Part 9 (1/2)

The SBS are responsible for the protection of oil platforms in British waters. Not a single UK rig has ever been attacked by terrorists, which is a testimony to their fearsome reputation. Nowadays they work closely with the SAS, and there is no finer body of men.

We'd been running twenty-five minutes. The cold was numbing even through my survival suit, and the waves caused a constant jarring. I tried to concentrate on our various exit options. Walking out had been tried the last time and was not the ideal option, as we had learned to our cost. The best bet seemed to be to have a helicopter slip in over the border under the radar net and pick us up. Maybe with all the oil exploration going on in the area it was unlikely that a single chopper flight would excite too much attention, and with luck by the time they scrambled an aircraft to investigate we would be back over the border into Chile. It would only be a short flight and the six of us could pack in tight. Our equipment might have to be ditched, but that's a penalty of clandestine ops.

Then I thought about the landing. Waiting for us at the RV point inland was supposed to be a British guide who would lead us to the base. I wasn't too happy about relying on local help it's too easily infiltrated by the other side. Jock seemed content, though.

Rio Grande intrigued me. Last time the mission had been called off at the start and we never got near the air base. It would be interesting to see what the de fences were like. What would London's response be if we did find evidence of an invasion being planned? A strike by Tornados was one option but would be tantamount to a declaration of war and the Americans might exercise a veto. The same went for a Tomahawk missile attack. Which left a.s.sault by special forces as the only viable alternative. It could be a rerun of the Falklands campaign of twenty years before.

I uncovered the luminous dial of my watch; we had been travelling for forty minutes. That put us half-way to the coast. The waves were getting shorter and steeper which was an indication of shelving water. Somewhere up ahead of us the rollers would be breaking along the surf line, dumping their energy in one final explosive burst. I could sense Kiwi peering ahead to try and spot any patches of whiteness.

A larger-than-usual wave surged underneath us. It was so steep it felt like riding the side of a mountain the dark slope loomed over us and for several seconds I thought we would topple back and slide under. Then at the last moment we topped out and burst through the crest. I caught a brief glimpse of lights scattered in the darkness ahead. That was the sh.o.r.e, less than a mile away at a rough estimate. The lights were grouped over to the south, which was where Rio Grande ought to lie. We were coming in dead on target.

At about 600 metres we had to slow for our run-in. Although it was after midnight there was still the possibility of some vessel creeping along the sh.o.r.e making a night run into Rio Grande, or even of guard boats patrolling the coast. Our m.u.f.fled engines would be inaudible except at very close range, and we were so low in the water we would be hard to spot. We were aiming for a point about five miles up the coast from the mouth of the river, where a sand bar broke the force of the waves. According to the chart, there was a narrow gap allowing access to a shallow lagoon behind with a sh.o.r.eline of sand dunes backed by scrub -ideal for concealing the boats.

We began crabbing up the sh.o.r.eline towards our objective. It was slow going because we were moving against the current. As we drew nearer we made out the sand bar as a line of broken water about half a mile off sh.o.r.e. The entrance was intermittently visible as a dark gap, two-thirds of the way along. Huge waves were pounding the breach here, and shooting the gap was going to be exciting.

We were about 400 metres off when Jock's boat flashed a covered light at us to signal that it was in difficulties. We drew alongside and Jock shouted that their engine was playing up. There was a brief discussion, and it was decided to tow the other craft in behind our boat. We wallowed uncomfortably in the heavy seas for several minutes while tow lines were exchanged and made fast. To lighten the disabled boat, we transferred n.o.bby Clark across into our craft, leaving only Jock and Doug behind. It was exhausting work, having to seize moments between huge waves then cling on while the sea swept over us, but finally we got n.o.bby aboard. Jock and Doug would do the best they could to steer with paddles, while we towed them into the lagoon.

As soon as we had tethered the boats we set off again, with our craft straining beneath the increased load. As we neared the narrow entrance to the lagoon the battering from the rollers breaking across the sandbar increased. Our boat was tossed about like a chip of wood. Josh and n.o.bby and I clung on for our lives. The engine was roaring; the prop shaft and exhaust exposed as they bucked and rolled in the boiling surf.

