Terminal Velocity

by Andy McNab

  ‘Yeah, Sam. Then what?’

  ‘Someone’s coming in at 1500 to sort you a tracker out like Johnny’s. You’ll leave at 1700.’

  16

  A further three days and nights in and Ethan was beginning to think that despite all the preparation, the job was a dead end. Sam had told him he’d be out for five nights before they’d call him in and review. Ethan was finding it hard to see the point of waiting out the other two days. All that had happened was Johnny getting mugged and injured and himself being sent in as a replacement. There was no sign of any kind of abducting going on at all. And he was half tempted to get to one of the as yet unused DLBs to tell Sam to call it off.

  Ethan knew he stank. He could do nothing about it. He hadn’t had a wash since he’d last been at the hangar. Despite his best efforts, his clothes were damp, his sleeping bag was damp; the closest he got to tidying himself up was to drag his sorry arse to the nearest public toilets. But the soap dispensers were empty and he wondered if going there actually made him smell worse.

  At least he wasn’t hungry. He’d followed Johnny’s advice on where to scavenge for food. The large bins out the back of a posh supermarket just five minutes away from where he was kipped down had proved to be a godsend. The food wasn’t even out of date most times. Cold, maybe, but it kept his belly full. He’d even managed to maintain a pretty balanced diet, what with the amount of fruit and water he’d found, as well as all the cold pies, meat and sandwiches he’d scoffed his way through. The only problem Ethan had with eating was that it made him very aware of the tracker in his teeth. It was supposed to be pretty much impossible to spot, but ever since it had been fitted Ethan had been more than a little aware of it. Getting him out on this job to replace Johnny had felt rushed from the off; the last thing he needed was to be worried that the tracker had been put in badly.

  He finished off the crayfish, mayonnaise and salad baguette he’d found the night before and washed it down with a carton of cranberry and raspberry juice. He couldn’t avoid the fact that he wanted this all to be over. In a few hours, day three would become day four. How long was Sam expecting him to stay out here? It sucked. Big time.

  Ethan pushed the last of the baguette down his neck, swallowed, took a gulp of the juice. He’d managed to find some scraps of old carpet to lie on, and had fashioned a shelter out of a few large cardboard boxes, waterproofed a little here and there with strips of plastic he guessed must’ve been used for wrapping deliveries to the supermarket. But it was hardly luxury. Each night had brought with it disturbance after disturbance. If it wasn’t a drunk taking a slash, then it was a cat or a dog or, as it was the night before, a fox that had tried to get in to nick his stash of food.

  Ethan stuffed himself as deep as he could into his sleeping bag, made sure as little of the outside world as possible was visible through the makeshift shelter and closed his eyes. Two more nights, that’s all he had to put up with. He could do it; he had to. He’d need his energy so any sleep he got was a blessing. At the very least, it made the time go quicker than sitting, staring into the middle distance, dreaming of hot showers, skydiving and Nancy’s bacon butties. And all of that was definitely worth the wait.

  Ethan was close to drifting off when he heard a vehicle turn down the alley in which he’d made his home. He wondered for a moment what shop around here would take a delivery so late, decided that was possibly the most uninteresting thought ever to breach his mind and got back to going to sleep.

  The sound of the vehicle’s engine grew louder; it was getting closer.

  Ethan opened his eyes. The vehicle was directly outside his shelter. He heard the swish of a van door opening, then footsteps.

  Ethan’s breath caught in his throat like a hairball. He lay still, trying not to make a sound. Who was out there? What did they want? If it was the police, surely they’d have called him by now …

  Then Ethan’s world collapsed in on him. The shelter crumpled and he felt like he was about to be crushed. Rough hands grabbed him, hauled him out. His struggling was pointless; he was still in his sleeping bag, hadn’t a chance. He caught sight of faces in the dark as he was manhandled towards the open side door of a van. Ethan went to shout out, but a hard slap across his face stung him quiet, filled his head with stars. He was airborne for a split second, then landed heavily inside the van.

