Terminal Velocity

by Andy McNab

  ‘Hurts, then?’

  ‘Kills. He’s a fighter, at least. None of the others have ever tried to crush my balls.’

  ‘Lucky shot or are you just getting old?’

  ‘Sod off!’

  So, thought Ethan, it’s the one with the beard. He had to force himself not to smile at the fact he’d done this bloke enough damage to have him still complaining about it.

  ‘Only asking.’

  ‘For a minute there it was like he knew what he was doing,’ said another voice. ‘He looked up at you like he was thinking what he should do next.’

  ‘Let’s just hope he brings in some serious cash before breaking his neck.’

  Ethan felt his stomach churn. He really had done everything he could to make them see him as just another Joe from the street. All he’d done was punch the bloke between the legs. He seriously hoped that whatever suspicions they were voicing now would soon be forgotten.

  He zoned out of the conversation. He’d heard enough, but any elation he felt at having done his job well enough to get snatched by the right people was suffocated by the fact that his tracker was lost, ground deep into the mud where the men had attacked him. The team would have no idea where he was or where he was going. He was alone and up to his neck in the deepest shit he could imagine. But he wasn’t about to give up. Sam hadn’t chosen him because he was the kind of person to roll over as soon as things got tough. Hadn’t that interrogation exercise taught him that, at least? His only chance of getting out alive and completing the mission was to stay alert. Or he’d sooner or later find himself washed up almost dead on a beach himself. Or in the belly of the deep blue sea.

  Ethan shut everything out of his mind so he could focus on where he was now and what was going on around him. He needed to pick up as much intel as he could. Because he wasn’t just going to do his best to survive and escape; he was going to make sure that if he did get out of here in one piece, he’d have enough in his head to go back to Sam and send the team in to finish the job.

  The van slowed. Ethan could hear water. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. Were they by a river or the sea? Sniffing the air, he tried to catch even a hint of the coast in it, of seaweed and ozone, but all he got was fuel fumes as the van door was swished violently open.

  Cold air rushed in and Ethan felt the shock of it make him shiver as he was picked up and dragged out by rough hands. They knocked him about roughly as they pulled him and he groaned in pain. He couldn’t help it, but he knew it meant trouble.

  ‘Hey, he’s awake.’

  ‘Throw me the rag then.’

  Ethan saw a fistful of cloth coming towards his face and was then hit by the acrid stink of chemicals as it was pushed over his nose and mouth. He tried to squirm away from it, but it was no good, and all his protesting was muffled by the rag. He tried to hold his breath as the fumes made his eyes water, but it was useless. Soon everything swam again and he saw the ground approaching far too fast.

  ‘My wrist is fine,’ said Johnny. ‘Get me back on the streets now, Sam.’

  Sam shook his head. ‘I’ve lost Ethan. I’m not about to risk losing you too.’

  Having picked Johnny up, Sam had raced the team back to the hangar, then called Gabe. He was on his way and had given strict instructions for them to do nothing until he arrived. But that hadn’t stopped the team trying to work out what their next steps should be.

  ‘Johnny’s our best chance,’ said Kat. ‘Luke’s too old and they’re not interested in girls, so Natalya and me can’t do it either. We haven’t got a choice, Sam.’

  ‘Kat is right,’ said Natalya. ‘If we are to find Ethan, then we must send Johnny and hope that he also gets taken. It is the logical thing to do.’

  But Sam stood his ground. ‘We’ve put out details of the van, so we should hear something soon. No one does anything until Gabe arrives.’

  ‘Of course they could’ve switched number plates,’ said Luke. ‘If this is as organized as we think it is, then I would put money on them doing that while in the woods with Ethan.’

  Johnny came in again. ‘It’s just a sprain,’ he said. ‘All it needs is some good bandaging and I’ll be fine. I know the streets now. I can blend in. I’m our only option, Sam.’

  ‘And waiting for Gabe is just wasting time,’ added Kat. ‘Ethan’s out there alone. No backup. Nothing. We need to get moving!’

  The sound of car tyres on gravel cut through the conversation.

