Lost Souls

by Michael Knaggs

  The six men and two women were seated round the perimeter of the room, two at each side. The walls were covered with charts and technical drawings, along with hand-written lists of bullet-points and diagrams on sheets of A1 taken from the two flip-chart pads, one at each end of the room, clipped to their easels.

  The whole display represented four days of planning, each subsequent day more or less identical to the previous one, as the group went through the minutiae of the assault on the platform, each time on the basis that this could be their last opportunity before the action. They were all aware that one day very soon, it would be, and that the details needed to be at the forefront of their minds.

  The group – Tom had been told as they made their way across The Minch five days ago – was a privately-owned concern, specialising in hostage rescue and with some very high-profile successes to their name. Not that they had a name, as such; their ‘shop-window’ was a mobile phone number – the one Tom still had somewhere, written on a beer-mat. Their main customers were governments – very large to very small – and occasionally revolutionary groups whose ascendancy suited the ambitions of the West. The owner was an anonymous international business magnate, rumoured to be Dutch, who – according to Kade – creamed off a third of their earnings. Even so, there was very little to pay out in terms of expenses; all equipment, weaponry and ammunition normally being sanctioned and provided by the client from an inventory presented prior to the contract being agreed. Kade said, with a wry smile, that he was the ‘Operations Director’. He had taken over from his predecessor eighteen months ago following the latter’s death on a mission in the Gulf of Aden rescuing three hundred American tourists from a cruise liner taken by Somali pirates.

  Tom looked around the room at his new comrades, his eyes stopping on Kade who was looking – and smiling – right back at him.

  “Colonel, perhaps you’d like to start by reminding us who we are and why we’re here. Let’s hear again how much you have learnt about us.”

  Tom returned his smile and got to his feet. He turned to the man seated on his left.

  “Michael Needham,” he said. “Engineer supreme and designer of the greatest off-shore hotel in the world. Mike’s role is to provide details of the structure and in particular his entry-exit route which this group will use to access the platform. Also – critically – he will provide the assault team with vital, live information during the course of the mission. In spite of his now being recognised widely as a designer, Mike saw early active service with the British Royal Engineers and has been involved with Special Forces in the recent past on a number of critical field activities requiring on-the-ground innovation.”

  He looked across to his left at the tall, woman in loose-fitting DPM fatigues. She was around forty years old, slim and athletic with blonde hair pulled back in a short pony-tail. Her face seemed to Tom a little too hard to be genuinely pretty, although her features were sharp and even.

  “Lydia van Roden, doctor of psychology, born in the Netherlands but educated in the US, acquiring American citizenship before working as advisor for police, CIA, FBI and Special Forces, majoring on hostage situations involving domestic, criminal, religious and terrorist incidents. Now a full-time member of this action team and, I’m led to believe…” Tom gave her a wide smile “… a very competent dancer – of sorts.”

  There was gentle laughter round the table. Lydia glared back at Tom before her expression melted into a smile.

  “Sergei Rouschek,” Tom went on, looking at the giant seated next to Lydia. “Native Russian, ex-FSB Alpha team, world famous hostage rescue expert and one of the biggest guys I’ve ever seen. His role will be off-location support to the assault team because he won’t fit through the narrow places Mike has engineered for our smooth entry. A shame, because I would really like to have him on my side – and at my side – in anything I’m likely to do in the future.”

  This time the muted laughter was accompanied by nods of agreement.

  “Ex-Major Shirley-Ann Donnelly,” he smiled at the woman to his right, seated next to Kade. She wore the same fatigues as Lydia, but that was the only similarity between the two women. Shirley-Ann was early-thirties, no more than average height and sturdy, with muscular shoulders and thick limbs. Her face was round and pleasant under a bob of short dark hair.

  “One of the first women Navy SEALS and the very first woman to serve in action in an infantry unit. Already with missions around the globe in three continents, and decorated twice before falling foul of bureaucracy after disobeying orders on a covert operation in Syria early this year. This breach of discipline meant that around twenty civilians were saved who would otherwise have died. But, hey, Uncle Sam knows best and Shirley-Ann was discharged – albeit honourably. Her joining this team means that the US’s loss is the world’s gain. Shirley-Ann will be Cassie’s pilot for this mission.”

  Tom looked across to the two men sitting opposite him.

  “Two of the very best,” he said.

  The man on the left was black, mid-forties, tall and slim with short-cropped hair, sharp handsome features and intense green eyes. Tom nodded towards him.

  “Commander Jules Cartier, ex-GIGN, the elite French counter-terrorism unit. French Senegalese, whose family moved to Paris over half a century ago, following independence. A quarter of a century’s experience in hostage rescue, and the youngest member – by far – of the team involved in the freeing of hostages from the hijack of the Air France flight in Algeria back in 1994. Jules was one of the first to board the plane, under intense fire from the terrorists, after it landed in Marseilles, and was one of nine GIGN operators wounded in freeing all the hostages unhurt. And since then, missions too numerous to mention. Jules will be one of the assault team on Alpha.”