  Dazed from the slap, he saw two men climb in after him, the last pulling the van door shut. Finally the van reversed, turned, and Ethan felt it shoot forward. He rolled helplessly across the floor, cracking his face on the side of the van.

  Blood.

  The sharp, metallic taste of it in his mouth helped bring Ethan to his senses. Wherever he was going, and whoever had him, he’d find out soon enough. The team would have him on the tracker in his teeth. They’d already be following him, of that he was sure. Now, though, he had to survive. And that meant he had to focus on his training and find out as much as he could without giving anything away: be the grey man.

  The van swung left, the speed causing Ethan to roll. He felt a boot stop him and shove him back. He closed his eyes to focus on what he could hear, but nothing gave him a hint as to who his kidnappers were or what they wanted. If these were the people they had been looking for, the gang abducting teenage boys for the cage fighting that Gabe had told them about, then they were certainly efficient. He’d had no warning, been snatched so quickly he was helpless. And now he was completely at their mercy, trapped in his sleeping bag. It was unnerving as hell. At least he knew he had backup. He didn’t want to think what this must’ve felt like for all those who had already been taken, who had no idea where they were going, or why.

  ‘Sam? Sam!’

  Luke’s voice shook the house. The team had got used to nothing happening, so the sound of the urgency in his voice shook them from whatever they were doing. They all bounded into where Luke was sitting with the tracking kit; Sam was first in.

  ‘What’s up, Luke? What’s happening?’

  Johnny, who’d been eyes on Ethan, was on the line; Luke handed his earphones to Sam.

  ‘It’s worked!’ Johnny hissed. ‘Ethan’s just been bundled into the back of a white van.’

  ‘You get the plate?’

  ‘Yeah; Luke has it.’

  Sam looked to Luke who nodded and said, ‘The tracker’s working fine. Ethan’s definitely on the move, and at speed.’

  Sam said down the phone, ‘Johnny, stay put. We’ll come and get you when we’re satisfied we know where Ethan’s gone.’ He killed the phone. ‘Is the rest of the kit ready?’

  Natalya said, ‘Yes; everything we need: clothing, electronic lock gun and everything else is packed and ready to go.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Sam. ‘Now, everyone into the Defender!’

  Back in the van Ethan could feel every lump and bump in the road. Which was why, after a sudden turn to the left, he noticed the terrain change dramatically; no longer was it the occasional pothole – it felt like they were speeding down a farm track. Ethan did his best to protect himself from too many knocks and bumps and was relieved when, a couple of minutes later, the van stopped. But then he was dragged out and dumped on the ground.

  Ethan remembered his cover; whoever these men were, they had to believe he was fearing for his life; if he was too calm, it would look odd. So he rolled around on the ground, yelled out, screamed: ‘Get off me! Who the hell are you? What do you want? Help!’

  Between panicked shouts, Ethan blinked away the dark and could make out trees in moonlight. Four men were standing just away from him in the gloom, completely unfazed by his outburst. He sat up, pulled himself out of his sleeping bag; if they were going to attack him, he didn’t want to be stuck inside it when the kicks and blows came.

  He caught movement behind the four men. There was another with them, someone keeping to the shadows.

  A voice broke the silence and it came from that someone: ‘Soften him up a bit.’

  Ethan didn’t like the sound of that
at all.

  The voice continued: ‘Let’s see what he’s got, hey, boys?’

  It wasn’t much, but it was enough to convince Ethan he’d struck gold: these guys had to be connected to the cage fighting. Despite the situation he had now found himself in, Ethan was almost relieved; the job was at last turning out to be a success. If he kept his head, and the rest of the team did their job, it would soon all be over.

  Footsteps, then an arm gripped him round the neck, twisting his head down to face height.

  Gasping for breath, Ethan tasted adrenaline. Judging by what he’d just heard, he figured if he didn’t at the very least fight back, these guys were going to mash him up real good. But neither did he want to make it look too rehearsed, show them he knew what he was doing. He wasn’t an expert in Krav Maga quite yet – that would take a lot longer than a few days – but he knew enough to put someone out of action. He needed these guys to see a fighter in him, however, not someone with skills.