And then I saw it away to the south, a fast-moving shadow that momentarily obscured the lights dotting the blackness in the direction of Rio Grande. It was moving fast against the wind, and heading in our direction. I caught a momentary gleam of metal and gla.s.s and yelled to Kiwi, ”Helicopter!”

He s.n.a.t.c.hed his attention from the waves to follow my pointing arm. It was flying without lights, which could mean only that this was a military machine. Skimming the coast, it would pick us up for certain if we entered the lagoon.

Kiwi pulled the tiller bar over, and his huge hands fumbled for the controls as he cut the engine, killing the give-away wake we were trailing. All four of us cowered down in the lead boat, keeping our faces hidden. Jock and Doug were doing the same. Without engine or paddles we were at the mercy of the sea. At any moment we could be swept against the sandbar and smashed to pieces by the pounding surf. Water hammered us with brutal force. We were caught up in a maelstrom, struggling to maintain our grip on the boats. I fought to keep my head clear but there was so much spray and water in the air it was next to impossible to breathe. I couldn't see where the helicopter was any longer, but for the moment my only concern was to hang on.

Then I lifted my head for an instant to s.n.a.t.c.h a look upward. The helicopter's silhouette was hovering over the lagoon. Had it spotted us?

There was no time to think about that. Another series of rollers crashed down on us. Something heavy struck me in the back, knocking the remaining breath from my body and catapulting me over the side. Dragged down by the weight of my equipment I was whirled away into the sea. Kicking out frantically, I fought my way back again, thankful for my life vest as I clawed for the side of the boat. My first breath was a gulp of spume that set me retching, but I managed to get an arm on to one of the sponsons and clung on with all my strength. A moment later a huge hand came out of the darkness and grabbed me by my harness and hauled me bodily aboard. Kiwi must have seen me go and pulled me out.

There wasn't time to thank him, though. The second Gemini had flipped and was floating upside-down in the water, still secured to us by the towline. One of the occupants I couldn't see which was clinging on to the upturned hull. Grabbing the towrope, I pulled the boat in towards us so we could help.

Josh and Kiwi had the paddles out and were digging in like maniacs, trying to get us under way, while n.o.bby baled. Our only chance now was to get through the gap in the sandbar before we were broken up and to h.e.l.l with the helicopter. It was that or drowning for all of us.

I reached down to help the person in the water and saw that it was Doug. I heaved him spluttering inboard and he shook himself like a rat. That left Jock. I scanned the surface quickly but couldn't spot him; in these conditions visibility is measured in inches. Jock had his survival suit and life vest; we just had to hope he'd found something to cling on to.

Doug and I grabbed two more paddles and started stroking away with the rest of them. The boat was awash and sluggish with the weight of the five of us aboard as well as a hull full of water but with the other boat floating bottom up there was less drag on the stern.

As we neared the gap in the sandbank the turbulence became worse than ever as the current took us. Huge volumes of water were being forced through the opening. Breakers burst around us in explosions of white foam, and it was impossible even to see our own hands. We could only hope that the current would take us through.

We felt the boats spin around as if we were entering a violent rapid, then shoot forward at great speed. We were rushed towards the opening in a torrent of broken water, seas foaming and leaping around us; waves swept the inflatable from end to end, surging above our heads. All we could do was gulp breaths when we had a chance, and keep paddling frantically.

And then, suddenly, the turbulence abated, and we found ourselves wallowing in sheltered water. The swell inside the lagoon still heaved to the rhythm of the breakers pounding the sandbank in our rear, but after what we had endured at the entrance it was a blessed calm.

The sh.o.r.e in front of us was fringed with a pale beach, and the dunes behind it showed faintly through the darkness. There were no pinp.r.i.c.ks of light showing, no signs of habitation. I glanced up, searching the sky for a sight of the helicopter. Nothing. It must have moved away, either up the coast or inland.