  Jules nodded in acknowledgement as Tom turned to the much smaller, stockier man with the Latin skin tone and hair colour at his side. His mild expression and rimless glasses gave him the look of an academic and belied his record as a front-line warrior.

  “Enrico Santana, born and educated in Peru, best-selling author on his favourite subject of group dynamics among underprivileged and ostracised minorities, and world-class hostage rescue expert and negotiator. Many defining moments, but none so spectacular as his first assignment with the Peruvian commandos in an assault on the Japanese Ambassador’s residence twenty years ago in Lima where seventy-four hostages had been held for several months. The rescue was so well planned and executed that it was over in just forty-one seconds. All fourteen terrorists were killed. Rico will also be part of the assault team.”

  Tom nodded to him then pointed to himself with both index fingers against his chest.

  “Tom Brown, born Jacob Simon Tomlinson-Brown, a rich, spoilt kid, who wanted for nothing and did whatever he liked. More recently, disgraced ex-Home Secretary. But now, right back where he belongs. Ex-SBS with hostage rescue experience, including the Nigerian Oil Rig incident in 2003, as a covert adviser to a contract rescue team preparing to release hostages on four off-shore rigs seized by striking workers. I will be part of the assault team on Alpha, ostensibly to ID Jason and to ensure he will leave without resistance. However, may I say what a privilege it is to be part of this group and I guarantee I will not be a passenger, but a fully contributing member.”

  He turned to Kade.

  “And finally, our leader. Former Navy SEAL, operating throughout the conflicts in Iraq, Afghanistan plus other covert – and overt – assignments in Central Africa and Indonesia. Put simply, it is his job to take four people onto Alpha and bring five back.”

  *

  He was much closer to them than he had been yesterday, and today he was certain that his lungs and heart were not going to give out, which was a definite improvement. Another good indicator was that he had stopped envying Mike his exemption from the daily training routine. ‘Routine’ was perhaps an overstatement for a mi
d-morning two-mile run and heaving at a few weights in the afternoon, even though the run was a there-and-back ascent of Carnan, the highest hill on the island, rising ever more steeply from sea-level to a trig point at around 900 feet.

  He recalled the embarrassment of the first day, the first run. Standing – just about – hands on knees, gasping for breath and looking up towards the modest summit as the rest of the gang streamed past him on their way down, glancing at him with expressions of disdain. But he had won them over – to a degree, at least – by going out again, alone, that same day and repeating the challenge. And he’d put in the extra run on the second and third day, too, and now, as he entered the building to smiles all round and a burst of applause, he was already breathing normally again.

  “Mis-timed my sprint finish,” he said. “I’ll get you tomorrow.”

  They laughed as he took his place next to Mike.

  “Okay, time out over,” Kade said. “Mr Needham.”

  Mike rose from his chair to address the group, holding a telescopic pointer, which he extended as he stepped across to a nautical chart on the wall.

  “This is the island group of St Kilda,” he said, pointing at the chart, “and here, twenty-two miles to the south west, its off-shore hotel, Platform Alpha. From above, as shown on the map, the main structure is a square, tilted slightly so the corners of the square – where the columns are – point approximately north, east, south and west.”

  He circled the table, tapping the bottom of each leg in turn.

  “On the inside of each column, three metres above sea-level, facing in towards the centre, is a plate measuring two metres high by one metre wide. From the outside, all four plates look identical, but this one…” he stopped and tapped the bottom of the last leg “… at the base of the east column, is the access door.”

  Glancing round the room, Tom couldn’t fail to be impressed by the focus of his comrades, all leaning forward in rapt attention as if they were hearing this for the first time.

  “The other three plates are dummies, just a panel fastened to the column by ten hexagonal-head bolts. The east column plate looks exactly the same, with the same configuration of bolts.” He pointed to a hand-drawn diagram on the wall. “But their only purpose is to disguise this as a door. The plate is hinged on the inside, and opens inwards. I’ll say this a few times during the course of the day, but please be aware that this is the only door you will pass through, until you reach the living accommodation, which can be opened from the inside.”

  He looked round the room to ensure that all seven heads had nodded their understanding.

  “Access is achieved by turning the centre bolt-head on the left-hand-side of the plate anti-clockwise and pushing the door open. Once inside the column, you will be ninety-two metres below the main deck – that’s about three hundred rungs of a ladder to climb.” Mike stepped over to a schematic diagram on the wall showing a vertical section of the column. “The diameter of the column itself is twenty-five metres. The shaft you will be climbing up is two-and-a-half metres square and has three equally-spaced landings, which split the climb into four stages. Each landing is accessed from below by releasing a bolt on a hatch which allows it to be raised and held open – repeat, held open – enough to enable you to pass through. The hatches are designed to fall back into position once they are released.” He moved the pointer to another diagram. “The bolt is on a return spring, which will automatically lock the hatch when it closes. The hatches cannot be opened from above, so they must be wedged open; otherwise you won’t be coming back.

