Traitor (17 page)

‘We’re going to head north to Aberdeen,’ George informed them. ‘Charles will put down at the forward mounting base there.’ He headed back to the cockpit.

The news only served to increase Binning’s agitation. ‘We’re screwed if he does that.’

Stratton had to agree. He could see it all grinding to a halt if they landed in Aberdeen. ‘You’d better turn the comms block off.’

Binning was on the verge of anger. ‘Is that all you can come up with?’

Stratton flashed him a look, finding his response odd. ‘Turn it off,’ Stratton ordered, a warning in his tone.

Binning clenched his jaw and looked at Jason for help.

‘Turn it off,’ his boss said resignedly.

Binning was alone and had no alternatives. He opened the apparatus’s plastic casing, reached inside and flicked a switch. Stratton got to his feet and went to the cockpit door, taking a pair of headphones from a hook. He put them on and the voices in the cockpit came to life.

 

The operations room commander sat in his high chair staring at the giant screen showing the North Sea covered in its various information markers, with Morpheus in the centre. On the east coast of England, close to the Scottish border, was a moving object circled in red, the window next to it giving its details. The circle turned to blue and began to flash.

‘Whisky four-zero is back on line, sir,’ one of the console operators called out, informing his boss of something that he had seen for himself.

The ops officer pushed a button on his panel. ‘Whisky four-zero, this is zero Charlie.’

‘Zero Charlie, Whisky four-zero.’ The pilot’s voice came over speakers that were mounted around the room.

The operations officer beckoned to one of the aides. ‘Tell Nevins we’ve got comms with the SBS team,’ he said.

‘Haven’t a clue about the cause of the blackout,’ the pilot continued. ‘Strangest bloody communications breakdown I’ve ever experienced. Everything went offline. Even our mobile phones. Diagnostics picked up absolutely nothing.’

The ops officer frowned. ‘What’s the likelihood of it happening again?’

‘Since I don’t know what caused it, I have no idea.’

The ops officer looked over at his communications specialist who could only reply with an apologetic shrug. The door opened and Nevins walked in, his stare switching immediately to the screen.

 

Jason joined Stratton at the cockpit door, unhooked another pair of headphones off the bulkhead and put them over his ears. ‘You’re fifty minutes behind schedule,’ he heard the ops officer say to the pilot. ‘How’s your fuel?’

‘Plenty to get to the RV. I was idle while at India one-six waiting for the team change which took more than half an hour.’

Jason and Stratton braced themselves for the reply.

 

The operations officer frowned on hearing the words, as though he had missed something. ‘What do you mean, “team change”?’

‘The new team, sir. After Chaz’s bunch got stuck in the airlock. They took a while to get geared up.’

The ops officer looked around at Nevins whose confused expression reflected his own.

‘I received a report of a shutdown at Sixteen but no mention of any personnel involved,’ Nevins told the officer.

The ops officer was now completely confused. ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,’ he said into the microphone.

 

The pilots looked at each other and the crewman turned to look at Stratton.

‘Tell me precisely who you have on board your helicopter,’ the ops officer asked.

‘John Stratton, SBS, and five members of MI16, one of them a woman.’

Jason moved the headphones’ microphone to his mouth and found the transmit switch on the cable hanging from one of the earpieces. ‘Hello. This is Jason Mansfield, head of MI16.’

The ops officer was stunned to hear the strange voice boom over the speakers, as was Nevins.

‘I am accompanied by Phillip Binning, Avis Jackson, Harold Smith and Rowena Deboventurer,’ Jason continued.

‘By whose authority are you on board my helicopter?’ the operations officer asked.

‘The original team violated a security protocol and got themselves automatically locked in a security vault as a result. The task is within our capability and so I decided to take it on. Naturally, I would have contacted you immediately but the communications failure prevented that.’ At this blatant lie he gave Stratton a child-like look but he was still working on sticking to the task, desperate as that was.

The ops officer removed the microphone from his lips. ‘Can someone pinch me?’ he said. ‘I don’t believe I’m having this conversation.’

