Although the wind buffeted them considerably, they seemed to be in little danger of being hurled over the side. They made their way quickly up to the oil rig’s accommodation deck, followed by the two men who had seen them on to the rig.
Once they were inside, into the relative peace and calm of the building’s lounge area, Khan collapsed into a nearby chair. Malik asked one of the men to bring some water. The moment it arrived, Khan reached into his pocket and took out two of his heart pills. He swallowed them hastily.
“Malik,” he gasped, looking up. “How long before the satellite will be in position?”
Malik spoke to one of the two men. He picked up a wall phone and dialled the control room. After a short conversation and a short silence, he replaced the phone and turned to Malik
“Two hours,” he told him.
Khan closed his eyes. “Praise Allah,” he intoned. “In His wisdom He has given us time. We will see the end of the Great Satan yet.” He struggled to his feet. Malik helped him.
“Our enemies will never win against the forces of Islam. May Allah be praised.”
On the journey back to the Homestead Air Reserve Base, Helen sat in an extremely uncomfortable seat not designed for sitting in over periods extending more than a couple of minutes. She felt exhausted and tried to close her eyes and sleep. But sleep would not come. Her eyelids fluttered, closed and then opened again. During one of these moments she noticed Francesini. He had his hand to his earpiece and his face was screwed up into an impossible frown. Then his eyebrows lifted and his mouth opened. She could see him mouthing the word ‘what?’, but gave it no thought. Then he glanced at her and she thought she saw him smile. No, it wasn’t a smile, it was something more; relief perhaps? He shook his head gently and leaned back against the wall of the helicopter, and she swore she could see him chuckling. She wondered just what there was to make someone laugh at a time like this. She let the thought drift from her mind and tried to sleep.
When the helicopter landed at the base, the Military police were on hand to take into custody Captain de Leon and his crew; those who were fit enough to walk. Francesini disappeared very quickly, as did Lieutenant Santos and his men. Helen was taken to the base hospital for an examination, along with the others who could be described as walking wounded.
She had been at the facility for little more than twenty minutes, in a side room, when Francesini knocked and walked in. Helen was wearing a hospital gown and lying on top of the bed.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Terribly sad,” she told him. “They killed Marsh, you know.”
He nodded. “Look,” he said walking towards the bed. “I had to see someone just now, that’s why I couldn’t come with you.” He hesitated as though lost for words. “But things crop up unexpectedly. You’ve been through a rough time, but there’s somebody here who wants to talk to you. Think you can take it?”
She shrugged and sat up. “After what I’ve been through, I don’t think a little conversation will hurt.”
Francesini turned and called out. The door opened. Helen couldn’t see who had come in because Francesini was standing in the way. Then he moved.
“Hallo Helen.”
It was Marsh.
Chapter 19
Helen did not want to travel in that monstrous helicopter again. The thought of the rough ride, the discomfort, the noise and the memory of why she had been in the helicopter in the first place was enough to make her promise herself she would never fly in one again. Until now.
Marsh sat in the Sea Stallion helicopter oblivious to the noise and the people around him except Helen who was sitting beside him, clutching his hand in a grip so fierce that it spoke a thousand words. Her fear transmitted itself to him through her flesh. It wasn’t fear of death any longer, but fear of losing him. That more than ever weighed her down like a powerful burden and as each thought came into her mind about the terror Marsh must have experienced in the Challenger, it turned her inside out. It was almost as if she had been there herself.
When Marsh walked into the hospital room where Helen had lain recovering, Francesini had wanted to remain there for a few moments and watch the sheer joy and immense relief spread through them both, but he knew it would have been churlish of him to so. He left after a moment and waited outside in the corridor.
Helen had clung to Marsh as though her life had depended on it. The joy, relief, disbelief all rolled into a mixture of emotions that took away her ability, albeit briefly, to think of anything else but Marsh. In the end it was Francesini who had to prise them apart. He gave them sufficient time and then came back in.
“We have a job to do,” he told them.
Marsh had been debriefed swiftly by Francesini and had been able to tell the C.I.A. man that he believed he knew where Khan had flown to. It was when Francesini had told him that Khan had fled the Taliba. Marsh knew it would be the rig. It was the only place Khan could be. He had remembered hearing a voice in the background during the second dive, coming over the sonar link between the Taliba and the Challenger. Someone had said, “It’s the rig sir.” Nothing else. Then there was the unusual approach to the wellhead; the faint, almost imagined outcrop of rock which he now realised was an anchor or a pylon. And finally the fact that he had caught sight of something as Challenger had been swung out for that dive. The way in which the Taliba had been positioned then had practically obscured his view, which was why he thought it was a ship. But it had been a rig: a semi-submersible oil rig.
A raiding party had been hastily assembled comprising ten, well-armed Marines together with Lieutenant Santos and his Seals. Marsh, Helen and Francesini were riding in the Sea Stallion with the Marines. Lieutenant Santos was in a Sea King helicopter with his men.
The reason Helen was there was because Marsh had flatly refused to allow Francesini to keep him and Helen out of the assault operation, despite the fact that they were both civilians. Francesini had been quite philosophical about it and agreed. He realised that they both had a right to be there at the end after what they had been through; particularly Marsh.
These thoughts ran through Marsh’s mind as he sat beside Helen. The clamour of the turbine and the howling wind failed to penetrate Marsh’s inner soul, into that sanctum that had seen the Devil and supped at his table. He glanced at Helen and gave her a tight, nervous smile. She smiled back at him and squeezed his hand.
The discussions beforehand were all based on what Helen had told them, Marsh’s experiences and the report given to Francesini by the expert, Professor Schofield at the Woods Hole Institute. Francesini had contacted the Kennedy Space Centre who told them that there were too many satellites tracking across the Gulf of Mexico to give an accurate assessment of which satellite Khan would use to trigger the bombs, but any time within the next sixty minutes could be considered to be zero hour.
The assault plan was simple enough: Lieutenant Santos and the Seals would drop from the Sea King helicopter first and make directly to the control room. The Marines would come in behind the Seals in the Sea Stallion and sweep the rig to flush out any member of the crew who harboured aspirations of heroism. Marsh and Helen had both been offered a weapon but had refused. Marsh had never fired a gun in his life and Helen had no wish to.
Suddenly the helicopter dropped and Marsh felt his stomach lurch as the pilot brought the aircraft down to a level which would get them low enough to confuse the oil rig’s radar. Marsh could feel the fear crawling round in the pit of his stomach as the wind hammered them with such an incredible force that he was convinced they would all be dashed into the sea.