  Principle one of what Natalya had taught him about Krav Maga had already been compromised: no way was this going to be something he could just walk away from minus his wallet. If he was going to stand a chance at all he was going to have to fight back. It would have to look desperate.

  Ethan felt the arm round his neck tightening as he was dragged forward. He looked about, saw a tree coming up fast. He needed to move before it was used to give him a headache.

  Ethan twisted to look up at the bearded face of the man who had him. He wanted to slam three sharp jabs with his open palm into the man’s chin, but that would look suspicious and could easily break the man’s face open. That would be bad; he’d be pissed, his mates angry and then Ethan would be on the receiving end of something a whole lot more serious. Ignoring his urge to drive the man’s chin out through the top of his head, Ethan started to yell again, try to pull away. He heard the man laugh and that angered him. But how was he going to keep himself protected without just going for it?

  The man stopped, squeezed harder. With a yell, Ethan stamped hard on the man’s feet, then slammed a clenched fist into his bollocks.

  The arm round his neck slackened, gave way, as the man howled. And over the howls, Ethan heard laughter. Lots of it; they were obviously finding it funny that the apparent bum they’d just picked up was a fighter and was giving their mate a hard time.

  Ethan slipped from the man’s arm, backed away, gasped for breath. He yelled out ‘Help!’ again, even though he knew no one would hear. It had gone beyond good acting. He would have been hard-pressed to stop himself yelling in the circumstances anyway. He saw the other men circle, cut him off, stop him backing off too far and disappearing into the dark. He made to shout again, but a hard backhand caught him full on across his face. His skin stinging, he stumbled to the ground, his hands only just stopping him eating dirt. More blood was in his mouth. Ethan spat to clear it, felt something hard flick through his lips.

  ‘Shit …’

  Lying in the mud was the tracker device from his teeth. Ethan was seriously annoyed with himself now. From the moment the thing had been put in it had never felt right; why the hell hadn’t he said something, told Sam? Not much he could do about it now. More of a worry was what would happen if his attackers found it; he knew he‘d be as good as dead. But without it, he was no better off. Crap.

  Ethan caught sight of a kick coming for his stomach, grabbed the tracker at the last moment, tensed up for the hit. When it connected he was lifted off the ground and nearly threw up when he came back down.

  Pushing himself to his feet, trying to clear his head to deal with whatever was going to come next, a thought struck Ethan; the tracker, even if it was still working, was already completely useless. He couldn’t hide it anywhere. And if it was found on him, his attackers would know something was up, the cover would be blown. He’d be dead.

  Shit …

  The man Ethan had punched in the bollocks was still doubled over, moaning. He was hoping now that he hadn’t done too much damage, otherwise his survival would be seriously compromised. The other three, though, now looked like they were seriously spoiling for a fight. Ethan knew he had to continue with the job and do whatever he could to make it work. He had to adapt.

  Pretending to brush his hands against his trousers, Ethan made himself look as pathetic as he could. He stumbled backwards and, in the same movement, dropped the tracker to the floor. He crushed it good and hard under his foot, making sure it was buried deep in the mud. Then he fell to the floor and started to beg for mercy, his voice all but a whimper. Inside, he felt like an absolute tit, but he was also scared; even if he did fight back, one against three were shoddy odds. He’d maybe get in some damage to one or two of them, but they’d still have the advantage. He was completely alone now. All that mattered was survival; he needed time to work out what to do next.

  Two men came for Ethan at once. One grabbed him round the neck and the other came in with his feet. Ethan managed to dodge the kick enough to have it glance off his leg rather than crush his stomach, but it still hurt and he yelled in pain.

  A voice called out from the shadows. ‘Enough!’

  Ethan’s chest was heaving; he hadn’t realized just how out of breath he actually was. He looked up and saw the man who’d kicked him was pointing a pistol directly at him.

  The voice came again. ‘You’re going to be rather entertaining.’

  Next, Ethan heard a sharp blast of air and something jabbed into his leg. Reaching down, he felt a small dart jutting out.

  Then the world went black.

  17

  ‘That isn’t right …’

  Sam didn’t take his eyes off the road ahead. ‘What isn’t?’

