‘I can’t tell when you’re joking or being serious.’
‘I lost track years ago.’
‘So why’re we going to all this trouble?’ Todd persisted.
‘Every op has to have emergency RVS.’
‘What?’
‘Rendezvouses to head for if everything goes wrong . . . even if they’re tough to get to.’
‘Impossible, more like.’
‘Don’t dramatise. It irritates me.’
Todd looked apologetic. ‘Sorry . . . You’re right. It’s not impossible - just very, very dodgy.’
‘As long as it’s theoretically possible it allows them to blame me if I don’t make it.’
Todd looked bemused. ‘Who?’
‘Them who tell us what to do.’
‘Sorry, I’m confused.’
‘For us, on the ground, it’s all about how we’re going to do the job. For the suits who send us out it’s all about win or lose, success or failure, blame and responsibility, medals and demotions.’
‘But no one expects you to pull this off anyway. The person who ordered it will surely take the fall.’
‘He’ll take the blame. But then there’s the blame and the real blame. If I screw up it’ll be my fault . . . Check that line can pay out without catching on anything.’
Todd obeyed but remained puzzled. ‘Then you’re even more insane,’ he decided.
‘Perimeter buoy port side!’ Paul called out from the bridge.
Stratton went to the side of the boat to see the large red metal buoy holding firm in the heavy sea just ahead. Below the flashing beacon was an illuminated sign warning anyone against trespassing beyond it.
‘Less than a mile,’ Stratton said, tidying up the bag and ensuring that all was ready. He peered into the darkness, the wind whipping at him, his oilskins flapping open noisily to reveal a black wetsuit beneath.
Todd joined him in the search, shielding his eyes from the swiping rain.‘You been doing this work long?’ he asked.
‘Breaking into prisons?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘A bit.’
‘Is that why you’re so cynical?’
‘No. That came early on.’
‘I’d like to get the chance to be that cynical . . . I mean, working for who we do . . . I’m just a tech,’Todd said. ‘One day I might get a chance to do a task . . . not like this, of course. I’d never do what you do . . . So how did you get to do this kind of stuff, anyhow?’
‘I got a call one day.’
It was obvious that Stratton did not want to elaborate but Todd could not resist taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, standing beside a real operative who was actually responding somewhat to him. ‘You’re SF, I suppose.’ He immediately felt uncomfortable asking the question. Prying into an operative’s background was not advisable but he decided he had started so he was going to finish. ‘Paul and I reckon you’re SBS . . . only because this is a dive task and we know the SAS don’t really do water - nowhere near as serious as this.’
Since the briefing a week before Todd had spent many hours with Stratton, sorting out equipment and going over the plans and countless procedures.The man was not exactly a chatterbox.They talked about nothing outside of the operation. Todd accepted that Stratton was on a different level - way above his - had different friends, and moved in very different circles. Nevertheless he felt comfortable with him despite how little they appeared to have in common. Stratton didn’t make him feel inferior in the way so many other superior types in the SIS seemed to enjoy. Stratton made his underlings feel as if they were every bit as essential a part of the team, which of course they were. The point was, he made them feel like they were. That was the difference. When they cocked up, as Paul had done by forgetting to pack the bundle’s transponder, an essential element to Stratton’s own survival, Stratton simply took the quickest and simplest course to correct the error without undue fuss.What was more, he made you feel just sufficiently bad about yourself to ensure that it never happened again. You wanted to work harder for him. It was the quintessence of leadership and Todd wondered if he could ever be like that one day.
‘Sorry,’ he said, filling the silence after his question.
‘I get a bit carried away . . . Good luck, anyway.’
‘You’ll always need that . . . In fact, we might need a little right now,’ Stratton said, looking towards the wheelhouse. ‘Paul!’ he shouted, banging on the side of the small cabin.
Todd wondered what had triggered Stratton’s sudden concern and he peered into the rain-soaked blackness. He immediately saw the tiny lights breaking through the weather, a green and red one either side of a patch of white signifying it was a vessel of some kind, the red on the right-hand side indicating it was approaching.
