Terminal Velocity

by Andy McNab

  ‘This is good. You will need your strength. And I can see that you both have plenty.’

  Mr X gave his hat to one of the men, placed his cane in front of him, then rested forward on it. Ethan was able to see him up close now that he was no longer hidden in the shadow of the hat’s brim. He had deep, sunken eyes, bordered by lines and wrinkles. Yet the way he carried himself – with such an air of confidence and physical strength – made him seem considerably younger. Ethan concentrated hard; if he got out of this, he wanted that face as clear as a photograph in his mind; his description of Mr X would be invaluable to Gabe.

  The man grinned and Ethan felt like he was staring into the face of a giant cat about to claim him for its supper. ‘I wonder if either of you have ever thought what a marvel and spectacle the Roman games must have been?’

  Ethan was caught by the oddity of the question, couldn’t think of anything to say.

  ‘Imagine,’ the man said, ‘the true thrill of mortal combat! Not this sanitized version we see before us now in boxing and wrestling, but a fight to the death! Where sweat made the ground slippery, and blood flowed!’

  Well, thought Ethan, at least I now know this bloke’s clearly insane …

  Rick, despite still being pinned down, started to yell out. ‘What the hell do you want with us? Why are you talking about gladiators? Are you mental? Let me go!’

  Ethan kept quiet, but noticed that the man, this Mr X, was now staring at Rick, his eyes cold and black like balls of coal. Then, without a word, he stood up and walked over, his cane tap-tap-tapping as he went. The guard with his foot on Rick eased off and backed away. Ethan saw Rick’s eyes flash to the open door of the cell. Then he saw Mr X raise his cane and point it at Rick, who hesitated and glanced at the other two guards …

  Ethan held his breath, sure as hell that Rick was about to make another pointless break for it, when suddenly Mr X thrust his cane into Rick’s ribs.

  Rick screamed. And it wasn’t just his scream Ethan heard, but a bolt of electricity that had raced from the man’s cane to slam into Rick. And he held it there for just a little too long, sending Rick’s body into spasms against the rock, causing him to graze his hands and bang his face hard, drawing blood. When the man eventually drew his cane away, Ethan was relieved, but it was short-lived; the man went in with his cane twice more. And after the third time Rick’s screams were nothing but whimpers, and he lay weeping on the floor.

  Ethan saw the cane then turn to point at him. He scrambled backwards to get away, soon found himself with nowhere else to go.

  The man asked, ‘Am I going to have the same problems with you?’

  Ethan shook his head quickly. He was no longer acting. He’d seen what that cane was capable of and didn’t want it coming anywhere near him.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  The cane came closer still. Ethan braced himself for what he’d seen happen to Rick, felt panic tear through him, closed his eyes, sweat beading on his forehead.

  ‘Look at me.’

  Ethan opened his eyes and saw the cane only inches away from his face.

  ‘If you want to live,’ said Mr X, his voice smooth and awful, ‘then you will have to fight. It is as simple as that. It should be your single motivation.’

  Rick’s whimpering was the only interruption.

  ‘If you do not want to live, that is your choice. Death, as I am sure you are both now more than aware, is very easy for someone like me to arrange.’

  He turned and left. Then, without warning, the two heavies grabbed Rick and Ethan, whipping their arms behind their backs to be tied once more, only this time with rope. As Ethan felt it pull round his wrists, he quickly tensed his muscles. He was looking for any edge now, no matter how slim. And when the ropes had finished being tied, he relaxed and felt them give a little. It wasn’t much, but he hoped it might be enough for him to play with and get free.

  Then they were out of the room and being dragged further along the tunnel.

  19

  The tunnel twisted and turned and Ethan felt like he was being pushed through the stomach of a giant snake. The two men shoving him and Rick along didn’t let up the pace, punching and kicking them at every opportunity. A couple of times Rick tripped and ended up on his knees. He wasn’t there for long as rough hands lifted him like a bedraggled rat and dumped him back on his feet.