  ‘Here comes the cavalry,’ said Johnny, unable to disguise his sarcasm. ‘And I can’t wait to hear his crap excuse about why Eth’s tracker was fitted so badly it came out.’

  Without a word, Sam left the team and went to let Gabe into the house.

  Once more, Ethan woke to darkness. His face felt bruised and he remembered seeing the ground coming up to hit him hard as he’d blacked out. Whatever had been on that rag had been enough to send him to sleep real quick. He wasn’t blindfolded, not that it mattered; wherever he was, the place was pitch-black. He couldn’t see a thing.

  He shivered and realized that he was soaking wet with water. His nostrils stung with the reek of fuel in the air. And he could taste salt in his mouth. The hum of an engine was everywhere.

  I’m near the sea, he thought, at the same time as the movement of what he was lying on made him realize he was no longer in the van. He was lying in the hull of a boat and it was moving. He wasn’t near the sea at all; he was bloody well on it.

  With that thought, Ethan felt what hope he had of getting out of this, of the team finding him, snuff out like a candle. Not only was he without a tracker for the rest of the team to trace him, but he was also now about to be floated off to God knows where, probably some foreign place with a dodgy government owned by the criminal underworld. Just how the hell was he going to get out of this? His chances seemed to be decreasing with each passing moment. This wasn’t exactly how things had been planned.

  A moan in the darkness close by knocked Ethan from his thoughts. Wherever he was, he wasn’t alone. But were they friendly, or just another heavy waiting for a chance to kick him half to death?

  Ethan stayed calm, listened.

  Something knocked against his leg and a voice called out, ‘Who’s that? Where are you taking me? Talk to me, you bastards!’

  The voice was male, young and seriously pissed off. Ethan waited until it had calmed down a little before he spoke.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Why the hell should I tell you? Who are you? Are you with those gorillas who threw me in the back of a van?’

  ‘I’m Ethan. And I’m in the same shit as you.’

  ‘How am I supposed to know you’re telling the truth?’

  ‘Because I’m tied up and lying in the bottom of this boat and I’m guessing you are too, right?’

  The other voice went quiet, but when it came back, it still had an edge to it; this was someone who sounded like it was him versus the world. ‘I’m Rick. So what’s going on, Ethan? And where the hell are we?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue,’ Ethan lied, working to keep with his cover story. ‘All I know is that I got yanked off the street, roughed up and now I’m here, wherever here is. What happened to you?’

  ‘Same story,’ said Rick. ‘I’d had a smoke to warm up, was trying to bed down for the night when they just grabbed me. I didn’t have a chance. Not that it stopped me having a go. I think I managed to punch one of them in the face.’

  ‘They hurt you?’

  ‘No one can hurt me,’ came Rick’s reply, and Ethan could tell those words were spat into the dark, not just said. Whoever this Rick was, and wherever he’d come from, he had an attitude you could sense a mile off. He was a prickly bastard, that was for sure. Rick was quiet for a second, then said, ‘I’ve survived on my own for two months on the streets, since I walked out on my parents, out of my home. It can’t get much worse.’

  Ethan briefly wondered what must have been going through the minds of Rick’s pa
rents, how they’d coped these past two months without a word from their son. From the little he’d heard, the only thing keeping Rick on the street was misplaced pride. He thought how his mum would’ve reacted if he’d gone missing for so long. That small thought fired up his determination to find a way out of this and get home. And not in a body bag, either.

  ‘Where are they taking us?’ asked Rick.

  ‘I was going to ask you that,’ said Ethan as the motion of the boat started to make him feel sick, his head spin. It felt like it was riding a serious swell, and with every rise and fall Ethan could feel himself getting closer and closer to throwing up. Though he wasn’t sure if it was the boat’s fault, or the thought of just how serious the situation he was in now really was.

  The warm, sharp scent of fuel, mixed with the sea and the rocking of the boat, meant Ethan had a real fight to hold on; being physically sick would drain the energy from him and he wanted to lose none of the little he still had left. But it was no good; nausea washed through him, his head span, and he emptied his stomach. The reek then got a whole lot worse.

