Hellfire (46 page)

‘Black, I swear to God, I know things about you that will put you in a military prison for the rest of your life, and that’s if you’re lucky. I know people in Langley who’d prefer you dead. One word from me and they’ll—’

‘You’re coming.’ Danny grabbed Buckingham’s arm and pushed him towards the exit. Buckingham was sweating as he staggered out of the apartment, Danny stalking him close behind. They moved past the dedicated elevator towards the metal door at the far end of the corridor, which the others had left open. The noise of the chopper was louder here. On the other side of the door was a flight of steps that led up to the rooftop helipad. The warm wind was strong this high up, and not just because of the chopper’s downdraught. All of Doha seemed to shine in the night beneath them, and seawards to the north and east, Danny could make out a busy coastline full of glowing vessels that became gradually less numerous as the distance from land increased.

Buckingham looked bilious – he clearly wasn’t good with heights – so Danny grabbed him by the arm and ushered him roughly across the helipad. Danny recognised the chopper as a Sikorsky S-76: blue tail, red body, orange- and white-striped rotor blades. From the outside it looked like a standard offshore-transport aircraft. The chopper’s side door was open, and the others were already inside. Danny pushed the spook aboard, then jumped in himself and closed the door.

‘GO!’ he shouted over the deafening noise of the rotors.

There were two flight crew, each of them wearing headsets. Danny noted with satisfaction that they seemed confused to be transporting anyone other than Ahmed. It took a word of instruction from their boss before the chopper rose from the helipad, buffeted slightly by the winds, and sped directly over the lower rooftops of the city towards the coast.

The interior of the Sikorsky was a lot more comfortable than any military transport Danny had ever been in. Twelve comfortable leather seats. A fridge with iced water. Ahmed was a man who liked to travel in style. But this morning he looked terrified. The dark rings around his eyes were more pronounced, and he kept glancing anxiously at the unit’s personal weapons.

Estimated flight time, thirty-five minutes. Land became sea. A couple of minutes later they had passed the bulk of the vessels mooring in Doha, and all Danny could see through the window of the chopper was the reflection of a bright moon on still water. He estimated that they had an hour till sunrise. He didn’t like not having a direct line into Hereford. He knew the head shed would have full surveillance on the area, but until they got on to the rig and opened up a secure line to them, it was useless to Danny and his team.

As the rotors spun rhythmically, Danny looked at his two unit colleagues. Unlike Ahmed, Mustafa and Buckingham, Tony and Caitlin’s faces were pictures of calm. They sat next to each other, and Danny noticed how Caitlin’s knee was pressed against Tony’s. He felt like warning her not to get too close. Tony was a man who ripped off the Hereford armoury and flogged the spoils on to the sort of people who shouldn’t be within a hundred metres of live ammo. A man who could call on a seedy underbelly of criminality to do his dirty work for him. A man who thought nothing of allowing his wife to head blindly into a terrorist atrocity. For one of the good guys, he had a bad way of looking at the world. Danny would have far preferred to have Spud or Ripley here, but he didn’t have that option. He just had to get on with it.

In the distance – it was hard to judge how far, but maybe ten or fifteen klicks – Danny caught sight of a structure glowing in the sea. One of the many oil platforms that dotted the Persian Gulf. Even from this distance it looked vast: a floating city.

The pilot looked back over his shoulder and shouted something in Arabic. Both Ahmed and Buckingham turned to Danny. ‘Five minutes,’ they translated in unison.

Danny nodded. He checked over his weapons, and saw that Tony and Caitlin were doing the same. The chopper started to lose height. Danny craned his neck to look through the front window of the aircraft. His angle of vision was awkward, but he could just make out another structure, much closer this time.

You would never know from up here that Qatar Drilling Rig 17 was abandoned. The vast rectangle glowed brightly in the dark sea. An enormous scaffolding column protruded upwards from the centre of the platform, and Danny counted two vast orange and white cranes hanging outwards from the rig over the sea. The platform itself was surrounded by suicide nets, and it seemed from this angle to hover above the surface of the sea because its vast supporting legs were shrouded in darkness, although he could just make out white horses on the water’s surface where the sea broke against them. He identified a circular LZ – green, with a yellow circular landing spot marked with a glowing ‘H’ – on the nearest edge of the platform, which the chopper now headed for.

