by Will Jordan
Anya was silent for a few seconds, weighing up the implications of that question. ‘I don’t know,’ she judged at last.
Drake still couldn’t get his head around her attitude. Anya was many things, but forgiving was not one of them. Why was Cain worthy of her mercy, when he had caused more damage to her than almost any other man in this world?
‘Do you think he’d hesitate if the situation were reversed?’ Drake asked bluntly.
She exhaled, as if this were something she hadn’t wished to contemplate. ‘Cain was not always a bad man. When I met him, he was… very different. I can’t believe that person is gone completely.’
Drake certainly didn’t share that opinion. Cain’s actions over the past couple of years, his avaricious quest for power, his willingness to sacrifice innocent lives and his callous disregard for the consequences of his actions gave little evidence of a once good man upholding noble ideals.
‘So what changed?’
In that moment a change seemed to come over Anya; she looked suddenly weary, as if a great weight had settled on her. Even if Drake had known nothing of her life, it would have been obvious how much Cain had once meant to her, and what an impact his betrayal had had.
It was but a momentary lapse, and soon overcome. Drake watched as her jaw clenched, her shoulders straightened, and the look of hurt and lingering sadness vanished like shadows at the coming of dawn. When she looked up at him again, Drake saw only the cold, hard resolve and iron will that had driven her from the first moment they’d met.
‘That is what I’m going to find out,’ she promised.
Such was Drake’s focus on the woman seated opposite, he didn’t notice McKnight watching them in silence from her seat further aft. He didn’t see the pain, the worry or the anger in her look.
‘Hey! Wake up, cowboy,’ Yevgeny called out from the cockpit, interrupting their conversation. ‘We are near the drop point. Fifteen minutes.’
Anya blinked, turning her thoughts to more practical matters. ‘Drink up,’ she advised, rising from her seat.
Nearby, Mason opened his eyes and looked around, roused from his sleep by the call from their pilot. He’d always possessed the innate ability to come back into full consciousness within seconds, no matter how deep his slumber.
Downing his coffee, Drake stood up to address the others. ‘All right, guys. Gear up. We don’t have much time.’
‘Much time for what?’ Frost asked, yanking out her headphones. Yevgeny’s shout had been loud enough to overcome the music blasting in her ears.
Making her way aft to where the group’s equipment bags were stowed, Anya knelt down, unzipped one and pulled out a pair of compact black nylon rucksacks.
‘To prepare for our jump,’ she replied, tossing one of the parachute packs to the young specialist.
‘Wait, what the fuck is this?’ Frost demanded, looking to Drake for answers. ‘Nobody told me we’d be parachuting into Pakistan.’
Anya tilted her head quizzically. ‘How else did you expect to get on the ground?’
‘Erm, I don’t know. Maybe by landing at a fucking airfield?’ Frost suggested. ‘That’s why we’re in a private jet, isn’t it?’
‘The jet was to get us over the target area, not to touch down. Their military will have us on radar already,’ Anya explained, handing a second parachute to Drake. Already the deck was tilting beneath them, the engines throttling back as the plane began to bleed off altitude and airspeed. ‘If we try to land outside a major airport, they will scramble fighters to intercept us.’
Drake for his part had known about this part of the plan, as had most of the others, though he’d opted to let Anya break the good news to Frost, reasoning it was someone else’s turn to incur her wrath for once.
The technical specialist was virtually without fear in most situations, but she was what seasoned veterans referred to as a ‘five-jump chump’ when it came to parachuting – someone who had done the bare minimum to earn their certification, but hated every minute of it. It had taken all his powers of persuasion to get her to take part in a risky high-altitude jump into Russia two years ago, and she’d vowed never to do it again.
‘Screw that. I am not jumping out of another goddamn plane,’ Frost decided.
Anya shrugged, unconcerned with her reservations. ‘Suit yourself. Pakistani security forces will be waiting for you in Islamabad. I hope you have a good excuse ready.’