Paul quickly stuck his head out of the bridge door to look ahead. ‘I had short-range on. It just came on screen. It’s big.’
‘Is the support barge showing yet?’ Stratton shouted.
‘Dead ahead - three hundred metres. What do we do?!’
Stratton looked ahead as he thought, gauging the wind and water. ‘Push over to port!’ he shouted back to Paul. ‘Make them follow us. Give it all you’ve got! They won’t be able to turn as close to the barge as we can because of the sub-sea cables. Make a chase of it!’
Paul turned the wheel, the bows coming about sluggishly against the swell.
‘Perimeter security?’ Todd asked.
‘Who else?’
‘Do you think they’ll shoot - if we don’t stop, I mean?’
‘We’re about to find out,’ Stratton said, squinting ahead. ‘There’s the barge,’ he said, gauging the distances between them, the barge and the security boat as its glowing wheelhouse became clearer.
Several lights came into view dead ahead followed by the outline of an enormous black rectangular box, like a square island, so large and heavy as to be unaffected by the swell.They were crossing the tide which was against the security vessel, thus improving their chances of getting to the barge first.
‘We’re aiming too close,’Todd said, alarm in his voice. ‘We’ll be pushed into it!’
Stratton did not appear concerned as he watched the security boat, still gauging the distances. He banged on the wheelhouse. ‘The anchor cables!’ he shouted.
‘I know!’ Paul replied. ‘I know what depth we have!’
Stratton was more or less confident that Paul knew what he was doing. He was a careful young man, inexperienced but nonetheless someone who paid close attention to detail. Stratton had checked the anchor-cable angles from the corners of the barge and expected Paul to have done the same, especially since he was the driver.
Paul swung the boat out at the last minute and steered a wide berth round the first corner of the barge. A large wave suddenly shoved them within feet of the massive structure but by that time they were past the submerged cable. The good news was that the security boat was now out of sight.
The barge was a welded and riveted rectangular mass of metal the size of a tennis court, an uninhabited automated service vessel for the prison, held in position by a series of cables anchored to the sea bed. It contained fuel, potable water, emergency oxygen supplies and back-up generators. A structure in the middle bristled with various types of communication antennae. Fixed atop a stubby gantry was a giro-stabilised satellite dish fighting to maintain its position.All the various pipes and conduits were channelled into a single umbilical cord over a metre in diameter that snaked down from the centre of the barge to the prison a hundred and fifty feet below.
The small fishing boat bobbed its way along the side of the barge, the top of which was several metres above Stratton’s head. As they closed on the next corner Paul pushed the bows out to avoid the mooring cable he knew went down at a steep angle. But a heavy swell reversed the manoeuvre and the boat heaved over towards the barge. Stratton grabbed up a pole and held it at the ready as Paul struggled to turn the vessel away from the barnacled
steel wall.
‘We’re going to hit as we take the corner,’ Stratton called out.Todd searched around for anything he could use, found an old oar and hurried to Stratton’s side with it.
As the boat reached the corner it was slammed into the side of the barge.The gunwales cracked loudly, several pieces smashing off. Stratton and Todd did what they could to push the boat off but their efforts were hardly effective. The boat scraped along the barge as the nose went past the corner. Everyone’s thoughts went to the cable that was just below them.The wind and tide were running along the edge of the barge around the corner. As the midway point of the boat reached the corner of the barge the bows started to make the turn around it. It looked as if the boat was going to break in half but the stern suddenly pushed out to follow the corner around. As the stern approached where the cable was attached a huge swell lifted the boat up and completed its turn. The crunch of the propeller being ripped off by the cable never came and they shot down the side of the barge towards the next corner.
‘Was that luck or what?’ Todd shouted.
Stratton ignored him.They were going to need a lot more.
Running with the wind and tide did not make the steering any easier to control but Paul managed a wide sweep of the next corner before turning the bows tightly back in.They passed the corner and entered the leeward side of the barge where the wind was only half as strong and the sea was practically calm. Paul played the engines as he manoeuvred the boat to face the barge, holding position in the tide that was coming at them from beneath it.
