Alpha, Delta (7 page)

They continued onward and upward, covering each other as they took flight after flight toward the helideck. The ascension felt like it took an eternity. The other members of the Delta team were putting themselves in harm’s way in the Puma, drawing fire. Finn and Erik had to get up there and neutralise it so the Puma could land. An explosion sent shockwaves hard enough to have Finn stumbling back downstairs and a crash of twisted metal blocked his way.

“Fuck, we’re blocked,” Erik shouted.

They turned on their heels and went back the way they came. The only way up was to find the next corridor and approach the deck from another angle. Fire chased them and they ran in the opposite direction to where they’d been heading. They reached the last area before the alternative exit and skidded to a halt. Svein stood at the door facing them. And immobile, gripped by his throat, was Niall, a pistol at his temple. Svein had utter focus and determination on his face and there was an evil light in his eyes.

Finn stopped in horror. In his head Niall was safe and he wasn’t held by a madman intent on killing. This was wrong.

Erik had the presence of mind to make connections in his head that Finn couldn’t make. He cursed but didn’t stop and stare in shock. Instead he scrabbled back and away until only Finn stood in the face-off. They had to get the focus off the Puma and the rest of the team and that was Erik’s job now. Because Finn had to deal with Svein.

“Put the guns down,” Svein said. If anything that made Finn grip the barrel of his Sig harder, and angle of his rifle just that little bit higher. Sven pressed the barrel of the pistol harder and Niall closed his eyes.

Finn stepped closer, his gun still raised. He could take Svein in one shot but from this angle Niall would be collateral damage.
Niall would be dead.
Deltas didn’t let hostages die if they could stop it. But he wasn’t dropping his gun. In all the scenarios where he dropped his weapon he was dead in seconds and Niall would be as well.

“You think I won’t kill him?” Svein said. His tone wasn’t threatening, more questioning. “Drop your weapons.”

“What do you want?” Hijackers had agendas: the release of political prisoners or money being two of them. There had to be some kind of ground that Finn could give way on without Niall dying. Niall still has his eyes closed, his right arm cradled, and now Finn could see blood darkening the sleeve of his shirt and staining the skin at his wrist.

Why didn’t he say he was bleeding?

As if Niall had heard his thoughts he opened his hazel eyes and stared directly at Finn. There was fear in them, but also utter trust in the way he wasn’t panicking.

Svein huffed a laugh. “I don’t want a thing. I want you. Simple. You and your team for killing me, you for missing my heart.”

“Let the hostage go.”
Don’t personalise the hostage, don’t show you love that man more than life itself.

All the time they talked Finn calculated trajectories. He could shoot through Niall, but that would just catch Svein in the shoulder. He had to be calm and focused about this but seeing Niall gripped so tightly was messing with his focus. If he was going to shoot then he needed to be ready. He hoped to God whatever happened that Erik had somehow removed the last shooter from the platform so that the rest of the ERU could land and give backup. That was one less thing to have on his conscience.

“I wasn’t aiming for your heart,” Finn said clearly. He wanted to engage Svein, try and explain something enough so that this all slowed down.

“Fuck you,” Svein said then he smiled and Finn looked into pale silver eyes that held madness. “You think I don’t know who Niall Faulkner is? Warming your bed and making you slow, it was just a matter of time until Forseti was going to be your grave.”

“I don’t know the hostage,” Finn lied. Then, like the decision was made for him, Niall slumped in Svein’s hold. Finn reacted on instinct and the bullet left his gun even as he moved. It carved through Niall’s arm, caught Svein low on his side, enough for Niall to fall, enough for Svein to curse and twist away. Finn was on Svein before he had a chance to regroup, using his bodyweight as a pivot and landing a punch to Svein’s face as he fell to a stop. They grappled and neither had the upper hand but Finn knew this was a fight of attrition. Sooner or later Svein would tire as he lost blood and Finn would take his advantage.

He couldn’t see Niall, couldn’t even take a moment to worry where Niall was as Svein gained the upper hand, his arm around Finn’s throat.

