try to turn on any of the cameras, I’ll find out about it and you’ll end up going for a swim without a life jacket. Understood?’
The security officer nodded.
‘I like to run a pretty loose ship,’ Deacon said, facing the GM. ‘But don’t get carried away with it. This is how it will play. As we speak, radio-controlled explosive devices are being placed at key points around the platform. If anyone makes any attempt to interfere with my operation, the charges will be detonated. If any of my men are attacked, the charges will be detonated. In a little while, when I tell you, you’ll address your personnel over the platform intercom. You’ll tell them exactly what’s going on. You’ll also make it absolutely clear that there are to be no heroics. Tell them the consequences as I’ve laid them out to you.’ Deacon headed back to the entrance, pausing to look at the manager. ‘Don’t be fooled by my easygoing manner, Mr Andrews. I’m not the mastermind of this operation. But the people who hired me knew what they were doing. How many men do you currently have on this platform?’
The GM took a moment to think about it. ‘A hundred and sixty-five,’ he replied looking at the security officer for confirmation.
‘That’s less than the number of men I’ve personally killed in the last six years . . . Now. Everyone sit down and don’t do anything silly or he’ll shoot you,’ Deacon said, indicating the large Bulgarian. The man looked up to the task.
A clatter of gunfire came from outside. A ripple of panic shot through the platform workers in the room. The Bulgarian, himself unsure for a second, levelled his weapon towards them.
Deacon stepped outside and onto the deck to see a man lying face down near the railings. He looked over at the Lebanese thug and his smoking weapon. ‘What did you do that for?’ Deacon asked calmly.
‘He surprised me.’
Deacon crouched by the casualty to feel for a pulse at the man’s neck. There was none. Blood dripped from the torso through the deck grilles onto the level below.
‘You’re paid to ’andle surprises,’ Deacon said. ‘I’m gonna deduct a hundred grand from your money. You step out of line again and all you’ll end up with is your deposit. You got that?’
The Lebanese gritted his teeth but knew better than to argue. He had never met Deacon before the team had gathered at the safe house in the Shetlands fourteen days previously. Initially twelve team members had spent the days going over plans and each individual’s role. But four of them had disappeared one night - they simply were not in the house the following morning. Deacon said they had been removed to a secure location until the operation was complete, but the Lebanese believed that Deacon had killed them. He knew enough not to cross the Englishman, not during the operation at least. Threatening to cut his wages had been a stupid error, though, and he could already see himself killing the man. ‘It won’t happen again,’ he said.
Deacon had in fact wanted to dump him but the four that he had already cut were worse and he needed a minimum of eight to carry out the operation. That was the first thing he had complained about. But when the escape plan was revealed he understood. It was tight but he would have to make it work. ‘You see that crane over there?’ he said, pointing across the platform. ‘Take this geezer and ’ang him on the end of the ’ook. We might as well get some use out of ’im.’
The Lebanese wanted to ask why but that was another thing he had learned about Deacon back in the Shetlands. He didn’t like to be questioned.
‘Get on with it, then.’
The Arab shouldered his weapon and dragged the dead man across the deck towards the crane.
The radio crackled in Deacon’s ear. It was Queen. ‘Hey, sweetie. The pilot wants to get going but he’s nervous about the ditching procedure. He says there’s a storm front heading this way.’
‘There’s always a storm front heading somewhere in the North Sea.’
‘His orders are to ditch the chopper in the middle of the ocean a hundred miles from nowhere.’
‘So?’
‘He’s worried about not being picked up.’
‘You tell ’im this. If he fails to ditch where he’s been told to, ’is biggest worry will come when - not if - I find ’im. If he doesn’t ditch at the precise GPS coordinates