If it came down to a battle of wills, Frost was never going to win against such an opponent. Anyway, she could see the logic in Anya’s argument, even if she didn’t want to admit it.
She was full of accusation as she turned on Drake. ‘You knew about this, didn’t you?’
‘Don’t know what you mean,’ he lied, concentrating instead on fixing his harness in place and making sure the rip cord was within easy reach.
‘Relax, Frost,’ Anya said, no hint of sympathy in her voice. ‘Just open the door and step out. Gravity does the rest.’
Frost shot her a furious look but said nothing further, concentrating instead on preparing her gear. The rest of the team did likewise, quickly changing out of their civilian clothes and donning the black assault gear and body armour that they would be wearing when they attacked the safe house. Since there was no other way to transport it in, all of their weapons and equipment would have to go with them when they jumped.
Still, as far as Drake was concerned, this jump was a piece of cake compared to the HAHO (High Altitude, High Opening) insertion they’d made three years ago. They would be bailing out at relatively low altitude, so wouldn’t need any of the bulky respirators, oxygen tanks and thermally insulted suits they’d worn last time. And despite Frost’s protests, all of them were trained in airborne insertions as part of their former roles as Shepherd operatives. As long as they all made it to the ground in one piece, that would be good enough for him.
With his harness in place and his other gear secured, Drake lifted out the last item from his equipment bag – a simple steel-bladed knife. Though it could be used as a weapon at a pinch, it was really intended as an emergency measure in case his parachute fouled on deployment, forcing him to cut away the tangled lines so he could deploy his emergency chute. Fortunately he’d never had to do it.
As he sheathed the blade, Anya approached him. She was already harnessed up and armed, a similar knife secured across her chest. ‘Ready?’
He shrugged. ‘Getting there. Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but when was the last time you did something like this?’
She’d enjoyed a varied and lengthy career as a paramilitary operative, which no doubt included covert parachute drops, but she’d been out of the loop for a long time. Too long, perhaps.
‘Feels like yesterday,’ she evaded, her expression warning against further enquiries. ‘And since we are asking honest questions, who packed these parachutes?’
Sensing just a hint of unease in the normally composed veteran, Drake flashed a conspiratorial grin. ‘I did. Feel better now?’
‘Ask me once we are on the ground.’
‘Five minutes!’ Yevgeny called out.
Crossing the cabin, Drake approached McKnight. ‘Let’s have a look.’
Part of the procedure before any jump was for each member of the team to have their rig checked by one of their comrades, so that nobody was left solely in charge of their own safety. It didn’t guarantee a flawless jump, but it shortened the odds. And it was good for morale.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked as he tugged on her shoulder straps, making sure they were securely fastened.
‘Peachy,’ the woman replied, though Drake noticed she was avoiding his gaze, and her complexion seemed to have taken on a noticeably sickly pallor.
‘Sure you’re okay?’ Lifting up the deployment flap, he took a quick look at her chute to confirm it was properly packed.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Listen, there’s nothing to worry about here,’ he promised her. ‘You step out
, give it a couple of seconds and pull your rip cord. That’s all there is to it.’
‘I know how to jump, Ryan,’ she said with a flash of irritation.
Drake nodded, saying nothing further. Whatever was eating her, now was not the time to address it. But he made a mental note to speak to her in private once circumstances permitted.
With final checks complete, Drake raised his voice to address the team. ‘All right, listen up. We’re cruising over the mountains about 20 miles north of Islamabad. The terrain we’ll be dropping into is mountainous and pretty heavily forested, so keep your eyes open, watch for boulders and sudden drop-offs. And for Christ’s sake, try not to get hung up in a tree when you touch down. Once it’s safe, get on the radio net and sound off so we know you’re in one piece. Everyone clear?’
He was met with a round of affirmatives, though Frost’s hostile glare was enough to remind him she was likely to hold a grudge over this.