  ‘Well,’ said Luke, staring at the equipment he was using to keep trace of Ethan, ‘Ethan’s tracker device has stopped moving.’

  ‘That’s a good thing, surely?’ said Kat from the back of the Defender. ‘Means we’re getting close, right?’

  Luke shook his head. ‘The area’s just woodland. It doesn’t look like the kind of place you’d be able to hide a complex big enough to run this cage-fighting thing without someone discovering it.’

  ‘Perhaps the woodland has to hide only the entrance?’ said Natalya, who was with Kat in the back. ‘Could it be underground?’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Luke. ‘But that would involve either building such a place – which would be pretty damned obvious – or finding that such a place already existed. And that’s impossible because where the tracker says Ethan now is; well, it’s ancient woodland, not some new bit of evergreen forest.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ asked Kat. ‘That this doesn’t look right? Does that mean Ethan’s in danger?’

  ‘Kat, we don’t jump to conclusions, you know that,’ said Sam. ‘We just need to get there and sneak in for a quick look-see, OK?’

  ‘Take the next left, about half a mile,’ said Luke.

  ‘How far then?’

  ‘Not very far at all,’ replied Luke. ‘I suggest we park up immediately and someone goes to have a nosy.’

  ‘Ready, Natalya?’ asked Sam, standing beside the Defender where it was now hidden, deep in some thick bushes.

  ‘Yes, Sam. As always.’

  With that, they slipped into the dark, leaving Luke and Kat to stare at the faint, unmoving signal being given out by Ethan’s tracker.

  When they returned, Kat was the first to speak. ‘Where’s Ethan? What’s happened?’

  Natalya climbed back into the rear of the Defender and Sam pulled himself back in the driver’s seat, squeezing Kat up close to Luke.

  ‘Sam?’ Kat asked again. ‘Where’s Ethan? What’s going on?’

  Silently Sam reached out his hand, opened it. ‘Ethan’s tracking device,’ he said as Kat and Luke stared at the small metal thing resting in his palm. ‘That’s why it was stationary; he was no longer wearing it.’

  Kat said, ‘But that means—’

  ‘It means nothing,’ said Sam, his voice low like thun
der. ‘It must’ve been knocked out. There were signs of a scuffle on the ground where we found it. Looks like they pulled down this lane to rough Ethan up a bit, try him out. Probably wanted to see if he was up to scratch.’

  ‘So we don’t actually know where he is at all?’ Kat was starting to sound more than a little concerned.

  ‘He was here, that much we do know,’ said Sam. ‘We found fresh tyre tracks going in and out.’

  ‘What use is that?’ snapped Kat. ‘For all we know Ethan’s had the crap beaten out of him. Maybe he’s even dead!’

  Sam clenched his fist then woke up the Defender. Its engine roared into the night like a chainsaw attacking the dark. ‘Luke?’

  ‘Yes, Sam?’

  ‘Punch a call to Johnny. Fill him in with what’s happened. Tell him we’re on our way to pick him up.’

  Kat, her voice strained, asked, ‘And what about Ethan?’

  Sam pulled the Defender from its hiding place, swung it onto the track. ‘Until we know otherwise, we assume the positive, that he’s alive and now on his way to wherever the cage fighting takes place.’

  ‘So he’s on his own? Oh, that’s just great! And how exactly are we going to find him now? All we’ve got is a number plate …’

  Sam didn’t say a word.

  * * *

  Ethan woke to yet more darkness and the sound of others talking. The world was moving, the floor beneath him rumbling. His hands were tied behind his back; he could feel a strip of plastic digging into his skin, slicing into his flesh. Not that it hurt; the thing was so tight it had done a good job of cutting off his circulation. These guys really knew what they were doing. They didn’t use rope, waste time with knots; they used plastic tags.

  Doing his best not to give away the fact he was now conscious, Ethan eased his eyes open to a slit. He was back in the van, which explained all the movement. Opposite him were two of the men who he’d recently fought with. He couldn’t make out any features in the shadow. It was them he’d heard talking. So he stayed lying as still as he could and listened in.