I felt a fresh wave of panic sweep over me, but I fought it off. ‘We will submerge to a depth of a few feet, and approach the platform underwater, maintaining a south-south-westerly course which will take you straight to it. When we see the legs we will dive a bit deeper, to ensure that our approach cannot be seen from above.’
He rolled up the chart and produced a plan, which he spread out on the table. ‘This is the lay-out of Beta platform. It has four strong metal legs, as you can see. The access ladder is attached to this one, on the north west corner. When we climb it, we will reach a walkway. We’ll leave our tanks and other unnecessary equipment there, and make ready to enter the platform.’
‘That’s going to be the difficult part, isn’t it?’ Miles murmured.
‘Easier than you think. When this platform was operational, there was an emergency escape pod, right at its base. It’s not there any more, but the ladder and latch which led into it, they are. They’re accessed through a door in a store-room, but also from the walkway. That’s where we head for; we find it, climb the ladder and we’re inside.’
We nodded, as the lieutenant continued. ‘As you can see from the plan, all the working parts of this installation are in the lower levels, with accommodation above, just below the helideck and hangar. Operationally, the place was run by three people. So we won’t have much to search. There are three cabins, a mess, the shower room and heads, and a galley - that’s it.
‘The stairway which leads up to the living module comes out here, next to the heads. We’ll be in a corridor, without windows, which may or may not be lit. Better for us if it isn’t. We’ll carry torches, but even on the lower level, we’ll use these night-glasses.’ He reached under the table and produced two headsets, which looked like strap-on spectacles for a very, very short-sighted man. I recognised them as night-glasses from a Territorial Army ad on which I’d done the voice-over.
‘How do we carry those?’ I asked him.
‘We won’t have weights on this dive. We’ll carry these and our other equipment in watertight bags, strapped to our chests.’
‘What other equipment?’
Ardley reached under the table again, and produced a black metal automatic pistol, fitted with a silencer. I gulped. It must have been pretty theatrical, for the other three grinned at me. Until then, Sergeant Roper had been impassive. He was only a wee man, around the same age as me, but his lined face looked as if it had been carved out of stone.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Blackstone,’ said the officer. ‘This is for Mr Grayson. He’s firearms qualified; you’re not. No offence, but no way would I have you following behind me on an op with a loaded weapon.’
‘I’ll have live rounds, then,’ said Miles. ‘I thought it might have been just for show.’
‘Nothing’s for show in this one,’ Ardley murmured. ‘Which brings me to the real business. Our political commanders have accepted military advice that this is to be treated as a counter-terrorist operation. That means that if we find Mrs Grayson’s abductor on board the platform, we are authorised to kill him, there and then. No warnings, no “hands up” - we may shoot the bastard where he stands.
‘Don’t worry about the aftermath. There won’t be any; we’ll have a back-up team to clean up the mess.’
He looked hard at me, killer-hard, and then at Miles. ‘You gentlemen volunteered for this mission. Do either of you have a problem with what I’m telling you?’
I had a big problem; I hadn’t bargained for this at all. I suppose I’d imagined that when we caught up with Stephen Donn, it would be a bit like a movie. He’d either chuck it, or he and Miles would have a punch-up which would end with him on the floor. I almost backed out of it then. I knew that if I had, none of the guys would have said a word about it. But then I thought of Dawn, and of Colin, and for some reason, inexplicable at the time, I thought of Jan; in that moment I found, for the first time in my life, the real dark side of Oz Blackstone.
I shook my head. As for Miles, he didn’t even bother to acknowledge the Marine’s question.
Lieutenant Ardley looked at us both, and then his face changed. ‘Look guys,’ he said. ‘I have to tell you that I think you’re crazy to come along on this. I know about your record of counter-terrorist special ops service in the South Pacific Basin, Mr Grayson, how you were decorated twice and everything else, but that’s a long time in the past.
‘I’m sure you know that you’re only coming because of your personal connections, and as you can guess, that it’s against our advice. We could run this mission just as well without either of you along. Until we go over the side, it’s still not too late to let us.’