Stratton was galvanised into action. He dropped the pole, removed his sou’wester and oilskins, looped the harness attached to a small diving tank over his back and quickly pulled on a pair of fins.
‘What if the security boat comes before you get back?’ Todd asked.
‘Get the bundle ready! Now!’ was Stratton’s response. He pulled on a face mask, picked up a karabiner attached to one end of the coiled nylon line fixed to the dive bag, clipped it to his belt and leapt overboard. Todd looked over the side into the swirling black water but Stratton was already gone, the line unwinding rapidly and zipping over the gunwales after him.
Paul stuck his head out of the wheelhouse door. ‘We’re not close enough yet!’
‘He’s already gone. Get into the barge!’Todd shouted as he hurried to the bundle.
Paul yanked himself back into the wheelhouse and powered the boat ahead. A thought struck him that if Stratton couldn’t beat the tide he might go under the boat and get chopped up by the prop. The thought no sooner entered his head when it was brushed aside. He had his job to do and Stratton had his own.
Stratton turned on a powerful small light attached to his mask and headed down to the bottom of the barge. As soon as he slipped beneath it the tide hit him like a wall and threatened to push him back. He battled against it, turning onto his back and at the same time jamming his fingers behind any barnacle or limpet to pull himself forward.
Approaching the umbilical from the leeward side was still the best option as far as keeping the fishing boat in one piece was concerned, but only if Stratton could get to it. He could make out the huge vertical pipe ahead and finned for all he was worth, sucking the air from the bottle as he increased to near-sprint mode. He was certain he could make it. The question was could he get back before the security boat challenged the boys. If not this phase would be a failure.
Stratton reached the umbilical - it felt like a fat conduit of rubber - and pulled himself around it, the nylon line following him. Once he’d got around to the other side the tide catapulted him back in the direction he had come.
A spotlight swooped across the small fishing boat and Todd looked up to see the top of the security vessel’s superstructure above the barge heading towards them.
The nylon line continued to unravel down into the water and Todd wrestled with the heavy bundle to balance it on the edge. ‘Come on, Stratton,’ he shouted at the water.
The security vessel made a wide berth round the corner and came into full view. If the security boat caught Todd in its light the bundle would be exposed.
The light struck the rear of the fishing boat and made its way along its deck. Todd had to make an extremely serious decision but then quickly determined he had no choice. He heaved the bundle overboard and it dropped beneath the water as the powerful beam illuminated him.
‘Cut the engines,’ Todd shouted.
Paul wasn’t sure that he’d heard Todd correctly and looked out of the wheelhouse as the security boat bore down on them.
‘Cut them!’ Todd shouted again.
Paul was in a mild panic, unsure what to do. Stratton was gone. Perhaps Todd knew something he didn’t. He reached into the wheelhouse and turned off the power. The engines died, the dull droning replaced by the wind and rain whistling across the boat, which quickly began to drift. As it left the calm leeward side of the barge the wind and sea returned to play with it like a toy.
‘STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING AND STAND IN SIGHT WITH YOUR HANDS IN VIEW!’ a voice boomed over a loud hailer as the security vessel powered towards them. Its fierce spotlight was blinding.
The security boat was a large cruiser of the type used by the coastguard and behind the bright lights Paul and Todd could make out men on the bridge wings and in the bows.They were carrying rifles.The big ship came alongside the little fishing boat and slowed abruptly, both vessels rapidly drifting away from the barge.
‘YOU’RE IN A RESTRICTED AREA!’ the voice boomed. ‘STAND WHERE YOU CAN BE SEEN!’
Paul stepped from the wheelhouse with his hands in the air. Todd raised his hands too, looking towards the barge that was almost out of sight and wondering where the hell Stratton was.
‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THIS RESTRICTED AREA?’
Neither man answered, unsure what to say or do, despondency suddenly threatening to overwhelm them. All they could think of was that their boss was somewhere behind them in the sea and this entire operation was falling apart before it had even begun.