  Ethan was doing all he could to memorize everything around him in the hope that it would be useful later on. He was also wriggling his hands and could feel them slipping free. But with every step he was getting more and more frustrated. Scared too, if he thought about what was happening too much, so he tried not to, and focused as best he could on doing the job he’d been sent to do. Even if it had turned into a total balls-up.

  So far, all he had was: sea water, boats, the sound of seagulls, a distant foghorn and a description of the man with the cane that doubled as an electric cattle prod. He couldn’t see how any of that would ever be useful. He no longer even had a clue about how long ago it was that he’d been snatched.

  The tunnel started to rise, the slope jagged and rock-strewn. A door appeared ahead, but before they got to it, Ethan and Rick were shoved into another cell. It was empty, except for a few grubby mats scattered on the floor. This time, no food was provided.

  Ethan tried to lighten things up a little. ‘Room service isn’t great, is it? Think I’ll put a complaint in to the manager.’

  Rick didn’t laugh. Instead, he just curled up in a corner and rested his head against the stone wall.

  Ethan wondered how long the effects of Mr X’s cane would last and walked over, dropping to a crouch. He was still wrestling with the ropes holding his wrists. He was close to being free.

  ‘We need to do as he said,’ he whispered to Rick. ‘Keep our heads down, just do what we’re told. Trying to escape will only piss them off. I don’t want to end up dead, OK? And neither do you.’

  Rick didn’t respond.

  Ethan felt his left hand slip. He twisted some more, could feel the rope grazing him, but that didn’t matter. Getting his hands free would be a sign to himself that he was in control of at least something. He wasn’t sure if it was what Sam would advise; it was hardly being the grey man. But he needed to get his arms working again; it would stop him feeling so trapped.

  The left hand gave a little more, then it was free. Ethan pulled his hands round to his front and slipped the rope off completely. The grazes had drawn a little blood but he wasn’t bothered. He placed a hand onto Rick’s shoulder.

  ‘You OK?’

  Rick jarred himself away from Ethan. ‘Leave me alone,’ he said, then looked up. ‘How did you do that? How did you get your hands free?’

  ‘Saw this thing on TV ages ago about escapologists,’ Ethan replied, explaining to Rick how he’d tensed his arms against the ropes as they were tied. ‘Was a long shot, to be honest; worked, though.’ He untied Rick. ‘Better?’

  Rick nodded, rubbing his wrists.

  ‘If we can get out of these,’ said Ethan, hooping the ropes, ‘then we can get out of here, right? We just need to keep our heads.’

  ‘But that was just a piece of rope,’ said Rick. ‘Hardly the same, is it?’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Ethan, remembering something Sam had said during their two weeks training. ‘It doesn’t matter how impossible this all seems. Just break it down into smaller pieces and you’ll be able to deal with it. Survive. Just keep yourself alert. Look for weaknesses.’

  ‘Well, thanks for the motivational chat,’ said Rick, and Ethan noticed that edge to his voice returning.

  Ethan knew he wasn’t even convincing himself, never mind Rick; after all, he knew what lay beyond that door. He’d seen the photographic evidence, even watched the movie. And that made him all the more determined to stay focused.

  An icy draught was blowing through the cell. To stop himself from getting bored as well as cold, Ethan started to pace around it in circles just fast enough to get his blood flow
ing. With each circuit he thought about what the rest of the team would be doing now. Tracing him, he figured, would be impossible. The only real options left to them would be to: send either Johnny or Luke in undercover in the hope of them also getting snatched; ditch the op completely and abandon him in the process; or pray that Ethan would do everything he could either to make contact or escape.

  The one thing Ethan knew for sure was that Sam didn’t understand the concept of giving up. He’d put a lot of time and effort into getting the team and Ethan trained up to do the job. Pulling the plug wouldn’t even be in his mind. Not yet, anyway. No, he’d be spending his time focusing on the rest of the team, getting them prepared for the final part of the op so that if and when Ethan made contact they could rock and roll in seconds.

