Stratton touched his gun’s trigger and the resulting click sent a round into Jock’s chest just above his heart. Stratton swivelled his upper body to face Queen who was in a more advanced firing position, having had a fraction of a second longer to bring up her weapon.
Stratton squeezed the trigger a second time and swivelled back, his eyes focusing over the top of the SMG to see that Jock, although he’d been punched backwards by the force of the first bullet, was still intent on firing his weapon. The second round struck Queen in the face, below her left eye - Stratton had not risked firing a destabilising bullet at someone who was ready to fire.
Stratton fired a third round and swivelled again to find Queen still on her feet, the muzzle of her gun dropping down to aim at the men directly in front of her, her grip still strong.
Stratton fired again and twisted round to see Jock falling, his head crashing against the wall, his eyes half open, his gun slipping from his grip. The final bullet to strike Queen had hit her in the forehead and she died on her feet, dropping to the floor as if strings that had been holding her up had been cut cleanly. Jock slid on down the wall, leaving a streak of blood behind him, and crumpled on the floor in a motionless heap.
Stratton remained in the firing position to scan the room for more targets. Most of the platform workers were asleep and had remained so throughout the near-silent battle. Those awake were stunned by what they had seen and by the speed with which it had happened.
‘Any more?’ Stratton calmly asked a man who was sitting on the floor a few feet away and staring at him through wide eyes.
The man took a moment to gather himself and shook his head.
‘You sure?’
The platform worker pulled himself together. ‘I don’t think so. Two outside and two in here.’
‘You ex-military?’ Stratton asked the man on a hunch.
He nodded. ‘Green Jackets.’
‘Good unit,’ Stratton said, lowering his weapon and pulling his knife from its sheath. He reached behind the man and cut through his plastic handcuffs.
The men who had been awake and had seen what happened were shaking those nearby who were still asleep.
‘Stay calm and keep your voices down,’ Stratton said firmly, addressing everyone. ‘Any more ex-servicemen here?’
Heads began nodding and affirmative answers were called out around the room. Stratton scanned each row, hoping to find Jordan there.
Stratton handed the knife to the man he had freed. ‘Cut everyone free,’ he ordered. ‘Listen in,’ he addressed the room as the man did what he’d been told. ‘You soldiers take charge. I want you to stay here until I say otherwise. You’ve got four weapons to guard the entrances. If you go up there you’ll get in the way and someone could get hurt. Is that understood?’
The soldiers nodded. Those with their hands freed got to their feet and immediately picked up the weapons that had belonged to their jailers. The atmosphere was typical of what one would expect from restrained men whose lives had been threatened and were now getting a chance to fight back. They wanted blood and were ready to take it.
‘Is there a Jordan Mackay here?’ Stratton asked.
Silence. The men looked to each other for an answer.
‘He’s the bloke that they took away,’ one said.
‘Aye, there was a shot outside in the corridor shortly after and I’m certain someone died,’ another said.
‘I heard him say it was one of their own that had been shot,’ yet another offered, indicating Jock.
Stratton’s hopes of a clean grab of his friend and a getaway were momentarily dashed. He was already of no further use to the men in the galley and he turned to leave.
‘What’ll happen now?’ one of them asked.
‘Are we getting off the rig?’ asked another.
‘Can we head to the lifeboats?’
‘Where’s the rest of your team?’
Stratton put up a hand, signalling silence. ‘For the time being, stay here, stay quiet, get organised for a move but just wait.’ He looked at the questioning faces and felt suddenly guilty. He could not tell them that he was the only rescuer, that he was all alone. They would stampede onto the deck looking for a fight and many of them could get killed. There was also the issue of the platform itself. It had a lot of highly inflammable material on board and would literally become a bomb if something went wrong. But their chances of survival had increased. Now they were at least masters of their own destiny, to some extent. Depending on the number of hijackers, theirs had become a defensible position. It all now depended on how they would react to the changed situation. ‘I’ll try and get back to you soon. But be prepared to wait here for several hours.’
He couldn’t think of anything else of use to tell them and turned to the doors once again.
‘Watch out for their leader,’ a man nearby offered. ‘He’s a mean bastard.’
Stratton heard it and headed through the doors.
‘So’s he, by the look of it,’ one of the old soldiers said as Stratton left. ‘Right. Let’s get organised,’ he called out to the room.
Jordan stood at one end of the control room, preoccupied. Deacon sat studying him, noting that he had checked his watch half a dozen times since they had returned. The apparent arrival of persons unknown at the base of the platform had not worried their illustrious leader but it had certainly got him all agitated. Deacon wondered whether to press Jordan for an explanation.
The sound of the outer door opening focused both men’s attentions on the inner one. It had to be one of Deacon’s men. Yet all of them were currently on full alert due to the presence of the reconnaissance team below. The door opened and Banzi backed into the room, his waterproof soaked, his rifle slung over a shoulder, a pistol in his hand and aimed into the airlock. He was not alone.
Banzi urged whoever it was to come inside.
It was Binning, in assault gear minus hood, his face and hair soaking wet.
Deacon got to his feet, stupefied.
Jordan looked expectant.
‘Hi,’ Binning said, appearing relaxed and offering his usual understated smile. ‘Sorry about the intrusion. I actually found this gentleman before he found me and asked him to take me to the hijackers’ leader.’ Binning looked between the two men, wondering who that leader was.
‘He was on the machinery deck,’ Banzi offered in his stunted English.
‘Who the bloody ’ell are you?’ Deacon asked. Then, glancing at Jordan, ‘Is he one of your blokes?’
Binning had no idea what the man was talking about. ‘Name’s Binning. I’m a few days earlier than expected. Things are a little off schedule but all for the better, I’d say.’ He beamed.
Jordan had taken a good look at Binning, noting his familiar attire, harness and accessories, including the empty holster at his thigh, the gun from which was now in Banzi’s hand. ‘Who are you?’
Binning held up the plastic box that had been attached to his body since leaving the helicopter. ‘It’s why we’re all here.’
‘It was supposed to be left on the spiders where I could find it at first light,’ Jordan said.
‘Change of plan. The SB surveillance team was going to leave it for you to pick up but I had a bad feeling about our people. Time for me to get out of there. So I’ve brought it along personally. And, of course, I’m coming along with it.’
Jordan looked unsure.
‘Don’t worry, old boy,’ Binning said in response to the look. ‘I’m sure it will be approved. Give your boss a call. Tell him that Binning is moving over earlier than planned. You see, I’m almost as important as the device.’