It can’t end like this.
With preternatural strength he twisted and threw until Svein hit the solid wall and for a split second Finn had the upper hand. Then everything went to hell, the whole platform shifting with another explosion. Svein and Finn were thrown to the floor and fuck, Svein laughed, even as he relaxed his hold of Finn and grabbed at a knife of his own. They jumped back and apart. Svein was just as trained as Finn; they were a pretty even match. Up this close Finn could see scarring on Svein’s face, and a cloudiness in his left eye. He quickly filed everything for reference even as he caught sight of Niall grabbing at Finn’s fallen Sig.

No. Don’t use the gun. Don’t do it.

He couldn’t have Niall killing. Niall wasn’t the killer here.

Finn held out his knife and he and Svein circled each other, Finn balancing on the balls of his feet, curving back and away as Svein stabbed at him. He moved the balance and swiped down, his sharp blade passing easily through Svein’s thin jacket. Svein didn’t falter and when Finn moved in he sensed Niall moving behind him. He realised he’d taken his eye off the ball as Svein’s knife sliced across his chest, upward, to his throat.

Finn jumped back but Svein pressed the advantage and forced Finn up against the wall, both men fighting for control with the knives. Svein was winning this battle of strength, madness in his expression and hate in his eyes. Finn relaxed his stance, waiting for Svein to press the advantage and as he did they separated and Svein held his knife in place ready to stab. Finn dropped to the floor and rolled to a crouch in seconds. His temple pounded and dizziness assailed him. Svein saw the crouch, leaned over him, knife high, and in a desperate lunge Finn stabbed up and into Svein’s throat.

“Doesn’t matter,” Svein choked. Finn twisted the knife as Svein weakly batted his hand, blood spilling from the wound then life leaving his eyes in an instant.

Finn shoved him away and pulled out his knife at the same time, the arc of arterial blood splattering his jacket.
This time, fucking stay dead
. He glanced at Niall, who stared at him with horror in his expression. He looked so damn pale with the Sig in his hands, the aim of it right at Svein on the floor.

Finn moved quickly, prising the pistol from Niall’s hands. “He’s dead,” he said.

Briefly Finn embraced Niall but they couldn’t stop.

“Tango main is down, Erik.”

“Copy that, Delta Seven,” Erik replied. “Helideck clear, tango four down.”

“Exfil in ten,” Cap responded. “Let’s get these hostages off Forseti.”

“Why did he…?” Niall pointed at the dead Svein on the floor.

Finn didn’t have time to talk about this. He had to get to the helideck and get the hostages off the platform, including Niall. Finn checked Svein’s pulse one last time, there was nothing. Then he considered direction and with Niall right behind him they headed upward.

“I was going to the others,” Niall said as they climbed. “He was just there. I tried to…”

Niall stopped walking, leaning on the metal banister and bowing his head. This was inevitable; he’d been running on adrenalin and abruptly that had left.

“Keep going,” Finn encouraged.

“Why did he…”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Finn said hurriedly. “I need you topside.”

Niall nodded, visibly pulling himself together and straightening. “Let’s go.”

About two flights from open air Niall was pulled short by shouting, Erik’s voice loud over the headset. “Abort. Abort. Helipad is wired.”

Finn heard cursing from Cap and held his breath. When an explosion didn’t happen he assumed they had managed to abort the Puma landing.

“Jesus Christ Finn, you need to get your ass up here and see this.”

Finn considered everything. Svein hadn’t given them a way off of Forseti. “Is there a timer?”

“I can’t fucking see shit up here past explosives,” Erik snapped.

Finn made a decision. “Get down here, Erik. We have to move the crew to the boat to get off this thing.” Glancing at Niall he considered whether his lover would be able to get down to the boat deck and passed to where he and Erik had left the boat. He was frighteningly pale and his face was red with the burn of sleet and bruises.

I will keep you alive.

“Erik, get the remaining hostages to the boat deck. I’ll get Niall down there.”

“I can’t,” Niall said softly. So soft that Finn almost missed it. “I think…” He slumped against the railing and only Finn grabbing tight stopped him from falling.

“We have to get lower,” Finn said. “They rigged the helideck to stop the Puma from landing. Our only way off is with the boat.”

Niall looked up at him, focusing in on him, his eyes wide, then he coughed. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it just as quickly. “Let’s move,” he finally said.