  Ethan changed direction, and after a few more circuits, had come to a decision. It didn’t matter if the team were looking for him or not; he would have to work out a way to escape. Even if the others were looking for him, he knew there was no guarantee that he’d be able to live long enough for them to find him. The thought of it gave him a new sense of purpose. This whole op now depended entirely on his ability to collect enough intel for the team and to get back to them with it before it was too late. And by too late, he knew that meant his death in a sick modern version of the Roman arena.

  Ethan heard footsteps and then the cell door was unlocked. Two men entered and walked over to them. They both immediately noticed that Ethan and Rick were hands-free, the ropes that had tied them lying on the floor.

  ‘Thought you could escape, eh?’

  Ethan shook his head. ‘My hands came free. The knot wasn’t tight enough.’

  ‘Well, this one will be.’

  The two men grabbed Rick and Ethan, and once again their hands were pulled behind them and tied. Ethan tried to tense as before, but the rope was pulled so tight it made no difference. Rick swore as the cords bit into his skin.

  ‘Move it.’

  Ethan walked behind one of the men to the door of the cell. When they were outside, the door he’d seen at the top of the tunnel was pulled open. A thick blast of icy air hammered into him, sending a ripple of goose bumps across his skin. He followed the man out into it, ducking slightly to make it easier to walk against the wind.

  They were outside, but he had no idea where. He could make little out except that they were on a flat area of sand and rock, and behind them rose a cliff. The world was still dark, though a hint of morning was creeping into the sky, so he had some idea at least of what time it was. Unless he’d been out cold for a whole day, it had only been a few hours since he’d been taken.

  Ethan heard a buzz in the air and recognized the sound of helicopter blades chopping their way through the sky. Then out of the dark a chopper appeared, settling to land just in front of them. Knowing he was going for a ride dashed any hopes he may have had of the team tracing him; they wouldn’t have a chance. This op was quickly moving from desperate to impossible.

  Ethan felt a shove in the back.

  ‘In, both of you! And don’t think about running anywhere; the tunnel to this beach is only accessible by air or sea. So unless you fancy a bloody long swim and hypothermia, do as you’re told.’

  Ethan ducked his head and walked over to the helicopter. The door opened and hands grabbed him from above and pulled him inside. Rick followed him in, the door was closed and the helicopter lifted. Ethan felt himself pushed onto the floor as they left the beach, and would have enjoyed the familiar sensation of being airborne again if it wasn’t for the knowledge that every turn of the rotor blades made it harder for the team to find him. An air trip could take them anywhere, and that meant not just the UK. For all he knew, they were off to the continent, or to meet up with a ship out in the Channel. It didn’t look or feel good.

  Ethan felt his stomach cramp up as panic did its best to kick him hard. He was on his own. The team hadn’t a clue where he was. What was he going to do? And just how on earth was he going to escape now?

  The sound of Rick muttering to himself brought Ethan out of his thoughts. When he looked over, Rick was fast asleep, exhaustion having finally caught up with him. Whatever he’d been saying, he’d done so in his sleep.

  Ethan turned away. It was dark. He was tired too. And there was nothing he could do to change what was happening to them. But like Rick, he could at least rest. In the back of the helicopter it was dark and sheltered and warm so Ethan allowed sleep to take him. He was knackered, anyway.

  The sleep didn’t last long.

  Ethan felt the helicopter land and scraped his eyes open to see the door pulled wide and the early signs of daylight creep in. But that was all he saw before a bag was pulled over his head and he was booted out.

  After the almost hypnotizing hum of the helicopter, it took a few moments for Ethan to adjust to what he could now hear. It was definitely the sea, and through the weave of the bag over his head he could make out daylight. So his eyes hadn’t lied to him.

  Someone grabbed him and walked him forward. He heard Rick behind him. They were pushed through a door, then down some steps. New noises now. Voices and grunting and the sound of clanking metal. It sounded like a gym, people exercising, using weights.

  Finally, with one sharp shove, Ethan found himself stumbling forward into a small cell. It had a bed, a sink, a toilet, no window. But that was all the time he was given to acclimatize before a man walked in to join him.

