Everybody knew the hurricane was moving towards Florida and its peripheral winds were reaching out towards them. Marsh could feel the helicopter moving awkwardly, like a carriage riding over cobblestones.
The dark clouds had blotted out the sun for so long that it was as if night had crept up on them like a ghost. It was dark and they came out of the black sky; their dull silhouettes merging with the sea and sky. Both helicopters flashed over the wave tops with little room to spare.
Francesini’s headset burst into life in his ear.
“Rig on radar, sir.”
He grimaced. “Signal Homestead,” he ordered with deep reservation. “Have them scramble the F-16’s.”
This part of the plan had been the most difficult and heart rending to assess. In the end it was a decision taken reluctantly. All those involved in the raid on the rig were told about it and given the opportunity to opt out. There were no takers.
Three F-16’s were now under orders to attack the rig if the assault failed and no signal was received to say the assault had been successful. Only if the signal of their success was received would the attack be called off.
Francesini could see the rig glowing faintly in the darkening sky, its lights picked out by the harsh storm clouds behind it as he looked through the cockpit.
“Two minutes,” the pilot said.
On the rig, Malik checked his watch for about the tenth time in as many minutes. Khan had been watching him. He looked up at the clock on the wall.
“We have ten minutes yet.”
“Why not programme the computer now?” Malik asked. “Why must you wait until the satellite was in the exact position?”
Khan explained. “If I programme the computer now it would be like sending an open message to the Americans.”
He wished it was simpler because he too was feeling the tension. The pain around his heart was increasing to a degree that began to trouble him immensely.
“We know that when the satellite is in position, the transfer of information will last for micro seconds. The Americans will never pick it up.”
“And you’re not prepared to risk it now?”
Khan shook his head. “We know the Americans are on to us. If I open up the computer link now, it will be transmitting to an empty sky. Their listening stations will be on to us in minutes and they may even be able to jam the signal. No,” he said finally, “we must wait.”
Malik knew Khan was talking sense. There was sure to be an AWAC on patrol now above them somewhere, and if they picked up the signal, not only could they block it, but they could send patrolling aircraft to attack the rig. No, Khan was right: they had to wait.
“But we could go up to the control room,” Khan suggested. “They will have battened down against the storm. It should be quiet and peaceful enough.”
He stood up and reached for his briefcase. He thought about taking two more tablets but thought better of it. He would take a couple later.
They stepped out on to the open catwalk in the lee of the accommodation block. As they turned the corner, the wind slammed into them with such a force it threatened to lift them up and pitch them into the angry sea.
Khan stopped and backed into the lea of the building.
“It’s too risky!” he shouted. “We’ll have to go under the platform,”
They turned back and followed a route which took them down a staircase leading to a protected gallery from where the drilling crew operated. Normally the main riser, the eighteen inch diameter pipe drilling section would descend from there, through the open gallery floor and into the sea. Because of the weather conditions, the pipe had been withdrawn and all that remained was a black void.
The wind inside the gallery crashed around the walls and the thick, Perspex glass windows, but its ferocity was tempered and nowhere near as fierce as on the open deck. They walked quickly, using the handrails for support.
Malik walked in front of Khan and as he reached the foot of the stairs that led to the upper platform, he saw something move outside the windows on the far side of the gallery. He stopped and Khan walked into him.
“What is it?” Khan shouted.
Malik didn’t reply at first, but stared fixedly at the far windows, a deep frown coming on his face. Suddenly he whirled round and almost screamed at Khan.
“We’re being attacked! There!”
Khan looked across the gallery and just caught sight of the Sea Stallion helicopter moving slowly towards the upper decks of the oil rig.
“They won’t know,” Malik shouted desperately. “They won’t know.”
He glanced hurriedly around the metal catwalks and steelwork, searching furiously along the stanchions until he saw an alarm button. It was mounted next to the drillers control point and was for use in an emergency.
Malik brushed past Khan and ran across the gallery floor and slammed the heel of his hand at the button. Suddenly the entire rig seemed to come alive as a blaring klaxon siren came to life and filled the air with a riotous noise.
Khan knew instinctively what was happening. It was what he had feared the most. Ignoring the clamping pain around his chest he began climbing the stairs as quickly as was humanly possible for him. Malik followed. As they reached the main deck of the oil rig, they could see the black shrouded figures dropping from the helicopter.
Malik had a Stechkin automatic pistol with him which he pulled from inside his jacket and began firing. Almost immediately the steelwork around him erupted in a cacophonous noise as the Seals returned his fire.
He stopped shooting and urged Khan forward, pushing and half carrying him up the next flight of stairs to the main control room. Khan felt a massive pain lash at his heart and he cried out and fell to his knees.
“Come on,” Malik urged him, lifting him bodily. “They will have us; it’s our last chance!
He pulled Khan round a protective corner as bullets cannoned off the superstructure. He let Khan go and returned a burst of covering fire. He looked up as Khan reached the door of the control room.
“The lights!” Malik shouted. “Get them to douse the lights!”
He rolled over on to his stomach and emptied the magazine along the catwalk. Then he heard the stuttering sound of automatic rifle fire and knew that others had joined the fight,
The Sea King landed on the heli-pad as all the lights went out.
Helen could not control the trembling that ran riot through her body. She had never known fear like it. The noise of the fire-fight had already penetrated the interior of the helicopter and suddenly they were in darkness. She felt the helicopter bounce on the landing pad and settle, and then the wind punched itself into the interior as a crewman slid the door open.
“Now listen up!” someone shouted. “When you hit the deck, grab hold of the net. Wait until the chopper has lifted clear of the rig before you let go of the rope. And don’t move until you’re told to!”
Helen found herself tumbling out of the door into that incredible wind. Marsh pushed her to the ground and she could feel the coarse hemp beneath her. His mouth pushed up against her ear.
“Stay with me!” he shouted.
She nodded but he didn’t see it.
Suddenly a Marine Sergeant sprawled alongside them. “Listen up. My orders are to get you up to the control room.” The wind whipped the words away and they could barely hear him. “When we go, stay close.” He waited until the Sea King drew away from the rig, then he hit them both between the shoulder blades and almost drove the breath from their bodies.