‘Tell them we’ve a man overboard,’ Paul said in a voice just loud enough for Todd to hear.
Todd wasn’t sure whether to agree or not. He could see where Paul was coming from. It was concern for the man and not the operation.The question was, what would Stratton do, or want them to do? The answer was easy enough.‘No,’ Todd said, squinting at the security vessel.
‘Good answer,’ Stratton said as he stepped from behind the wheelhouse, wearing his oilskins and yellow sou’wester. He put his hands in the air. ‘Talk to them, Paul.’
Todd didn’t look back but he was so pleased with himself, let alone with his boss, that he almost smiled.
Paul breathed a sigh of relief. ‘We’re truly sorry,’ he called out in an Irish accent. ‘We’re a tad misplaced.’
‘We’ve got engine problems!’ Stratton shouted in his own version of the Gaelic twang.
One of the crew relayed the men’s reply to the bridge.
‘YOU WERE MAKING HEADWAY WHEN WE FIRST SAW YOU!’ the voice boomed.
‘Just runnin’ with the wind, sir,’ Paul shouted. ‘Why’d we want to be in here anyway? Only tear our nets on all these cables, sure we would.’
‘Can you throw us a line?’ Stratton shouted. ‘Tow us out of here?’
There was a long pause before the security boat’s captain came to a decision. ‘NEGATIVE. YOU‘RE GONNA HAVE TO SOLVE YOUR PROBLEM YOURSELVES.’
Stratton and Todd went to the rear of the wheelhouse, opened the engine compartment and pretended to fiddle with the engine while Paul held the wheel.
‘Thanks a bunch there, anyways,’ Paul shouted.
‘IF YOU ENTER THESE RESTRICTED WATERS AGAIN YOU WILL BE ARRESTED AND PROSECUTED!’
Paul made a gesture to signal that he understood and went back into the wheelhouse to give the impression he was working on their problem.
The security boat’s engines roared and it pulled back as the fishing boat drifted away from it.
>
Stratton kept an eye on the cruiser as it held its position. The captain was clearly still suspicious of them.
‘What about the bundle?’ Todd asked.
‘It’s on its way,’ Stratton assured him.
‘You connected the ends? That’s brilliant.’
‘That was close,’ Paul said, checking on them. ‘How long shall we keep the engines off?’
‘Who’s idea was it to kill them?’ Stratton asked.
‘Mine,’ Todd admitted, wondering if he was going to get in trouble.
‘Good,’ Stratton said.
A bell clanged and they all looked towards a perimeter-warning buoy a few metres away on the starboard side, a light swaying on the end of its short derrick as if it was a giant fishing float signalling a large bite beneath it.
When Stratton looked back towards the security vessel it had turned its flank to them and was still holding its position. ‘Start her up.’
Paul entered the wheelhouse and a moment later the fishing boat’s engine gunned to life. Stratton stepped inside to get out of the weather and Todd joined them, closing the door.
‘Why were we speaking in Irish accents?’ Stratton asked.
‘Yeah, I was wondering that,’ Todd said.
‘I don’t know,’ Paul said, shrugging. ‘I can lie better in Irish. Besides, everyone loves the Irish.’
‘That was a crap Irish accent,’Todd said.‘You sounded more like a Pakistani.’
‘Better than his,’ Paul said, indicating Stratton.
‘He’s right, Stratton,’ Todd said. ‘Yours was rubbish.’
The two young men glanced at Stratton, wondering if they’d gone too far.
‘Accents have never been my thing,’ he admitted.
The others laughed. Stratton’s face cracked slightly.
‘He smiles,’ Todd said, never having seen Stratton wear one before.
The two young men gabbled on, their tensions easing, and the sound of laughter rose above the chugging engine as the boat headed towards the glow on the horizon that was Galveston.
The bundle followed the curving umbilical down into the darkness, bubbles escaping from it as the pressure increased around it. A faint orange glow suddenly appeared below, the light coming from dozens of small windows and portholes in neat rows at various levels around a huge mound.
Undersea Prison Page 9