Neither did anyone else in the room by the look of their expressions.

The officer returned the mike to his mouth. ‘I sometimes feel I could do a better job as England’s scrum-half but I have so far resisted the temptation to rush down onto the pitch and take over. I’ll ask you once again,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘What the hell are you doing on my helicopter?’

Jason put his hand over the mike. ‘I think he’s upset.’

Stratton was ahead of the scientist. He knew what would happen next and he wasn’t looking forward to it. Yet his concern for Jordan, his failure to come to the man’s aid, overshadowed the fear of punishment. He’d failed his old friend.

Nevins piped up. ‘You tell that pilot he’s to put that bloody kite down and then I want those fools locked up until we can get to the bottom of this.’

The operations officer was about to relay the order when Nevins stopped him. ‘Wait. Give me that. I’ll tell him myself.’

As the ops officer handed Nevins the microphone neither of them saw the large doors that led into the operations room open and a man walk in. Nevins was about to speak when he felt a hand on his shoulder, while another clamped over the mike, preventing him from talking into it. Startled by the sudden intrusion he wheeled around to see Jervis, head of MI6 operations.

‘What the devil?’ Nevins demanded.

‘Let them go,’ Jervis said.

‘What?’ Nevins was stunned.

‘I need you to let them go,’ Jervis repeated. ‘I have the minister’s backing on this.’

Nevins could not wipe a look of utter confusion from his face. Everyone in the room had frozen: some kind of power play was happening before their eyes. They could only remain still and watch to see what developed.

‘I’ll discuss this with you in your office,’ Jervis said. ‘Not here.’

Nevins brought himself back under control. He was an experienced man in the business, and knew Jervis well enough. The man was a canny high-stakes player and something extraordinary definitely had to be going on for him to intervene in such a manner at this level of the operation. And if the PM had given his support there was nothing more to say, for the moment at least. But he was also aware of Jervis’s manipulations and ambition to set up the boffin inventors as medium-level operatives. It was well known within the secret service’s inner circles. If he’d chosen this moment to make his move, it was a bold one indeed. If it went wrong, Jervis was toast. Far too much was at stake all around and Nevins knew he could not afford to make an error either. He handed the microphone back to the operations officer and acknowledged the master mongrel’s new grip of the reins.

‘Tell the pilot to continue with the contingency RV,’ Jervis told the operations officer.

‘The target drop-off?’ the ops officer asked. He knew it was what Jervis meant but the situation was so remarkable that he had to confirm it.

‘That’s correct. Stratton is to lead the next phase of the operation. MI16 is his team.’

The ops officer knew he had just witnessed a remarkable event, one far beyond his level, but he quickly recovered. He pushed the transmit button. ‘Whisky four-zero, this is zero Charlie.’

‘Whisky four-zero send,’ the pilot’s voice crackled over the speakers.

‘Continue with the task. Proceed to the target-drop RV.’

‘Sorry, sir. Did you say proceed to the target-drop RV?’

‘That’s correct. Maintain normal communications schedule.’

‘Roger that,’ the pilot said, glancing at his co-pilot and shaking his head as if he’d missed something.

Jason could not believe it. ‘What happened?’ he asked Stratton. ‘They were about to order an abort.’

‘Someone important changed his mind,’ Stratton said, as confused as anyone else.

Jason removed the headset, hung it on the hook and walked back through the cabin to the others. They had no idea what was happening and looked at him as if they were waiting to hear the bad news.

Stratton could not begin to think of an explanation. But whatever had happened back in the operations room, it seemed they were on their way. He would only believe it when they were in the water and beyond the point of no return.

He walked over as the others gathered close to Jason to listen to what he had to say. ‘It looks like we’re going in,’ Mansfield said, smiling.

Binning could hardly contain his relief. Jackson nodded, with the thinnest of smiles. Smithy looked pale - his nervousness that had been bubbling below the surface became more evident as he squeezed his hands together tightly. Rowena gave nothing away.