Danny turned to his unit. ‘Secure the LZ,’ he said. ‘The rest of you, stay on board till we give you the word.’ He cocked his rifle. Tony and Caitlin did the same.

Thirty seconds later, the chopper touched down, its nose facing inward towards the platform, its tail pointing back out to sea. Danny, Tony and Caitlin exited quickly and congregated about the chopper’s nose, Danny positioned centrally, Tony to his left, Caitlin to his right. Danny could hear the chopper’s rotors start to slow, but the downdraught was still strong. He scanned the scene ahead of him. The platform was huge – about the size of two football pitches – and was covered with a network of scaffolding frames, metal staircases and storage containers. Twenty metres below the LZ, Danny could make out a line of RIB lifeboats, and a vast salt water pump to deal with the constant threat of fire on board the platform.

But no personnel. No movement.

The rotors fell silent. Now they could hear the water crashing against the footings of the oil rig far below, and the movement of a breeze from the north-west. And on the edge of his senses, a humming sound, no doubt emanating from the generator that had to be keeping the electric lights burning, and some of the sound coming from the lights themselves. But there were no voices. It was eerie, being on a structure that was clearly meant to house humans, and knowing that they were the only people on board.

Danny turned to Caitlin. ‘Get the others,’ he said. ‘The pilots too. We can’t trust anyone. We’ll find a safe place to secure them first, then get on the line to Hereford. We need to know if they have any surveillance intel. Leave the money in the chopper for now.’

A minute later, Caitlin had herded Mustafa, Ahmed and the two pilots on to the LZ.

‘Where’s the bridge?’ Danny shouted at Ahmed.

Ahmed pointed towards the centre of the rig. ‘On the far side of that tall scaffolding tower,’ he said. ‘You see the rectangular structure painted green? Is that where we’re going?’

Danny shook his head. ‘Not you,’ he said. ‘It’s the first place anybody will look. What about the accommodation quarters?’

‘Around the northern leg!’ Ahmed shouted. ‘They’re very cramped. If you want somewhere safe to put us, I suggest the medical room. It’s between our current position and the centre of the platform. I think we could lock ourselves in there.’

Danny gave that a moment’s thought. Ahmed’s suggestion made sense. If things went noisy, if and when the Caliph showed his face, it would be good to have them in the vicinity of medical supplies. He nodded. ‘Lead the way!’ he shouted.

A metal staircase led from the LZ to the platform itself. Ahmed trotted towards it, Danny at his shoulder scanning the way ahead for unexpected movement. The others followed, with Tony and Caitlin taking up the rear. Their footsteps clattered as they descended the metal stairs. Once they were down on the platform, Ahmed kept looking back at them nervously, obviously checking they were still with him, as he led the small group through a network of storage containers, scaffolding rigs and engineering platforms whose purpose Danny could only guess. The surroundings were hyper-industrial and factory-like, like being in the heart of a complex, deserted, metal maze. There were fire extinguishers every fifteen feet, regular signage pointing to emergency exits and muster stations, and bright strip lighting that made the deck almost as bright as daytime.

After a couple of minutes, they reached what looked like a grey Portakabin adjacent to the huge central scaffold that Danny had seen from the air. Three metal steps, painted a vibrant yellow, led up to the door. Ahmed was about to walk up them, when Danny pulled him back. He approached the door himself, his rifle engaged, and thrust the door open. He stepped inside, aiming towards the four corners of the room, before shouting: ‘Clear. Get inside, everyone, now!’

It was a standard med room: a stretcher bed in one corner, sterile-looking cabinets along the walls, a poster detailing how to perform CPR, and a faint smell of antiseptic. Ahmed, Mustafa, Buckingham and the two pilots huddled automatically against the far wall while Tony and Caitlin kept watch outside. Danny looked round for a key. He found it within seconds, hanging on a hook by the door. Buckingham stepped forward to take the key, but Danny gave him a sharp look and closed his fingers around it.

