Deacon joined him. ‘Is it okay?’
‘Looks it,’ Jordan shouted back.
‘The other charges,’ Deacon said, pointing.
Jordan leaned over a rail to look down between the lower struts. He saw a charge wrapped around a heavy link that held fast one of the dozen anchor cables that kept the rig in position.
‘There are five more like that. Can you manage a ladder?’
Jordan frowned at the implication and walked over to a ladder welded to the side of the leg. He grabbed hold of the cold wet rungs with his bare hands, swung his legs beneath him and began to descend.
Deacon grinned, amused by the man’s effort to prove himself. He rubbed his hands together against the cold, took hold of a rung and followed.
Jordan reached the lower deck. Here there were fewer equipment blocks and machinery to check the wind and rain, and the gale funnelled between the spars ferociously. He inspected one of the charges and eyed the others spread around the perimeter of the deck. He looked back to see Deacon partway down the ladder. ‘You have the detonating control?’
Deacon touched down onto the deck and removed a yellow box the size of a cigarette pack from his pocket. Jordan wanted to ask for it. But from what little he knew about Deacon he could sense that the man wouldn’t give it up. The bosses hadn’t been clear enough about who was in ultimate command. Splitting the leadership in this way was not very clever and could cause friction when final decisions had to be made. Jordan decided not to make his play just yet.
He took in the vast oil platform above, below and around them. ‘You think they’re serious enough to do this?’
‘I get the feeling they don’t bluff.’ Deacon wondered what Mackay knew. ‘Is this just about ransom money or is it something else?’
Jordan wondered in turn how much the other man knew, if anything. ‘I’ve got my piece to do, just like you. Other than that I don’t know.’
‘You’re the platform expert?’ Deacon shouted.
‘Not exactly.’ Jordan looked out to sea. ‘They’ll come at night.’
‘Who?’ Deacon asked.
‘Those whose job it is to take back the platform. They might come in force, one heavy assault, or send in a recce team first.’
‘When?’
‘Depends on the negotiations . . . Soon . . . Days.’
Deacon had an idea who - or, at least, what - Jordan was. ‘You ex-SBS?’ he asked.
Jordon nodded.
Deacon smirked. ‘We’ll be ready for ’em. I’m going to place booby traps on all the stairs and ladders coming from below.’
‘They won’t come the way you think. You won’t see them until they show themselves. If you’re still on board when they get here they’ll kill you.’
Deacon’s smile melted.
Jordan reached for a rung and pulled himself up the ladder. Deacon watched him climb, suddenly feeling less comfortable. He sensed that Jordan might be a problem. The man had the air of someone who thought he was in charge. Deacon would take the first opportunity to let him know who really was.
The Chinook cruised at several thousand feet above the English countryside, keeping the city of Sheffield on its left as it headed towards the coastline at Scarborough. Stratton had gone through every operational trunk and the team’s personal boxes to gather the equipment that he felt he needed for the task. It had been more an exercise to keep himself busy than it had been based on any great confidence that he would actually use it.
The crewman came over to Stratton and tapped him on the shoulder, looking concerned. ‘Charles is getting stressed about the lost comms,’ he yelled above the noise of the rotors and engines. ‘What’s weird is that none of us have even been able to get a signal on our cellphones.’
‘What does he want to do?’ Stratton asked, placing a magazine into a semi-automatic pistol. It was drawing close to that critical moment.
‘Do you think something back at MI16 damaged our comms?’
‘Ask those guys,’ Stratton said, indicating the scientists still in their seats.
George glanced at them. Jason was looking at the ceiling. Binning was watching him and Stratton. Jackson was tapping the screen of a pocket computer with a stylus. Smithy was literally twiddling his thumbs and Rowena had her head back and her eyes closed. ‘Doesn’t matter if they can’t fix it. We’re going to have to land somewhere we can contact ops.’
Stratton had been thinking all the time about a way round this obstacle and had been unable to come up with an even remotely acceptable option. The only solution was the extreme long shot of the pilot taking things into his own hands and pressing on with the task. But that would have required a sudden madness in Charlie.
‘If there’s been a change in plans we won’t know about it,’ George explained.
Stratton knew he had to make some kind of effort, futile though it looked. He made his way to the cockpit, stepped inside and tapped the pilot on the shoulder. Charles looked around at him. ‘Ops’ll know that you have lost comms. The procedure is to continue with the task.’
‘I understand that. The plan calls for us to put down on a ship north of the Morpheus. But a serious storm has overtaken the operational area. We have enough fuel to get to the ship and land on it but not for a return to the mainland. If the ship has moved and we have to turn back for the coast, we could be in trouble.’
Stratton had hoped they were headed directly for a sea drop-off. ‘Could you drop us off a couple of miles from the Morpheus and get back?’
‘The rig’s closer to land than the command ship. But those aren’t my orders.’
‘It’s one of the contingencies, though, isn’t it? To go direct to water drop?’ Stratton was guessing but it was an option he would have put in the orders.
‘I can’t make that decision. And neither can you.’
Stratton knew he had hit a brick wall.
‘If we don’t have comms by the time we reach the coast, I’m landing,’ Charlie added.
Stratton nodded and walked away. He sat beside Jason. ‘The pilot’s going to land if they still have no comms by the time we reach the coast.’
‘What are our options?’ Jason asked.
‘If we have any, I can’t think of one.’
Binning began to look agitated. ‘If it comes down to it, could we threaten the pilot?’
‘You want to threaten to shoot one of the crew?’ Stratton asked sarcastically, wondering about the man’s common sense.
Binning realised it was a stupid comment but it was a sign of his growing frustration.
The crewman stepped out of the cockpit and walked over to the group. ‘Scarborough’s coming up,’ he said.
Stratton looked through the porthole behind his head at the coastline below. The sea stretched to the horizon.
‘We’re going to head north to Aberdeen,’ George informed them. ‘Charles will put down at the forward mounting base there.’ He headed back to the cockpit.
The news only served to increase Binning’s agitation. ‘We’re screwed if he does that.’
Stratton had to agree. He could see it all grinding to a halt if they landed in Aberdeen. ‘You’d better turn the comms block off.’
Binning was on the verge of anger. ‘Is that all you can come up with?’
Stratton flashed him a look, finding his response odd. ‘Turn it off,’ Stratton ordered, a warning in his tone.
Binning clenched his jaw and looked at Jason for help.
‘Turn it off,’ his boss said resignedly.
Binning was alone and had no alternatives. He opened the apparatus’s plastic casing, reached inside and flicked a switch. Stratton got to his feet and went to the cockpit door, taking a pair of headphones from a hook. He put them on and the voices in the cockpit came to life.