We were still some 200 yards from the beach, but the wind was pus.h.i.+ng us in towards the land. There was no time to lose this was the moment of maximum danger. It was vital to get the boats ash.o.r.e and under cover before we were spotted.

I reached behind me and gave the towrope a yank, intending to pull the second boat alongside, but the cord was loose in my hand. I pulled some more but there was no resistance: the fastening had broken, and there was no sign of the second Gemini, and no sign of Jock.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

I took charge. We had to get ash.o.r.e. If the landing had been compromised, this was the point at which searchlights would stab out from the beach, followed by shouts of alarm and gunfire.

I felt under my life vest for my night sight. Holding up the eyepiece I made a slow sweep of the lagoon, praying for a glimpse of the other boat.

”Can you see it?” Josh called.

”Keep your voice down,” I snapped. With the wind blowing onsh.o.r.e we were close enough to the beach to be overheard.

There was so much spray I couldn't be sure what I was seeing. I took another careful sweep, concentrating on the opening we had come through, looking for the upturned hull bobbing in the surf. Jock could have righted the boat, maybe even restarted the engine.

Kiwi backed his oar, spinning our boat around and heading back the way we had come. Doug and the others did their best to help, but the strength of the waves pus.h.i.+ng through the gap made the task almost impossible. Water came foaming over the bow, filling the boat, forcing us backward. Three times we tried to get close to the gap, and three times we were beaten back.

Kiwi put his mouth to my ear. ”Shall I start the engine?”

I wanted to say yes, but we were less than 200 yards from the land. Our own boat was heavily laden, and a rescue attempt would be putting five lives at risk for a slender chance of success. Even with the engine I doubted whether we would make it through, and if we did there was no guarantee we would find Jock or get back again ourselves. It would mean the end of the mission.

I took one last look at the line of boiling surf, and made up my mind. ”No,” I said.

I knew I was condemning Jock, if he was still out there, to almost certain death. His life vest was a roll-down, activated by a pull-tab if he had been knocked unconscious it wouldn't save him.

”No, there's nothing more we can do.” I took another deep breath. ”Steer for the sh.o.r.e.”

”Aye, aye,” Kiwi responded. He put the boat around. None of the others spoke. It was a terrible moment. Jock was liked as well as respected.

First Andy, and now Jock.

But there was no point dwelling on it. We had come here to do a job and I was determined to see it through. ”Paddle easy,” I told the others in an undertone.

Using careful strokes to avoid a telltale wake, we closed in on the beach. I crouched low in the bow with the night sight, scanning the sh.o.r.e and dunes, alert for any sign of an ambush. Unless someone up there had night-vision equipment we would be all but invisible against the darkness of the ocean -until we reached the sand.

The instant we felt the keel ground, n.o.bby and Doug sprang out. Their packs were lost with the missing boats, but they still had their personal weapons slung over their backs and secured by lanyard, as well as their night-vision goggles. They splashed forward through the shallows, charging up the beach into the dunes, guns at the ready, poised to give us cover.

As soon as they were in place Kiwi, Josh and I leapt out of the boat and, seizing the grab handles, rushed it forward up the beach, dragging it with all our strength towards the cover of a dark gully. We were gasping for breath and sweating in our thick suits by the time we made it, but the relief of being on solid ground was enormous. Out of the wind it felt strangely calm and silent after the battering we had taken at sea.

n.o.bby came running back to meet us. ”All clear. No sign of a reception party yet.”

”Take Kiwi with you and get back to the beach. Each of you scout the waterline for ten minutes in opposite directions to see if you find Jock or the boat, then come back here.”

”Understood.” The two of them ripped off their survival suits and doubled away into the dark in the direction of the beach.

I turned to Josh. ”We need to bury the b.a.s.t.a.r.d boat. Start digging while I contact Hereford.”

I found the communications pack, extracted the satcom, connected the co-ax leads and set it up. I composed a brief message to the effect that we had made an unopposed landing 23.30 local time, but had lost one Gemini with the boss aboard. I gave our present position from the GPS and said we were about to attempt a rendezvous with the guide.