‘London has acknowledged that we’re up to the task and has given us the go-ahead,’ Jason continued. ‘They clearly recognise our potential. I’ll bet my bottom dollar we can thank Jervis for this. We’re on our way.’

He held his fist out in the centre of the group. Binning was the first to grab it strongly. The others piled their hands on top.

‘Now we have to make sure this is a damned success,’ Jason said emphatically. He looked around at Stratton. ‘I hope you now share London’s confidence in us.’

Stratton couldn’t understand the decision, nor could he have argued with it even if he’d wanted to. His personal motive had not changed. The decision’s major impact for him was how it affected his original plan to ditch the team when he got to the Morpheus platform and then to go it alone. Now he would have to take them along. They would all have to board the platform. It would be easier than trying to go it alone, anyway. But nothing about the situation made him feel any better.

There was another consequence to the turn of events, of course. When the team had set off from MI16’s HQ they had all been rebels. Now they were bona fide operatives. If Stratton continued with his part of the plan
he
would be the traitor.

The Chinook thundered out across the ocean, a couple of thousand feet above the growing North Sea swell. Outside, it had darkened significantly, with the dropping sun masked by thickening clouds. The aircraft began to buffet as the gusting winds took hold of it.

Stratton sat on one of the team boxes studying a chart. He glanced up as rain began to pound at the glass portholes. The storm would give the team good cover. But if it grew too powerful it would affect their ability actually to reach the target.

He had serious misgivings about the approach to the platform. And if he was concerned, why wasn’t London? It was part of the reason he still could not fully accept that the operation had been allowed to proceed with the scientists. Surely Jervis knew these clowns were not up to a task. Granted it was only a surveillance job, and if carried out procedurally they should never come into contact with the enemy. But it was still high risk and, even though London was not averse to taking chances, they were not usually of this nature.

Stratton got to his feet and, keeping a hand against the bulkhead, made his way to the front of the cabin. The chopper was buffeting heavily, as much as he could ever remember having experienced - with a live pilot still in control of the sticks, that was. He put on the headphones and asked for the operations room to recalculate the tidal speed and direction from the drop-off point. Heavy storms such as this one - which was only going to get worse - had a habit of shifting such things. The fast currents in the North Sea moved in long sweeping curves. If the drop-off was not accurately calculated they could miss the platform despite the speed the sub could reach.

Five minutes later the drop-off latitude and longitude were relayed back to him. Stratton gathered the team to brief them. Jackson, as it turned out, was not only a helicopter and fixed-wing pilot. Mansfield had sent him on a mini-sub operator’s training course in Norfolk, Virginia, at the beginning of the year. Stratton wondered how far the MI16 boss’s ambitions extended.

Stratton explained how the team would manoeuvre in and out of the tight-fitting vessel and how they should conduct themselves while it was under the water. When the briefing was complete the team climbed into lightweight dry-bags, tightened harnesses and clipped on fins, masks and the small transfer air bottles they would need when they were not connected to the sub’s breathing system. Binning strapped the surveillance device securely to his side and jumped up and down a few times to ensure it was solidly attached. He had clearly seen it done on some kind of military training film since it did not quite apply to a dive operation. At least he was keen.

Stratton allowed the team to carry pistols but insisted that he alone would have a sub-machine gun, a silenced H&K to go with his pistol and two stun grenades. He neglected to mention during the briefing his own private operation: the only points he covered were the planting of the surveillance device and the move to the rendezvous pick-up location. The way he questioned Jason on all details of that last phase of the operation ought to have suggested something to them. In truth, it was blatantly obvious that he wouldn’t be able to get Jordan away from the oil platform on the submarine, assuming of course that he could rescue him at all. As far as he could see the only option he had was to secure one of the platform’s lifeboats: a broad enough plan - if it could be called that - for him not to have to think of it any more. First he had to locate Jordan, then separate him from the hijackers. He couldn’t do much planning for that. Every stage would be a process of discovery, assessment, action and follow-on. Another reason to put it to one side.