  Sweating now, Ethan tried to focus his mind on something other than chucking up again. ‘You notice anything about the people who grabbed you?’ he asked. ‘What about the van? Were you conscious when they put you in here?’

  ‘All I know is what I’ve already told you,’ Rick replied.

  The cry of seagulls cut into the moment and Ethan then heard, far off and very faint and low, the distant sound of a foghorn. It made the whole experience even more eerie.

  ‘What’s that?’ Ethan asked.

  ‘Just seagulls,’ said Rick.

  ‘No, that horn,’ Ethan replied. ‘Far off.’

  ‘Can’t hear anything,’ said Rick. ‘What difference does it make?’

  Rick sounded like someone who was permanently pissed off, but Ethan could do nothing about that. He had to stay alert to any clue that might help, were he to get out. Any clue at all. And if the sound of a foghorn was just that, then he was going to take note and remember it.

  Some time later, the blare of the distant horn no louder, Ethan was able to make out the sound of the sea crashing and breaking against rocks or a cliff. Then the thrum of the engine changed, pitching high then low, high then low, like it was coming out of the water on the top of the swell. Then it changed again, sounding like it was echoing inside a cave, and died to a faint murmur.

  The side of the boat knocked against something and Ethan guessed the journey had come to an end.

  A hatch opened above and Ethan was blinded by the stab of torch lights.

  Ethan saw a shadow approaching from the open hatch. Then strong hands gripped him and pulled him up and out with frightening ease.

  And if he can do this, Ethan thought as he felt himself lifted up like a child, then I’m going to make sure I do exactly as he says.

  18

  ‘Stand over there!’

  Ethan blinked as bright lights blinded him momentarily. Vision blurred, he did his best to comply with the command. He obviously didn’t comply quick enough as a shove in his back pushed him up against a wall of rock.

  When his eyes were eventually able to focus, Ethan could not only see Rick for the first time, but also where they’d been brought. Rick was tall and slim, with pale skin and long black hair. He was wearing a tatty army jacket that hung almost to his knees, black jeans, black T-shirt, black boots. Ethan had seen Rick’s type before, hanging around school like their only aim in life was to suck in the light. He was either a goth or someone who probably spent most of his time watching vampire movies. Ethan had a feeling they weren’t exactly going to get on.

  As for where they now were, they were standing outside a cave on a rocky outcrop lapped by black water. He could make out its entrance across a rippling pool, in which sat the boat he assumed had brought himself and Rick here. It was moored up against a tatty wooden jetty. The water looked deep and cold.

  Catching Rick’s eye, Ethan nodded. All he got back was the hint of a sneer.

  Things, Ethan realized, were rapidly going from bad to worse to full-on shit storm. He guessed that even if the team had been able to trace the tracking device to where he’d lost it in the woodland, from that point on he was completely alone, nothing more than a ghost. The team would have no idea they needed to look out to sea. Or, for that matter, for a cave accessible by boat.

  The man who’d lifted Ethan and Rick out of the boat came over and pointed along the rocky outcrop. Ethan was able to make out a tunnel just ahead. He didn’t wait to be told and just turned and walked towards it, but Rick didn’t move. Despite the size of the bloke with them, Rick, it seemed, still wasn’t going to do anything unless under duress. Ethan heard Rick ask for a cigarette. The next thing he heard was the sound of the man slapping Rick across the face hard enough to make him stumble.

  ‘What the f—’

  ‘Move!’ shouted the man and shoved Rick hard to make him walk alongside Ethan.

  ‘Do yourself a favour,’ said Ethan, ‘and shut up, right? You trying to get us killed?’

  Slouched deep inside his jacket, Rick said nothing, just scuffed his feet along the ground.

  Along the tunnel, they were stopped at a door in the rock. After it was unlocked, the ties holding their hands behind their backs were cut and they were both shoved in hard. A moment before the door was slammed shut, a carrier bag was tossed in after them. The click of the lock sounded horribly terminal.

  Ethan looked over to see Rick huddle down against the wall.

  ‘Rick?’

  Rick said nothing, didn’t move. Just sat there, head down, face hidden behind a curtain of lank hair.