‘I can do this, son,’ Miles replied, quietly.
‘But what if something goes wrong?’
‘Then I’ll blame myself for the rest of my life. But you sure as hell wouldn’t want me blaming you.’ He checked his compass and his dive computer, then picked up one of the watertight bags from beneath the table and began to pack it, fitting gun and night-glasses in beside a two-way radio. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s nearly show-time.’ He glanced at me. ‘This one we do first take, buddy.’
When we were packed, Ardley led us up on deck. We pulled on our tanks, checked our regulators - top quality, befitting special forces - and fitted our face-masks. By the time we had finished, the pilot cutter had slowed almost to a halt, its engines idling noisily.
‘Total radio silence until we’ve secured the platform,’ the Marine shouted, ‘but once we have, I’ll make contact at once, and call in our back-up people. Remember, south south-west.’
We nodded and followed him and Sergeant Roper as they toppled backward into the grey water.
I’ve always liked diving, as long as I can see where I am, and I have something interesting to look at. Navigating ten feet beneath the surface of the North Sea with nothing to look at but a compass is not a fun thing to do, especially when you’re shit-scared of what could happen when you get to your objective, and at the same time, of what could happen if your compass is wonky and you don’t. But the diver’s first, life-preserving rule is, do not panic; I’m experienced and inherently there was nothing difficult about what we were doing then, so I held myself together. We swam on side by side, not caring about the time, for we had plenty of air in our tanks, aware only of our compasses and of the cold.
At last, Roper touched my shoulder lightly and pointed off to his right. I followed his signal and saw for the first time - and with a mixture of relief and fear - four great dark legs, linked together with cross-members, rising out of the black depths and reaching up towards the surface.
We did as we had been instructed, following Ardley down to about thirty feet with the sergeant bringing up the rear, swimming towards the most distant of the platform’s two northerly supports. When we reached it, we ascended, slowly and safely, looking for the first rungs of the ladder, and found them just below the waterline.
I had been mildly worried about climbing to the walkway while still wearing flippers, but unlike our studio version, the ladder had been built with divers in mind. Dress rehearsal, I thought, suppressing a slightly insane giggle as I clambered up behind Miles, weighed down now by the tanks and my pack.
We were all breathing heavily, even the marines, by the time we reached the promised walkway. It was narrow, but we were able to sit as we eased ourselves out of our breathing apparatus and ripped off the big flippers. The sea was relatively calm, but the wind whipped and cut into us as we sat there, opening our packs, towelling off our hands and faces, fitting on rope-soled canvas shoes, then finally strapping on the equipment belts which carried the guns, or in my case, only the night glasses and radios.
‘Let’s go,’ Ardley murmured, when we were all ready. ‘Careful, this walkway will be slippy.’
He was right, but the shoes gave us a good grip. The platform was about two hundred yards from corner to corner, and the escape hatch was just off centre, not far from us. We could see the four big hooks fr
om which the emergency pod had once hung, its small loading platform, and its ladder. It was light enough in there for us to be able to check for footprints. There were none; the metal floors were showing signs of rust and it looked as if no one had been there for years.
Now Roper led the way up the ladder, and I followed, feeling cocooned inside its safety rings. It wasn’t a long climb, only about ten feet, and in seconds, I found myself staring at a big metal door, with an iron lever for a handle. ‘This is the first uncertain part,’ Roper called down to us. ‘Let’s hope this bastard isn’t rusted shut.’
For a few awkward seconds I thought that it was, as I watched him heave at the handle, trying to force it from vertical to horizontal. It wouldn’t budge at first, and I thought we were done, until he braced his broad back against the safety rail of the ladder gave one final, tremendous push. Metal screamed, as the catch came undone, and the door swung inwards. We followed the little sergeant inside and stood stock still for a few seconds, listening for sounds from above, in case the noise of his struggle had carried up there.
