by Andy Lucas
Skeleton Gold
Dark Tide
By
Andy Lucas
PART 2
First published in 2015 by ALB
Copyright Andrew Lucas
www.andylucasbooks.com
First Edition
The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
It wasn’t the rain that he was worried about. Up ahead, somewhere deeper in the small area of woodland, danger lurked. Pace needed to get to the ladder. If he could reach it before the beast caught his scent, then he would be able to retrieve the Sten from his floating bedroom. It was a ferocious killer, and it was hungry.
Pace crouched up, grateful to shake the damp earthiness from his nostrils and then sprang up as fast as he could, pouring power into his leg muscles, bolting across the road for all he was worth. A heart-freezing, guttural roar erupted instantly, far closer than he’d hoped and he knew that slavering jaws were just over his shoulder, closing fast.
Head down, eyes focused on the ladder, Pace ran for his life.
Blood Gurkha: Prophecy
The new James Pace duology
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to family and friends, who continue to support me in my endeavours
......it is genuinely appreciated.
For
Joanna, James, Max and Daisy.
...not forgetting Rysa & Smokie!
Prologue
Twenty hours had passed since the lifeboat became their refuge; both from bullets and the icy ocean. An orange fibreglass, self-righting, emergency lifeboat, it had been launched from a rail at the rear of the Sea Otter; a small, McEntire Corporation covert ship that now languished for all eternity in the frigid darkness of the deep ocean.
It already seemed like days ago, as the rolling of heavy waves shook the innards of its human cargo with every sickening lurch into a trough or sudden scaling of a peak.
The worst of the storm had passed a few hours before but the heavy swell was still producing waves in excess of two metres, incessantly hammering at the surprisingly sturdy little hull.
This was early September; the tail end of the Antarctic winter, and the permanent darkness was being rapidly replaced by the unsetting sun. Out here, for the moment, darkness still existed for a few hours every day but the daylight would very soon bathe the sky for twenty-four hours each day. Already the successive civil, nautical and astronomical twilights at this latitude added a slight tinge of light to the horizon, even in the darkness.
But, for now, there was still some darkness, not that it mattered. Inside the lifeboat, which had plenty of internal and external lights powered by a reliable little diesel engine, they were fine. If the engine failed, an underwater impeller would keep the batteries topped up.
Pace didn’t think the enemy would show up any time soon, though, as the vessel that had slunk up on them, and launched zodiacs filled with mercenaries, had been sunk, along with their own ship.
It was obviously something to do with Scorpion, and the gold, they both knew. They had been on their way to try and locate the second of the covert First World War science bases and had expected some issues problems with ARC but such extreme, reckless force had taken them by surprise.
‘I don’t know about you,’ grumbled Hammond, grinning wanly, ‘but I could kill a cup of coffee. I am quite bored with bouncing around inside this toy boat.’
‘At least it’s warmer in here than out there,’ shot back Pace, locking the little steering wheel off with a jerry-rigged autopilot comprised of some torn strips of cloth and a belt. Joining his friend at the front of the lifeboat, he flopped down gratefully in one of the slightly more comfortable passenger seats and stretched out his long legs. ‘Go on then, make the coffee.’
Hammond rose to the challenge and did his level best to find anything resembling a portable gas stove. Typically, this type of lifeboat would only be fitted with a small medical kit, two weeks of cold rations and a similar quantity of bottled water. Being a McEntire vessel, Hammond’s face broke out into a broader smile as he pulled out a small, specialist cooking unit exactly the same as the one they’d carried with them into the Amazona few months earlier.
It was an amazing piece of kit. It was a sealed, circular unit, no larger than his head, which sat on retractable metal legs that raised it just six inches off the ground. A saucepan sat firmly on top of the unit, held snugly within guide runners. A tiny gas flame, shielded from the weather but ventilated via tiny air holes in the unit’s circumference, was provided by a small gas bottle built neatly into the bottom of the unit. The flame was tiny but the whole thing had been designed for maximum efficiency.
No heat was wasted, all of it was channelled directly against the base of the saucepan. The pan even came with a handy lid, which kept out rain and bugs, if using it outdoors, and retained almost all the heat energy inside.
Just as they had done in the jungle, Hammond half-filled the pan with water and hit the ignition button, which sparked into life instantly.
‘Lucky sod,’ grunted Pace evenly. ‘Now let’s see you magic up some coffee,’ he challenged.
Hammond had already spotted a tin of freeze-dried Nescafe Gold Blend in the same locker and produced it with a theatrical flourish. ‘And for my next trick,’ he chuckled. ‘Coffee!’
Pace had been at the helm for most of the last twenty hours, repeatedly batting away Hammond’s attempts to share the navigation duties. Being in the captain’s seat, and operating the minimal controls, gave him some small sense of control over their dire situation. Hammond had taken the opportunity of sleeping, strapped to a chair for most of it, and he now felt as refreshed as possible while Pace looked fit to drop.