‘For God’s
sake
, man,’ Buckingham breathed.

Danny ignored him and looked at the others. ‘I’m going to lock you in from the outside. We’ll be back in ten minutes. Don’t make any noise. When and if the Caliph and his people arrive, it’s best they can’t locate you. You’ll be safe here.’

He didn’t wait for any response, but left the med room and locked the door behind him. Tony gave him an enquiring look. ‘They’re scared,’ Danny explained. ‘I don’t trust them not to split up if they get spooked, and I don’t want to be searching this whole platform for them.’

‘You don’t trust the pilots?’

‘Right now, I don’t trust anyone.’ He checked his watch. 04.45 hrs. Two hours and fifteen till the Caliph’s RV time. ‘Let’s get to the control room, make contact with Hereford, then move back to the chopper and unload the money.’

‘You think this fucker’s really going to show?’ Tony said. ‘You really think he doesn’t know we’ve just pitched up with all our weapons?’

Danny had no answer for that.

They moved stealthily, rifles engaged, in a leapfrog formation along the metal deck. Distance to the main scaffolding tower: thirty metres. There were storage containers on either side, mostly blocking their view, but with narrow, shadowy corridors between them.

They’d covered fifteen metres. Danny had his back against one of the storage containers, covering Tony and Caitlin as they moved silently past. Something flickered on the edge of his vision, down one of the shadowy corridors.

‘Movement,’ he hissed.

Tony and Caitlin stopped stock-still. Tony set his weapon in the direction of the scaffolding tower. Caitlin set hers back towards the med room.

The platform wasn’t deserted.

Danny aimed down the narrow corridor between the storage boxes.

His finger rested lightly on the trigger. His eyes narrowed.

There was a sudden flap of wings as a sea bird flew out of the corridor. Danny felt his body relaxing. He turned to the others and gave them a nod that meant: go.

They continued to leapfrog towards the scaffolding tower, which Danny now saw housed the immense drill at the centre of the platform, surrounded by clusters of huge, vertical metal pipes. He figured that ordinarily, this would be the noisiest, busiest part of the rig, but now it was deserted and quiet. The green walls of the control-room unit were just visible through the far side of the scaffolding. They needed to get there, open up a line to Hereford and then set up offensive positions for when the Caliph arrived. They edged clockwise round it, weapons still engaged. Once they were on its far side, they were just another fifteen metres from the bridge. They moved forward and approached.

The metal box that housed the control room was four times the size of the med unit, and the five metal steps leading up to it were three times as broad. A couple of metres to its right was a signalling aerial, pointing west at a steep azimuth. As before, Tony and Caitlin took up positions on either side of the door, while Danny engaged his rifle, knocked the door handle down and pushed it quietly open with his foot.

Silence. A quick check to the four corners of the control room told Danny the room was empty.

He scanned round the bridge. There was a bank of computer screens against the far wall. They showed a bewildering display of spreadsheets and technical diagrams. There was a water cooler against the left-hand wall, and a large, square table in the middle of the room. Some of the chairs round the table still had thick hi-vis jackets slung over the backs, and the table itself had a couple of white hard hats upturned on it. Danny continued to scan round, looking for the platform’s radio equipment. He quickly located it against the right-hand wall.

‘Shit,’ he breathed. He activated his personal comms so that Tony and Caitlin could hear his voice. ‘We’ve got a problem.’

The radio unit was about the same size as one of Ahmed’s suitcases of money. It had a digital dashboard with a number of LEDs. All dead. The unit itself had been pulled away from the wall. Danny could see, even from this distance of ten metres, that the mess of multi-coloured wires had been roughly cut. He knew there was no point even trying to use it.

‘The radio’s down,’ he said tersely into his comms unit. ‘Someone’s taken it out.’

‘
The regular platform crew wouldn’t have done that before they left
,’ Tony said. ‘
We’ve got company.
’