There was a little light spilling into the module from the doorway, but suddenly it went out. I pulled on my headset, squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them again to see Ardley, greeny grey and ghostly, closing the door and taking out his gun. Looking around in that odd light, I had another mad moment, imagining that Miles and I were in the X-Files and wondering which one of us was Scully: it had to be Miles; I’m taller and his hair is about the same length as hers.
‘Let’s do it,’ the lieutenant whispered. ‘The stairway should be just along here.’ He took a pace forward, then stopped, and turned to Miles and Roper. ‘Guys: when we find Donn, I’ll take him out. You two be ready for anyone else, just in case we’re wrong and he’s not alone. If you have to shoot anyone don’t worry which part of him you hit, just fucking hit him, and keep on doing it until he’s no longer a threat.’
‘I’ll do him.’ Miles said it quietly, hoarsely, as if he’d borrowed Clint Eastwood’s voice for the occasion.
‘Let’s not argue about this—’ Ardley began.
‘You ever killed anyone, son?’ Roper and I looked on, as the two of them stared at each other. Eventually, the young Marine shook his head. ‘Well I have, in my special forces days; more people than you’ve got years in the service, I guess. My wife’s at risk here; if there’s the slightest chance you might turn out to be gun-shy, I’m not taking it.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘No. I’m telling you.’
When the going gets tough, as they say. Ardley looked at him and nodded. ‘Let’s go then,’ he whispered.
We crept along, the four of us, through the platform’s great, pipe-filled hall, until the shape of a stairway came into our night vision. It was wide, and rose for about thirty feet and as far as we could tell; no light spilled down from above. Tensing more and more with each step, we climbed the metal treads silently, Miles and Ardley in the lead, scarcely daring to breathe as we reached the top.
As we stepped into the corridor, we flattened ourselves against its walls. It was dark, but through our glasses we could make out the doors of the shower rooms and heads; there were two of each, since the Dutch had many women engineers. Beyond, the corridor stretched out: three cabin doors to the left, and on the right, those of the dayroom and the galley . . . from which came a narrow, searing crack of light, the sound of music, and the unmistakable smell of frying food.
I heard Miles take a deep breath and looked across at him. He was holding his pistol upright in front of him, and nodding towards the door. He beckoned Ardley close with a nod of his head. ‘You kick it open,’ he said, in the faintest whisper, ‘and I’ll go in shooting. Back me up fast as you can.’
Ardley nodded; he took off his night glasses and signalled to Miles to do the same. ‘The light could blind you, otherwise,’ I heard him murmur.
My heart had been pounding since we had reached the top of the stairway; it dropped into third gear and picked up even more revs as I watched them creep along the corridor and take up positions, Miles tensed and faced the door, Ardley slightly to one side. ‘Okay,’ he mouthed, levelling the gun. The young marine grasped his in both hands, lifted his right foot and slammed it against the heavy door, as fast and as hard as he could.
I couldn’t stop myself; I leapt after them as it swung open. I was there to identify Stephen Donn, after all . . .
Alone, unfettered and unharmed, Dawn screamed as she turned to see, framed in the doorway, a black figure from the depths of Hell.
Miles screamed right back at her as, at the final moment, he swung his pistol up and shot three holes in the galley cupboard.
Chapter 53
I don’t know how long I spent leaning against the wall of that corridor, hyperventilating, staring at the ghostly green roof through the night glasses which I had neglected to remove, and wondering if I’d pissed myself inside that wetsuit. I’ve no idea how long Miles spent framed in the doorway, head bowed, shoulders shaking, gun hanging limply from his fingers. I’ve no idea how long it took Dawn to recover her senses, and stir from her faint.
I only know that if Stephen Donn had come bursting out of the wardroom or one of the cabins with a blazing Uzi, we could all have been goners.
But he didn’t. Ardley resumed command, and as Miles and I got a grip on ourselves, he and Roper checked the accommodation module, room by room, in case he had heard us, heard the muffled gunshots, guessed the game plan and was hiding for his life. There was no doubt, though; the five of us were alone on the rig.