  “Be aware that this is a free climb with no safety-harness facility, which means that if you fall, it will be onto the landing below you. That could be over twenty metres, in which case – again – you won’t be coming back. There is a solar-powered strip light under each landing, which will illuminate the section below it and make the climb a little more comfortable. Even so, you will each take a head-torch in case the lighting fails.”

  Mike paused and made a silent circuit of the room before continuing.

  “Alpha has eight hundred identical apartments completely surrounding the main deck to a height of ten storeys, eighty on each level, twenty along each side. So the whole encloses the deck like the sides of a box. Suspended nine metres below the main deck is the receiving floor.” He tapped the edge of the table with the pointer. “Around three sides of this is an observation-stroke-recreational corridor, forming a sort of squared-off horseshoe, accessed only via stairwells at each corner from the main deck above. This corridor is made entirely of glass – the outer walls around the whole of the horseshoe, the inner walls which separate the corridor itself from the rooms off it, and the partitions between the rooms. It is designed to create a light and airy environment, a wrap-around window onto the wider world. The fourth side, by the way, is open to accept the prisoner cages onto the receiving floor via the satellite platform.

  “The fourth hatch you encounter, at the top of the climb, will take you out of the shaft and onto an enclosed sub-floor, which runs under the full length of the corridor – along all three sides and two metres below it. This floor carries power lines, communication cables and water pipes linked to the control hub on the satellite platform for the wind farm, solar panels and wave power modules.

  “Immediately above you on the sub-floor is another hatch – one of four situated directly above the columns at each corner. These hatches operate like the others – open only from below – and give access to the corridor itself and direct contact with the Exiles. This is where it gets a little complicated and where you’re going to need me again.”

  Mike looked across at Kade, who held up his hand for him to stop.

  “Thank you, Mike.” He tuned to Shirley-Ann. “Major.”

  Shirley-Ann stood up and took the pointer from Mike. Her voice was soft and gentle with the hint of a southern drawl.

  “We will take two boats. Why two? Well, as much for insurance as anything – who can tell when, for example, a mechanical fault will happen and…” she smiled “… it could be embarrassing calling the coastguard. But it will also give us some flexibility if we need to split up on our return, though this is not part of the plan. Archer-One will have six people on board – Kade, Mike, Jules, Rico, Tom and me. Mike’s job is to drive the boat and watch TV, mine is to deliver the other four to the base of the east column. How difficult that will be depends on the weather, but the first challenge is to get to the door.

  “Both boats will travel together as far as St Kilda. From there, Archer-One will head south and then west so we make our approach directly from the east. We will lay up five miles short of – and facing – Alpha, while we drop Cassie off the stern, out of sight of the platform – here.” She pointed at a red dot on the chart. “I’ll take her down ten metres and then Archer-One will continue and enter the turbine ring before passing south of the platform and laying up again to the west of it.” She moved the pointer across the chart from the red dot to the tilted square of Alpha. “I’ll follow on the same course at constant depth towards the east column. It will take Cassie around forty minutes to get there. At five fathoms down in anything but a mirror-flat sea, our approach will not be observed either by the inmates or by Lochshore through the sea-facing cameras that surround the platform at main deck level. Even so, from that point Mike and Archer-Two will be deployed as distractions.”

  “Thanks, Major.” Kade interrupted and turned to Lydia. “Diversionary tactics?”

  Lydia walked over to the chart, taking the pointer from Shirley-Ann on the way.

  “Sergei and I, in A-2, will stay with A-1 until we reach St Kilda then take a wide arc to approach Alpha from the north.” She traced the route on the chart. “We will head south directly towards the platform, timing our approach to coincide with Mike’s arrival, before veering off to link up with him. At this point the boats will be in close proximity
, inside the turbine ring near the west column”

  “Rationale for this?” Kade asked.

  “Two-fold. Firstly, to attract the attention of the Exiles away from Cassie’s approach. Secondly, to draw the majority of the Exiles in the corridor together in an attempt to clear at least two of the hatches to allow the assault group to access the corridor safely. That will depend on whether we can generate enough interest for them to want to watch the boats.”

  “And this where Lydia’s dance – of sorts – will help.” Sergei added.

  A burst of laughter greeted the comment.

  “But you won’t see it, Colonel.” Lydia smiled at Tom. “You’ll be busy somewhere else.”

  *

  The wind had dropped significantly and the earlier angry sky had given way to white cloud with a promise of the sun breaking through. Tom could feel the familiar sensation in his stomach that came with the anticipation of action, because, unless the weather changed dramatically again, he knew they would go tomorrow; for certain. And yet he realised that, by any standards, he was content, and that such a feeling was nothing short of miraculous given his recent despair and decline.

  He turned to look at the beautiful woman at his side. He had decided that Lydia van Roden was beautiful when she smiled, the hardness morphing into an almost angelic face framed by her golden-blonde hair. In fact, she reminded him very much of someone else. They sat together, watching the lapping of the waves and the gentle swaying of tomorrow’s transport out in the bay. Tom had managed to separate her from the rest of the group at their second break of the day and they had walked through the ruins of the ancient settlement and down to the shoreline. There was something he had wanted to say to her.