They rose and fell on the rolling sea, a good fifty metres apart and rarely visible to each other, the line connecting them seesawing as one hit a peak and the other a trough.
It grew suddenly darker as they moved into the shadow of the platform and past the perimeter of lights, heading directly beneath the overhanging balconies of the decks, the leg expanding visibly as they got closer. Rowena and Stratton passed close to another leg that was coated all the way round with a thick layer of barnacles clustered at the waterline. The waves struck the vast supports and the booming noises that they made rebounded around the platform cave.
The leg diameter was the length of a bus. Stratton’s gaze darted between it and the line. Jason and Binning became visible briefly on the top of a swell and Stratton knew they would hit it perfectly.
The troughs exposed the gnarled barnacles that Stratton knew from experience were razor sharp. ‘Watch out for the barnacles!’ he shouted to Rowena. It was just another problem to add to the load she already had.
They rose up onto a peak as they came alongside the curved wall of steel. The wave slammed into the upright, the frothy water reaching up towards the first cross-beams. Stratton was drawn into the leg and stuck out his feet to fend it off. Solid. And sharp. The barnacles scratched his fins as he went by.
Jason and Binning went down the other side and the line wrapped around the leg. The pairs moved closer together as they slid down into another trough. The line suddenly went taut and yanked them to a brutal halt.
It was like being dragged along by a boat now. The sudden change pulled them lower in the water and it was much harder to keep breathing air. When they were at the peak of the wave they were almost dragged under and when at the trough the force was trying to yank them higher. They’d hit the leg in the middle of the line so they were held almost the same distance - its width - from it. They could hardly see anything directly beneath the platform, only a few rays of light finding their way between the girders.
Stratton lay on his back, holding on to the line. He searched the nearest girders for signs of life. The wind and rain whipped through the structure in gusts and squalls, beating tirelessly against the metal. If there was someone hiding in the darkness above they would be invisible but they would also have to be holding on tight or lashed to a span. And if they were, they could not stay there for long. Stratton felt confident that the team was not being observed.
He pulled the grapnel launcher from around his neck, took hold of the stock and trigger grip and selected the ideal spar. The air-powered device had been primed since before they’d left the Chinook and Stratton removed the bungee that held the grapnel in place, checked that the line was free to uncoil and then removed the safety catch. He put the butt against his shoulder and raised the grapnel end skyward. The heavy sea made it difficult to maintain position long enough to get off an accurate shot.
‘Hold me!’ he shouted.
Rowena pulled herself to him and grabbed him from behind, her hands gripping his harness, her legs finning as hard as she could. Her head went under the water and she spluttered when she surfaced but maintained her grip. She would not be able to do it for long since the difficult position kept her head under the water more than above it. Well aware of her situation, Stratton quickly aimed once again. The angle was crucial. Too high and the wind might blow it back once it had reached its full length of cable. Too low and he risked hitting the span itself or having the grapnel fly beneath it.
He felt Rowena go under but waited until they rose to the top of a wave, reducing the distance to the span by a third. As she surfaced he fired.The butt of the launcher punched into his shoulder and they both went under the water. When they surfaced at the bottom of a trough, Rowena almost choking, they could see the all-important double cable lying over the span, the ends still attached to the launcher. The grapnel had got over the spar.
Stratton let go of the gun, kept hold of the lines and pulled on them as quickly as he could. The lightweight tungsten grapnel came out of the water up towards the span and one of the claws snagged hold of a corner. He gave it a firm jerk to ensure that it was secure. ‘Hand me your caving ladder,’ he said.
Rowena unhooked the rolled alloy ladder from her harness and handed it to him. Stratton attached the karabiner on the end of the ladder to the end of one of the lines and pulled down on the other. The line passed through a one-way device on the grapnel and the ladder rose out of the water towards the span.
Jason and Binning watched somewhat helplessly as they rose and fell on the swell. A huge wave slammed against the leg sending water cascading over them, the boom that it made sounding like thunder. It jolted the line powerfully and as Jason traced the cable back to the leg the dropping swell exposed it. To his horror he saw that it was fraying. ‘Stratton!’ he called. ‘The line!’
Stratton recognised the danger. He’d seen it before, a bad combination of extremely heavy seas and barnacles. They had to hurry. He released the line and it sank immediately with the weight of the launcher on the end of it. The lone caving ladder hanging from the spar was now their only way out of the water. Its end dangled in the water several metres away. It was across the tide, a high-risk quick burst away to bridge the gap. If he missed it he would float out to sea.
Stratton unhooked the karabiner that held him to the snag line, waited for the next trough and finned hard towards the ladder. As he came off the line Rowena got dragged closer to the leg by the greater weight of Jason and Binning.
Stratton caught hold of the ladder. ‘Binning,’ he called out immediately as he ripped his fins off and let them go. ‘You. Now. To the ladder. Let’s go.’
Binning did not hesitate. He unhooked himself and made a supreme effort to reach Stratton, which he did more easily than he had expected to. Stratton grabbed him at the same time with a free hand.
‘I’ve got it,’ Binning spluttered.
‘If you can’t carry your gear, hook it to the bottom rung of the ladder. We’ll haul it up later.’
Binning shook his head. ‘I’ll be fine.’
The climb. Not a simple affair in calm conditions. In a storm a bad dream. Requiring a combination of iron strength and real skill. In a heavy swell the trick was knowing when to begin.
‘Dump your fins,’ Stratton said. ‘Wait until we’re at the peak, then climb as fast as you can.’
‘The line’s going to break,’ Jason called out.
‘Move your arse!’ Stratton urged Binning.
As they rose up the next swell Binning unstrapped his fins, frantically wiggling them free, and at the same time struggled to grip the ladder. They went up as if they were on an escalator.
‘Grab high as you can! Now!’ Stratton shouted.
The wave peaked and Binning reached for the highest rung he could. When the water dropped he dangled like a fish on a hook, his hands bearing the weight of his body, suit and equipment. He fought to get a foot on a lower rung to take some of the strain from his fingers.
Some forty feet below him now, Stratton watched Binning cycling in the air. ‘Climb, Binning! Climb!’
If Binning did not gain a few feet before the top of the next wave arrived it would punch him off. He climbed for all he was worth. The peak struck his legs hard but he hung on.