I went back to the kitchen; Dawn was sitting on the floor, crying quietly. I noticed for the first time that she was still wearing the clothes which Miles had reported missing from her wardrobe, a day and a half earlier; except that they were green. As, finally, I tore off the night glasses, Miles lifted her gently to her feet. ‘It’s all right, honey, it’s all right,’ he soothed her, as her sobs grew louder. ‘I’m sorry we gave you such a scare. We were expecting to find Stephen Donn.’
‘Who?’ she mumbled, bewildered. ‘Who’s he? Stu Queen, the sparks, kidnapped me from the mansion; he was the only one here.’
‘Stu Queen was a phoney,’ I told her, as I blinked my eyes to help them readjust to the world of colour. ‘Stephen Donn is the guy who’s been tracking me all along, making it look as if he was pursuing a vendetta against me, through my family and friends. Stephen Donn snatched you.’
I was beginning to recover my reason. ‘Mr Grayson,’ said Ardley from the doorway. ‘It’s time to call the cavalry.’ He took the radio from his belt, switched it on and held down the ‘transmit’ button.
‘This is the recovery team,’ he called into the mike. ‘Beta Platform is secure, Mrs Grayson is safe, we have no casualties. There’s no one else here.’
He let the button go I heard a disembodied voice come crackling through a curtain of static. ‘Understood, sir; we’re on our way. Please check the helideck is clear and report back.’
‘I’ll do that,’ I said, anxious, suddenly, to breathe fresh air again. A stairway at the far end of the corridor led to the deck of the platform. I ran up the steps; the door at the top opened easily and silently, and I burst out into a calm, cold, suddenly bright morning, on a steel island, surrounded by grey waters. The deck was clear, okay; it wasn’t huge, but big enough to accommodate at least one large helicopter. Opposite the accommodation hatch, by which I stood, there was a wide, open-fronted shelter; the hangar, I guessed. It was empty too. I walked across and looked inside; there were tyre-marks on the oil-streaked floor, and what looked like fuel canisters stacked again the wall. I pick one or two up and shook them; they were empty.
I walked back out of the big garage and across to the doorway. ‘The helideck’s clear,’ I called down to Ardley. ‘Donn was here, but he’s split.’
‘Thanks,’ the marine replied. ‘He must have panicked.’ I heard him as he radioed the back-up unit, giving them the all-clear to fly in.
> I leaned against the wall of the superstructure for a few seconds, trying to imagine Stephen Donn panicking. I couldn’t.
Ardley and Roper came up on deck together to await their squad. I went back below, to find the dayroom light on. Miles and Dawn were sitting at its table, on which were three mugs of coffee, and one plate of well-cooked bacon and a hard fried egg. The food and its smell drew me like a magnet. ‘Who’s this for?’ I asked.
‘We don’t fancy it, mate,’ Miles grunted. ‘It’s all yours if you want it.’
‘TFR.’ I sat down. ‘So the boy Donn was expecting to be here for breakfast,’ I murmured as I picked up the cutlery beside my plate. ‘D’you want to tell us what happened, Dawn?’
It would have taken a lot of slap to make up Prim’s sister that morning. She was white as a sheet, apart from the patches under her eyes. She smiled at me though. ‘I was quietly cooking breakfast,’ she replied, ‘and this Navy Seal burst in and shot the shit out of my kitchen.’ I grinned back at her, relieved that she really was okay. Between us, Miles still seemed to be in a state of shock. ‘How did you manage to get in on the act?’ she asked.
‘Miles has a friend in high places,’ I told her, in my matter-of-fact voice. ‘He lent us a couple of his boys They’ll be here in a few minutes.’ I took a mouthful of egg; it tasted okay but had the consistency of a stick-on nylon sole. ‘When did he leave?’
‘It must have been about three hours ago. He kept me in here, with my wrists held in sort of plastic handcuff things; then all of a sudden, he just got up from his chair and cut them. He told me to sit still, and to wait; that I was a lucky lady - that was the first time he’d spoken to me since we left the mansion - and that someone would be along for me by the end of today.
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