Standing on the bows of the Inessa, two Spetsnaz commandos watched the swirling water churned up by the propellers. One of the men squinted into the darkness as he saw a rubbery black object surface in the frothing wake. It glinted for a second in the moonlight. He shouted to his comrade who aimed a powerful light towards it. The first man took a closer look through a pair of electronically stabilised binoculars. The object floated briefly before sinking out of sight. The soldier hurled a small buoy off the back to mark the position and talked into a radio. A semirigid speedboat was a few hundred yards behind the ship and he waved at it as he gave the coxswain instructions.
Four men were in the speedboat, two in assault swimmers’ gear. They bit down on mouthpieces and breathed off their sets as the coxswain accelerated the boat forward.
The turbulence around Stratton died down as the Inessa cruised away. The cacophony subsided and the shale that had swirled through the water like the flakes inside a snow globe began to drift back down to the seabed.
Stratton unfastened the strap over his forehead. He pulled away the recording device and held on to it while he reached around for his face mask, fearing he had lost it. Thankfully, it was on the end of its strap. He pulled it against his face and exhaled to clear the water. Before Stratton did anything else he looked at the end of his leg. The fin had indeed been sliced away but just beyond the end of his neoprene-covered foot. A wave of relief swept over him. Another inch and he would have lost his toes.
Stratton moved up a gear, another imminent danger consuming his thoughts. The passing of the Inessa meant the highly probable arrival of Spetsnaz divers to check the shallows.
Stratton ripped away the remaining straps and pulled himself out from under the frame. A new sound halted him, a higher-pitched whine growing to drown out the distant drone of the Inessa. Stratton looked up at the grey surface for any sign of the new vessel. The sound increased; a powerful engine was heading towards him at speed. Would it keep going, or not?
Stratton watched as a darker patch moved overhead. The engine abruptly decelerated and two heavy objects dropped into the water. Stratton knew they were divers and that he was in trouble.
The recorder. He couldn’t swim or defend himself while he still held on to it and therefore it had to go. The brief had been to bring the expensive device back if at all possible. But if not, he was to remove the memory card after ensuring that the device had been armed to self-destruct. At the time Stratton could not help thinking how ridiculous that order was - the latter part of it. If the situation was so desperate that he had to ditch the device he would hardly have time to ensure it was correctly armed. They should have emphasised the need to arm the recorder properly in the first place, before its use. Another example of how procedures were so often formulated by those with little experience in operational implementation.
Stratton pulled out the memory card and let the recorder drop between the boulders. He tucked the card inside his wrist seal. The divers came out of the gloom, both finning hard in his general direction. Experience told him that he could see them because they were against a lighter background and that they could not see him yet. He remained still, his best bet - initially, at least. He was a lame duck anyway with one fin and having his back to the enemy while trying to swim away would just increase the disadvantage.
His hand went to the plastic holster at his right thigh and withdrew the P11 pistol from it. The weapon was only effective within ten metres. He suspected the Spetsnaz would have something similar and was thankful for his body armour.
Powerful lights flashed on in the hands of the divers, who swept the beams across the boulders. The intensity of the Spetsnaz divers’ diligence indicated strongly how confident they were that someone was in the vicinity. Stratton could not see them clearly beyond the glare of the lights. He selected one of the beams, aimed a fraction to its side and touched the pistol’s battery-powered trigger. The weapon barely jolted in his grip as it released a slender steel dart. He fired two more bolts around the lights. At least one must have found its mark because the light turned upwards as if its carrier had lost control.
The other beam caught Stratton and something struck him in the side of his chest, the impact absorbed by the body armour. Another blow followed quickly and slammed through the fibreglass housing of his breathing apparatus. If the missile had done any damage Stratton would soon know about it when he breathed in a mouthful of water - or of caustic acid from the carbon dioxide-absorbent powder.
The Russian diver powered headlong towards Stratton, shining the light into the operative’s eyes, blinding him, and fired again. The shot slashed across Stratton’s shoulder, his blood leaking into the surrounding seawater as two more darts missed him by inches. Stratton could not make out his target in the glare and in desperation fired the rest of his pistol’s darts, one of which smashed the light. But the Russian had closed the gap and, out of ammunition now, he grabbed at Stratton with his hands. The Spetsnaz diver knew the fundamental strategy for underwater hand-to-hand combat: he went for Stratton’s breathing apparatus. Apart from the obvious effect, ripping away the mouthpiece causes immediate panic, thus placing the enemy on the absolute retreat. Usually the first to do it is the winner. It was therefore fair for the Spetsnaz man to assume that as he managed to grab Stratton’s low-pressure oxygen hose where it was attached to his mouthpiece, wrench it out of his mouth and rip it from his set, he had gained the upper and indeed decisive hand. His training had also emphasised ensuring a clean finish, which required maintaining control over the victim until he had succumbed to asphyxiation. He could not allow Stratton to escape to the surface. So the Russian kept a firm hold on Stratton and finned as strongly as he could to push him down between the boulders and hold him there until he was dead.
Stratton reacted in panic to his mouthpiece being ripped out. He fought with all his might to wrestle free from the other man’s clutches, his single aim to get to the surface so as not to perish. But the Russian was not only more powerful than Stratton, he was on top, could breathe, and had both of his fins.
As Stratton twisted and wriggled in vain he slid from the side of the boulder. The Russian pushed him deeper into the crevice. Stratton stretched out an arm to push himself back up and it landed squarely on something immediately familiar. He quickly found the grip of the bolt gun, hauled it up, placed the muzzle against the Russian’s ribcage under his armpit, pushed it in to release the safety catch, and pulled the trigger.The bolt shot through the man’s lungs and aorta before punching its way out the other side, followed by a stream of blood and tissue. The fight instantly went out of the Russian and his body went limp. Stratton ripped out the man’s mouthpiece, shoved it into his own mouth and sucked on it, drawing in the air.
The sound of the speedboat circling above reached down to him. Stratton removed his own flooded diving set, unfastened the Russian’s and tossed it over his own shoulders. He took one of the man’s fins and swam away, keeping low to the bottom.
The compass helped him head straight out to sea away from the mole for a few hundred metres before changing direction back towards the cache. The icy water leaked in through the dart holes in his suit but he had to ignore it. He surfaced once to check he was on the correct bearing to his start point and then not again until he could look out of the water with his chest still on the seabed. After ensuring that the beach was deserted and that he was facing the spot where the cache was hidden, he pulled off the fins and got to his feet. The water in his suit filled the leggings as he hurried into the bushes.