was down. He was alive. Now he swam to the island and scrambled on to one of the rocks that surrounded it, taking care to stay well out of sight of the far shore, and the men guarding Lincoln Roberts.
Carver had an equipment pouch strapped to his stomach. Inside it, he’d packed a shortened Heckler and Koch MP7 sub-machine gun. It was the updated version of the MP5 he had used in the past, designed to penetrate body armour, but he was still keeping out water the old-fashioned SBS way: with a condom stuck over the barrel. Next to it in the pouch were a selection of small explosive charges, a snorkel, a diver’s mask and a pair of fins. He removed the oxygen mask he had worn for the jump and threw it into the water, along with his parachute harness. He put on the sub-aqua gear. Then he slipped back into Currituck Sound, made his way around the island and started swimming towards the shore.
8
Carver had spent his professional lifetime training himself not to think about the rights and wrongs of the work he did. It was not that he lacked a moral compass. It was just that there was no point in wasting time on matters over which he had no control. He’d learned that in the Royal Marines. Politicians started wars. Senior officers then had to prosecute them. They gave orders and men like Carver obeyed them. All along the line, people had reasons for what they did. They all thought they were doing the right thing. For the people at the sharp end, however, the issue wasn’t right or wrong. It was doing everything you could to kill the other guy before he got you.
The same principle applied outside the armed forces. Carver had never been on a job, even the ones that seemed beyond all justification, that someone, somewhere didn’t believe was the right thing to do. He’d fought a man who was willing to bring down the wrath of God upon the world and provoke the end of days in the sincere and absolute belief that this was the road to salvation. Granted, he was crazy. But his conviction was no less total than that of men who’d claimed to be sane.
So now he didn’t think about anything as he swam just beneath the surface of Currituck Sound, aside from the immediate, practical realities of his situation. He had several hundred yards to cover, through water that was virtually tideless, so currents were not a problem. The wind, now freshening once more, was against him, making the surface choppy. Although that slowed him down a little, he was virtually submerged, and the broken water surface only helped hide him from anyone watching from the shore. But having just overcome the threat of hypothermia, his biggest problem now was heat. His flying suit was acting as a dry shell-suit, but the multiple layers of undergarments essential to keep him alive at high altitude were putting him in danger of overheating. The process would begin with the swelling of his hands and feet, moving on to cramps and heatstroke, which could leave him disoriented, hallucinating and even comatose.
For SBS operatives, who regularly have to shift from the extreme cold of, say, an underwater drop-off from a submarine to the intense exertion of a long swim, followed by a climb up a ship’s hull or oil platform, heat is a familiar adversary. So Carver took the swim slowly, regularly pausing to get his bearings and keep an eye out for hostile vessels. He presumed that the Coast Guard would be patrolling the sound, in the knowledge that al-Qaeda had made deadly attacks on US forces by speedboat before and might easily do so again.
Sure enough, he twice heard the rumble of screws in the water. There was nothing to do but stop swimming and remain as still as possible, treading water just enough to prevent himself sinking, with his snorkel-tube just an inch or two above the surface of the water. The first time, the cutter passed by a good hundred yards away. The second time the deep rumbling in the water intensified until Carver knew it was headed directly for
Carver had an equipment pouch strapped to his stomach. Inside it, he’d packed a shortened Heckler and Koch MP7 sub-machine gun. It was the updated version of the MP5 he had used in the past, designed to penetrate body armour, but he was still keeping out water the old-fashioned SBS way: with a condom stuck over the barrel. Next to it in the pouch were a selection of small explosive charges, a snorkel, a diver’s mask and a pair of fins. He removed the oxygen mask he had worn for the jump and threw it into the water, along with his parachute harness. He put on the sub-aqua gear. Then he slipped back into Currituck Sound, made his way around the island and started swimming towards the shore.
8
Carver had spent his professional lifetime training himself not to think about the rights and wrongs of the work he did. It was not that he lacked a moral compass. It was just that there was no point in wasting time on matters over which he had no control. He’d learned that in the Royal Marines. Politicians started wars. Senior officers then had to prosecute them. They gave orders and men like Carver obeyed them. All along the line, people had reasons for what they did. They all thought they were doing the right thing. For the people at the sharp end, however, the issue wasn’t right or wrong. It was doing everything you could to kill the other guy before he got you.
The same principle applied outside the armed forces. Carver had never been on a job, even the ones that seemed beyond all justification, that someone, somewhere didn’t believe was the right thing to do. He’d fought a man who was willing to bring down the wrath of God upon the world and provoke the end of days in the sincere and absolute belief that this was the road to salvation. Granted, he was crazy. But his conviction was no less total than that of men who’d claimed to be sane.
So now he didn’t think about anything as he swam just beneath the surface of Currituck Sound, aside from the immediate, practical realities of his situation. He had several hundred yards to cover, through water that was virtually tideless, so currents were not a problem. The wind, now freshening once more, was against him, making the surface choppy. Although that slowed him down a little, he was virtually submerged, and the broken water surface only helped hide him from anyone watching from the shore. But having just overcome the threat of hypothermia, his biggest problem now was heat. His flying suit was acting as a dry shell-suit, but the multiple layers of undergarments essential to keep him alive at high altitude were putting him in danger of overheating. The process would begin with the swelling of his hands and feet, moving on to cramps and heatstroke, which could leave him disoriented, hallucinating and even comatose.
For SBS operatives, who regularly have to shift from the extreme cold of, say, an underwater drop-off from a submarine to the intense exertion of a long swim, followed by a climb up a ship’s hull or oil platform, heat is a familiar adversary. So Carver took the swim slowly, regularly pausing to get his bearings and keep an eye out for hostile vessels. He presumed that the Coast Guard would be patrolling the sound, in the knowledge that al-Qaeda had made deadly attacks on US forces by speedboat before and might easily do so again.
Sure enough, he twice heard the rumble of screws in the water. There was nothing to do but stop swimming and remain as still as possible, treading water just enough to prevent himself sinking, with his snorkel-tube just an inch or two above the surface of the water. The first time, the cutter passed by a good hundred yards away. The second time the deep rumbling in the water intensified until Carver knew it was headed directly for
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