Quintin Jardine - Screen Savers

‘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 from 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.