Together, with more of a stumble than a walk they began descending back the way they’d come. Every step was exertion and Niall was becoming heavier with each one. Finn could feel the blood on his hands, the sticky wetness an indication something was seriously fucking wrong.

“I love you,” Niall murmured. “I know you don’t want to hear it but if we die—”

“We’re not dying.” Finn hoisted more of Niall’s weight and refused to think that there was a world where Niall wasn’t in it.

“I love you,” Niall repeated. His voice held a hint of question. Finn had spent so much of their time together calling it an easy relationship for sex that he’d held back how he felt, but could he still do that with Niall literally dying in front of him?

They stopped for a second and Finn couldn’t even think about how much further they had to go down. Nor how long they had left. Who knew what kind of timing was on the damn explosives.
Fuck
.

“Delta Seven, we’re at the boat.” Erik confirmed the facts.

Niall cradled Finn’s face, looked deep into his eyes even as he spoke to Erik. “Get the boat away.”

“Waiting for you,” Erik said stubborn and focused.

If the platform was rigged, then they’d all die.

“Five, you see anything, you go…”

“Copy.”

Finn pressed a kiss to Niall’s cold lips, then pulled back, “I love you,” he said. “Now let’s move.”

And with that declaration of love they began to move again, Finn aware that the whole platform could collapse around them, or that Erik would move the boat, or that hell, he was going to die here with Niall.

They stumble-walked down to the boat deck, the burning from the knife wound in his chest getting worse then numbing in the icy cold as they moved outside.

“Not far now,” he reassured a near-comatose Niall. He could see the boat, the tethering holding, they were six feet, five feet… He could imagine the step to take to get Niall onto the boat. Two feet, Erik was there, grabbing Niall and dragging him into the boat, Finn right behind him, the boat wheeling away, the faces of scared hostages burned onto his retinas. They were away, twenty feet, thirty, fifty, when a huge explosion parted the storm and the heaving seas. Instinctively, Finn covered Niall.

“Down,” he shouted, the frightened crew doing as they were told. Finn looked back at the extent of the explosion, at the fire, the hell that rained down on them, and prayed to hell they made it out. Something smacked into the boat, then another, hitting Finn on the back and forcing him lower in the boat.

A hundred feet, two hundred…

Then the terrifying noise of the platform in self-destruct was swallowed by the storm and they were far enough away for Finn to sit upright. They couldn’t see Forseti now, and he had to think.

“Cap? We need exfil…” He yanked at an unconscious Niall’s clothes, revealing bone cutting through skin in his arm, and so much blood, some congealed and some free flowing. Niall’s pulse was thready, thin, barely there.

“Five,” Cap answered immediately.

Finn gripped his fear and refused to let it show to anyone. Five may not be enough time to save Niall.

Niall woke slowly, step by step, each a little more painful than the last. He was aware of noise around him, of pain, and the startling white of the lights in his face. People asked him questions, his name, his age, and he was sure he’d heard Ewan’s voice on more than one occasion telling him he was an uncle now and uncles didn’t do things like die on oil platforms.

Although Ewan’s voice was welcome he still craved Finn’s lower, huskier tones but there had been no sign of him.

The doctor told him he’d been hypothermic, that his radius had snapped out through his skin, that he’d lost blood and was actually lucky that they’d got him back to land and to a hospital before he died from shock. That had been at least an hour ago and since then no one had even come into his room, let alone talked to him. Right now he’d even give a smile to a nurse if it meant he wasn’t stuck here with drips in the back of his hand and his head buzzing with pain.

They’d suspected a concussion from the boat deck explosion he’d rigged with the water at high pressure. They’d worried he’d been hit by pieces of Forseti self-destructing but at the end of the day seemed like his brain had come out of this fairly much intact. Go figure.

And talking of Forseti? Niall groaned at the thought of what had happened. The platform was a hazard now. The destruction hadn’t been systematic and project managed. It had been rent in two from the helideck down to the lower production deck. Apparently, according to Ewan, there had been so much explosive wired up that there was no chance of anyone getting off alive. Fires had raged in the accommodation block, the comms room, and the small room where he had hidden, and there was nothing left recognisable as an oil platform part from twisted metal rising out of the sea.