratton was often the operations room’s first choice for the more difficult tasks. Senior officers acknowledged he had the gift of inspiring those he worked with.
‘Hey, Stratton,’ Foster said, leaning towards him. ‘Morgan ’asn’t fucked up my jacket by any chance?’
‘Why’d you lend it to ’im if you’re so worried?’ Tip asked.
‘Either ’e went with the jacket or I did,’ Foster stated.
‘He said something about trimming the sleeves a bit,’ Stratton said poker faced.
Foster studied Stratton, wondering if this was a bite, but he didn’t know him well enough to call him on it.
‘Did that to a pair of trousers I lent him,’ Tip added.