  He was dressed in black combat gear and carrying a huge whip.

  20

  The tail of the whip snapped at Ethan so fast he felt the pain half kill him before he even realized what was happening. It cut across his back, feeling like it was about to tear his spine in two. When it came again, Ethan tried to dodge it, but he was too slow. By the time the third strike thwacked him, he was in a ball on the floor and in complete agony, bright lights of pain scorching his nervous system to cinders.

  ‘Name.’

  Ethan wanted to scream, but the shock of the whip had snatched away his voice. The pain was singing in his ears. It was all he could think about, like every thought had been smashed to pieces by the whip.

  The whip came again, and the pain was like being struck with a red-hot poker.

  ‘Name.’

  Ethan tried to say something, just to keep the whip from coming again. But all he could do was bubble a murmur of pain.

  Another strike. Ethan felt it cut through what he was wearing, bite into his skin. He screamed out, couldn’t stop himself, knew he was bleeding.

  ‘Name.’

  The pain was too much, but Ethan managed to force himself to speak his name. If he’d thought giving up that single piece of information was going to stop the beating, however, he was wrong. The whip just kept coming and coming and coming. Every time it hit home, it felt like he was being sliced in two. The pain burned through him like it was peeling his skin off in great bloody strips.

  Ethan tried to block the pain out, kept telling himself not to give away anything that could be used against him, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself yelling out every time the whip struck home. The sound of his own screams echoed inside his head. He was already angry with himself for giving them his name. He couldn’t give them any more. Wouldn’t. All they’d ever get would be his cover, that was it. The risk was too high. Not just to the job, but to the others who’d been snatched. To Rick. To himself.

  The man never muttered another word and eventually the beating stopped. Ethan was sweating with the agony of what had just happened. When he rolled over to find the man with the whip gone, the barred door to his cell slipping shut, pain tore through him again. Every movement made him feel like his back was broken and split beyond repair. He could feel it wet against the floor: blood. He half expected to see pieces of his skin scattered across the floor like bits of fresh meat.

  A voice buzzed into the cell. Ethan recognized it immediately – the man with the cane and a sick obsession with Roman gladiators: Mr X.
/>
  ‘Hello, Ethan.’

  The sound of his name being used by Mr X sent Ethan cold. The way he said it made it sound sickeningly as if they were on good terms.

  The voice came again. ‘That, Ethan, was your first lesson in understanding what will happen to you if you disobey us. We give no second chances. Your survival, your very life, depends on you doing as you’re told. Do not test us. Ever.’

  Ethan reached for the bed positioned against the wall and used it to pull himself up. But just those small movements made him cry out in pain. When he was eventually on his feet, he turned to where the voice was coming from. He was expecting to find a camera, but instead all he saw was a small speaker attached to the ceiling in a corner of the room.

  ‘I leave you now in the care of my instructors,’ said the voice of Mr X, and Ethan was sure he heard it smile. ‘Good luck, Ethan. I will be watching you. We all will.’

  No sooner had the voice finished than the door to his cell slid open again. Ethan turned to find himself in the cold presence of another man dressed in black combat gear. He had the sort of face that would only smile if you carved it on with a knife. And Ethan recognized it. He’d seen it in the photographs Sam had shown the team when he was back at the hangar. He was the one Sam had described to them as a general all-round nasty bastard: Krav Maga expert, ex-Israeli special forces, kicked out for gross misconduct.

  The man came into the cell. Ethan stepped away, but the movement made him almost topple to his knees. His back felt like it was on fire and drops of blood were falling easily to the floor.

  Ethan didn’t even bother to try standing up. He slipped to the floor. This was no longer an act. He was in as much danger as any other lad they’d snatched from the street. The lesson with the whip had worked; he wasn’t going to risk facing it again. And as for escaping, Ethan knew that if he was going to make any move at all, then he would be on one chance. And that would only be when he’d worked out a way to break away and get back to the team.