  Ethan went over to check what was in the bag. What he found was the first good thing to happen in hours: food. And plenty of it.

  ‘You hungry, Rick?’ Ethan held out a sandwich, like he was trying to coax a wild animal to come close. ‘There’s loads here,’ he said. ‘More than enough for both of us. You want the pork pie or the steak and kidney?’

  Rick, at last, pushed himself away from the wall and edged over. ‘How do you know it’s not poisoned?’

  Ethan opened a bottle of water and took a deep swig. ‘Because I’m guessing that they wouldn’t go to all this effort to just poison us now, would they?’ He handed Rick a bar of chocolate and a packet of crisps. ‘They want us alive, though for what, neither of us know.’ Ethan was impressed; he was getting the hang of lying.

  Rick held what Ethan had given him like he was half expecting it to bite his hand off.

  ‘It’s good,’ said Ethan, demonstrating by shoving a broken portion of the steak and kidney pie into his mouth. ‘Eat it. It’s not like you’ve been eating well anyway, is it? Beats scavenging and begging for food.’

  Rick, still hesitant, took a small bite, but once he’d started, went at the food like he’d not eaten for weeks. Which, thought Ethan, he probably hadn’t. But he still had attitude. Every time he spoke it felt like he was spoiling for a fight. Ethan could see why he’d been chosen. Feed him up, train him, and Rick would give anyone hell, regardless of their size.

  Ethan sat back and let Rick get on with feeding himself. It gave him a chance to recover a little too, and the feeling of food in his belly gave his morale a much-needed boost. After the initial sense that everything was at last going to plan, to have everything go so drastically wrong was a killer punch to the gut. Ethan needed his strength to keep a hold on where he was and what he was doing. All he could now depend on was himself and the skills he’d learned from Sam, the team and Reg and Mal.

  At last, Rick managed to stop himself from eating long enough to start speaking.

  ‘So how the hell do we get out of here, Ethan?’ he asked, pushing himself up onto his feet and walking over to the door. He upended a packet of crisps into his mouth and the crumbs spilled down the side of his face. The empty packet was tossed on the floor.

  Before Ethan could answer, Rick lashed out at the door with the sole of his
right foot.

  ‘Let us out! You hear me? Let us out!’

  He kicked again. The door didn’t shift. No one came.

  ‘Not like that,’ said Ethan.

  ‘Well, sitting on our arses isn’t going to get us anywhere, is it?’ Rick snapped back. ‘If we don’t get out now, who knows where we might end up?’ He kicked again at the door, then yelled out in frustration.

  Ethan was about to tell the idiot to sit down and shut up when the sound of the door lock being opened clamped his jaws together.

  He turned away from Rick to watch the door swing open. He just about had time to see a man dressed in a long chocolate-brown coat and a wide-brimmed hat standing in the open space before Rick bolted towards the door.

  By the time he got to the open doorway, it had been filled by two more men the size of tanks. They were both armed, Ethan saw, but their weapons weren’t drawn. They caught Rick and kicked him screaming and yelling back into the cell to roll on the floor. He made to get up and have another go, but a heavy boot pushed him to the ground like a cockroach on its back.

  Ethan turned to the door again and started to yell and shout himself, make it look like he was just as panicked as Rick. Then the man he’d seen in the coat and hat slid in. He was carrying a black cane topped with a silver ball. Ethan kept his thoughts to himself on the man’s choice of outfit: he looked like a B-movie criminal, the cane making him all the more idiotic. Then something struck him, a flashback to what Sam had said about Mr X carrying a cane. Ethan knew then that he was staring up at the man on Gabe’s hit list. He’d struck gold. All he had to do now was work out a way to get out and back to the team before he too ended up washed up on a beach like that lad in the photograph.

  ‘I see that you were hungry.’

  Ethan said nothing, just nodded. It was grey-man time and he knew trying to escape now, putting up any resistance at all, would lead to nothing other than a boot in the stomach from the two guards, one of whom still had Rick pinned to the floor.

  The man glanced at the other guard who turned out of the room and came back with a folding chair. The man sat down.