‘Just shut your eyes and settle down for a few minutes,’ Hammond suggested, suddenly serious. ‘I’ll knock us up the coffee and a bite to eat, then you can crash out for a few hours. It’s my turn to drive…and I won’t take no for an answer this time,’ he warned, pre-empting any argument that might have fallen from Pace’s lips.
Pace wasn’t about to argue. A wave of tiredness had suddenly washed over him and he was happy to let Hammond take charge for a while. His eyelids felt leaden and it was only the agitated motion of the sea all around that stopped him falling immediately into a deep slumber.
He tightened a seatbelt and kept his eyes shut while his ears followed the sounds of Hammond adding coffee granules to the rapidly heating pan of water, quickly bringing it to the boil on the magical little stove. The water spat and growled a little as it assimilated the coffee and, almost immediately, a familiar scent tickled his nostrils.
Forcing his eyes open, Pace focused blearily on the red plastic mug that Hammond handed to him, along with a Mars bar. He noticed that Hammond was having a Snickers.
‘Only the best chocolate to lift our spirits,’ Pace noted. Sipping the scalding liquid and feeling it push back against the ever-present wall of foreboding, he demolished the chocolate bar in two large bites.
‘Want another?’ asked Hammond. ‘We have hundreds squirrelled away back there.’
‘No thanks,’ said Pace. ‘That’s fine for now. The coffee is great, by the way. Lucky for you I always take it black, no sugar.’
‘There’s sugar and powdered cr
eamer back there, if you want something more refined.’
Pace laughed aloud. ‘You’ll be offering me a double latte or a flat white with syrup next.’
As the sound of the laughter died away, replaced again by the slapping of waves against the hull and the regular thump of the engine, they regarded each other thoughtfully.
‘So,’ began Hammond. ‘The radio is only short-wave and we are too far from anywhere to use it yet. We have an emergency beacon but, if we activate it, it might attract trouble instead of a rescue party.’
‘I guess it depends on whether our friends back there had another ship in the neighbourhood.’
‘It’s a gamble,’ Hammond agreed.
Pace thought about it for a second. ‘McEntire will have figured something’s wrong by now. We’ve been out of contact for too long. You know the company a hell of a lot better than I do,’ he added. ‘What will he do next?’
Hammond swallowed a mouthful of his coffee, ignoring the fact that it was burning all the way down. He needed to feel the heat.
‘The Corporation’s assets will all have been deployed by now,’ he explained. ‘Satellites, communication intercepts, human intelligence, high level governmental contacts and a host of covert teams around the globe will all be on standby.’
Pace was suitably impressed. ‘They have our last known position and my guess is that a rescue team will already be on its way to this area, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Then we should switch on the emergency beacon,’ decided Pace. ‘In the dark, with such heavy swells and a small radar signature, they’ll need as much help as possible to find us.’
Hammond was inclined to agree but, in the end, it was a pointless conversation. Whoever had compromised Sea Otter’s security systems had also disabled the emergency beacon. When they tried activating it, and were met with a dark, dead response, a quick look behind the cover plate revealed key components missing from their niches.
‘Then why leave the radio working?’ wondered Hammond angrily, replacing the cover plate so it would not end up crashing around inside the lifeboat. ‘Why not disable both?’
‘My guess is that whoever is responsible probably ran out of time, or worried about being discovered. The short-wave radio is useless out here, they would have known that. With several lifeboats to sabotage, it was a pointless risk.’
‘Thinking about it,’ said Hammond, ‘I’m pretty sure that the regular inspections of lifeboats have to test the radio, fuel and engine. An emergency beacon might not be tested every time, I don’t know.’
‘Well then, that’s our answer. On the off chance that anyone managed to launch a lifeboat during the attack, they wouldn’t be able to activate the beacon and the enemy ship could easily track them, and sink them.’
‘They didn’t bank on losing their own ship,’ frowned Hammond, ‘which is lucky for us.’
‘I’d only call it lucky if we manage to find land and get some help out here. Otherwise,’ Pace added thoughtfully, ‘our demise has only been postponed.’
Hammond knew his friend was right. ‘You need some sleep, you miserable sod,’ he remarked brightly. ‘Finish your coffee and get some rest. I’ll wake you if I spot anything.’
Pace swallowed the remnants in his mug and settled back down into the chair, falling into a fitful sleep after five minutes. His dreams were dark and chilling but, thankfully, would not follow him back into consciousness; being purely ominous shadows without memorable form.
His body was grateful for the sleep and kept him that way for five hours until he was roused by Hammond, gently shaking his shoulder.
Quickly checking his Citizen diving watch, Pace noted the elapsed time and sat forward in his seat, unbuckling the seatbelt and yawning.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
Hammond looked pensive. ‘How far were we from land when we went down, at a guess?’
‘At least a couple of hundred miles. Why?’
‘And now?’