‘Good. Then I’ll see you on the ground.’
Having engaged the aircraft’s automatic pilot, Yevgeny ducked through into the cabin, surveying the small group with amusement. If he was unnerved by the black combat gear, body armour and automatic weapons, he gave little sign of it.
‘We are almost at drop point,’ he reported. ‘I go as slow as I can without stalling, but it will be rough when you jump.’ He flashed a grin at Drake. ‘Try not to die, huh cowboy?’
‘Yeah. Thanks, mate,’ he replied. Fucking prick, he decided not to add. He could practically feel Frost’s eyes boring into him after the Russian’s remark.
‘Get ready,’ Anya said, reaching for the door-release handle. She would be out first, followed by Mason, then Frost and McKnight.
Drake would bring up the rear, since he was one of the most experienced of the group. If one of the others got into trouble, he could in theory go into accelerated freefall, get to them and assist before they impacted. If he was already below them, they were on their own.
Glancing at his watch, Yevgeny gave her a nod. Anya slipped on her protective goggles and pulled hard on the release lever. The sudden inrush of air coupled with the roar of the slipstream and the whine of jet engines outside was almost enough to make them recoil in shock. Drake was vaguely aware of alarms blaring in the cockpit, probably triggered by the change in cabin pressure, though they were at a low enough altitude that oxygen deprivation was unlikely to be a problem.
Standing by the hatch, Anya halted and looked back over her shoulder. Her face was partially covered by the protective goggles, but Drake was able to make eye contact with her for a brief moment before she turned, gripped the edge of the hatch and launched herself out into the darkness. Mason was next, not even bothering to pause at the door. He just went for it without fear or hesitation, calmly stepping out with his arms crossed in front of him.
Frost was another matter, freezing by the doorway. Drake saw her turn towards McKnight and lean in to say something, but the roar of the wind made it impossible to hear her words. In any case, McKnight shook her head and jerked her finger towards the door, frantically motioning for Frost to go. Every second that passed would leave the group more widely dispersed when they landed, wasting precious time regrouping.
Drake was about to move forward and speak with the young woman when she suddenly turned away, rushed forward and threw herself out the hatch. Either she’d found the courage to overcome her fear or she was more afraid of what Drake would do. Whatever the reason, she was out.
McKnight glanced at him only for a moment. Reaching out, he touched her hand, hoping the simple gesture was enough to express what he hadn’t been able to say to her earlier. He saw a faint nod, then she too turned away and stepped out over the edge.
It was time to go. Yevgeny was watching him, one arm up to shield his eyes from the howling wind. He grinned at Drake and opened his mouth to say something, but the noise made it impossible to hear. Drake didn’t care much anyway, though despite himself, he hoped Yevgeny’s boss didn’t learn of this little clandestine venture and punish him in the manner he’d so colourfully described. Maybe the world could use a few more mad bastards like him to keep things interesting.
Giving the Russian pilot a nod of grudging thanks, Drake gripped the edge of the hatch, rocked back once on his heels to build up some momentum, and leapt out into the night.
Chapter 29
Drake was falling, plunging through the night sky like an ungainly bird, arms and legs outstretched to increase his drag and even out his downward acceleration until he reached terminal velocity. Howling winds tore at the fabric of his clothes, while chilling high-altitude air clawed at his exposed skin and roared past his ears as the aircraft receded into the darkness somewhere above.
The sun had set not long before, and although night had fallen there was enough ambient light for him to make out the residual glow on the western horizon. Far to the south lay a different kind of light. It was the harsh orange glare generated by tens of thousands of electric lights in the sprawling twin cities of Islamabad and Rawalpindi, rendered vague and indistinct by the blanket of smog that lingered over the metropolis.
Bringing his left hand up in front of his face, he consulted the digital altimeter unit strapped to his wrist. At roughly 10,000 feet deployment altitude, they could afford to freefall for nearly 60 seconds before they needed to pop their chutes. Likely they would open earlier than that for safety’s sake, but it gave them a decent margin in which to get their bearings and orient themselves.
Below him lay a world of rocky mountain peaks, winding river valleys and ancient weathered highlands; the eroded stumps of far older and taller mountain ranges. There were no lights that he could discern in the vicinity, either from vehicles or settlements, which could only be good news.
The low ambient light made it difficult to see his comrades. They had all exited the plane in short order, but even a delay of mere seconds could mean a gap of hundreds of yards during freefall. All he could do was hope each had their shit together.
He glanced at his altimeter. Eight thousand feet.
There! Below, off to his right, he spotted the first blur of movement as a chute blossomed into life. He’d deliberately chosen dark fabric for their parachutes, reasoning that if they ever used them, it was likely to be for a night insertion, and therefore concealment was a priority.
As if everyone had been waiting for one team member to make the first move, other parachutes soon began to open up. Drake spotted the second one closer at hand, followed almost immediately by a third off to his right. One to go.
Come on, come on, he thought, willing it to open. He’d been last out. It was his duty to wait until the others had deployed their chutes properly.
Thirty seconds of freefall left.
That was when he spotted movement almost directly below, perhaps 400 feet away; the sudden rush of an uplifted parachute as air began to fill it. But this chute didn’t blossom into a neat, engorged circle like the others. Rather, it remained stalled in a straggling line of fabric and tangled cabling, flapping and straining ineffectually against the wind. It was caught on something, preventing it from opening.
‘Shit!’ he hissed, though the howling wind stole his exclamation away.
He reacted instinctively, tucking his arms flat against his body and drawing his feet together, doing his best to make his body as streamlined as an arrow as he dove towards the struggling jumper. The sense of acceleration was immediate and profound, and Drake gritted his teeth as the wind tore at his clothes and skin, focussing his eyes on the straggling folds of canopy below as it crept closer and closer.
Three hundred feet.
Drake chanced a look at his altimeter. Six thousand feet to go.
Every second that passed brought him closer to his stricken comrade, but also to a crushing, fatal impact with the ground. This was going to be a narrow margin.
Two hundred feet from the chute.
He tried to picture his comrade struggling with the tangle of lines
above their head, trying to fight back the rising sense of panic that always came with a chute malfunction, trying not to think that every second that passed brought them closer to death. He just prayed they were smart enough not to try to pop their reserve chute before the main chute was cleared, otherwise it would simply become fouled in the mess overhead.
One hundred feet. Five thousand feet of freefall remaining.
Come on, come on.
Suddenly, after approaching with agonizing slowness since he’d started his maximum speed descent, the chute rushed up to meet him, forcing him to twist sideways to avoid becoming ensnared in it as well.
As it drifted past him on his left side, Drake began to spread his arms and legs, slowing his descent so that he could meet with the jumper and avoid overshooting. If that happened, he might never be able to get back up to them, and his one chance to help would be gone.
Almost there now. He could see the darkened figure just below him, fighting with the tangled cables trailing from their pack. He couldn’t tell if they were aware of his approach, but that didn’t matter. He was coming in fast, and needed to catch them.
As they swept by, Drake reached out with both hands, grasping for whatever he could get a firm grip of. His right hand met only fabric, and he felt a moment of taut resistance followed by a sudden release as it ripped under the strain. However, his left managed to close around a strap of some kind, and he tightened his grip as he was jerked to a muscle-straining halt.
The stricken jumper was pulled forward by the sudden change in weight, bringing them face to face with him. In that instant, Drake found himself staring into a pair of vivid blue eyes. Normally cool and reserved, he saw something else in them now. Fear.
Of all the people he’d expected to encounter a problem like this, Anya hadn’t been one of them.
‘Anya, you’re hung up!’ he screamed, hoping their physical closeness would help her hear what was being said. ‘Can you cut away?’