Pace made a rapid mental calculation. ‘Assuming we have managed to keep up a steady five knots, we’ve been on the same heading for just over a day. We must have travelled at least one hundred miles by now.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ agreed Hammond. ‘Give or take twenty miles for wind and currents that we don’t know anything about.’
‘Agreed. Another day and we should hit land, or the ice sheet, somewhere not too far away from the co-ordinates of the old science base. Why the maths?’
‘Because,’ Hammond explained, ‘while you were snoozing, a helicopter just went overhead, heading the same way we’re going. It was quite high, perhaps three thousand feet, but the weather has really cleared in the past couple of hours so it’s a safe bet they might have spotted our running lights.’
It was still dark outside. Their lights, in a dark ocean, would have stood out like a sore thumb to passing helicopter. They would have to be close to shore for a land-based helicopter to operate safely but it could just as easily have come from a nearby ship. Maybe it was their rescue party?
‘Anything on the radio?’ he asked.
Hammond shook his head, very slowly. ‘Just static. I have been listening, on and off, since you fell asleep. I haven’t tried signalling yet.’ Hammond saw off Pace’s next question with that statement.
They weighed up the pros and cons of using the radio before deciding they had nothing to lose. If the helicopter was from the McEntire Corporation, they needed to hail it quickly, before it got out of range.
The matter resolved itself before they had a chance to do anything anyway, as a distant thump of the rotors returning was accompanied by the sudden crackle of the radio set; automatically tuned to the standard emergency frequency.
A voice, clear and feminine, cut across the warm, stuffy atmosphere inside the lifeboat.
‘Gentlemen. You should feel very proud to have made it this far.’ That didn’t sound very promising. ‘I’m sorry to say, I cannot allow you to reach the shore. My boss would be very unhappy with me if I did that.’
Pace picked up the handset and keyed it. ‘Who is this? Identify yourself. We are survivors of a shipwreck and need assistance, over.’
‘You were survivors,’ corrected the voice, the tone as icy as the surrounding ocean.
‘Who is this?’ repeated Pace. This encounter was clearly not going to turn out well for them and he was suddenly desperate to stall whatever was coming next.
‘I will humour you,’ sniggered the voice harshly. ‘The last time we met, you and your friend were snooping around our facility and you, Mr Pace, were especially annoying.’
The voice and the memory exploded together inside Hammond’s mind, as recognition dawned on him first. He snatched the microphone from Pace’s hand.
‘Hey, you’re that personal assistant we met at the desalination plant.’ He struggled to remember her name. ‘Chambers?’
‘Give the man a prize,’ said the voice, dripping with sarcasm. ‘Fiona Chambers, at your service.’
Pace took the radio back. ‘What’s the meaning of this, Miss Chambers?’ He frantically motioned for Hammond to break out some immersion suits, lifejackets and the small, inflatable life raft that was stowed in one of the under-seat compartments. ‘There seems to be a misunderstanding.’
‘There’s no misunderstanding,’ corrected Fiona, seated in the co-pilot’s chair of a canary yellow Sea King helicopter, hovering a few hundred feet above the pitching lifeboat. ‘I haven’t quite worked out why the McEntire Corporation is meddling in our affairs yet, or how your ship managed to sink our own, but none of that will matter to you.’
She leaned her head back and nodded into the rear, where two men dressed in red, all-weather gear, popped open the side door and leaned out into the biting wind. Secured to ring mounts with strong ropes, they aimed automatic rifles down at the little lifeboat, its orange and white fibreglass hull clearly lit up by the helicopter’s searchlight.
‘Why not pull us up and
we can talk about it?’ Pace challenged. ‘The only way you’re going to stop us getting to land is by sinking us. Are you telling me that Josephine Roche has sanctioned our murder?’
‘That, and a whole lot more,’ sighed Fiona. ‘Goodbye, Mr Pace.’
Not waiting for a response, she gave another nod towards the rear and her men opened up on the helpless lifeboat, pulverising it with armour-piercing ammunition. Seasoned mercenaries, they methodically destroyed the boat, raking it above and below the waterline, watching with grim satisfaction as it quickly started taking on water, wallowing in the swells.
Several clips later, they ceased firing and gratefully slid the door shut again, revelling in the warmth thrown out by the cabin heaters.
Down below, in the dark water, a few shattered pieces of floating fibreglass and a vague oil slick littered the surface. Satisfied, Fiona switched off the searchlight and ordered the pilot to return to base.
Another dirty job had been successfully completed and James Pace would never again be a thorn in their side.
1
The three men were still there, loitering in the street outside, pretending to read newspapers in the fading daylight. They had been there for the past four hours and Charlene Pringle was growing worried.
They had knocked on her door earlier in the day, asking for her by name. As she’d never met either of them before, or owed any money to anyone, she’d fobbed them off with the excuse that Charlene Pringle was her friend and that she would be home later that evening. They’d bought the line and smiled cheerfully as they departed.
Now, with evening fast approaching, her bluff was about to be called. Charlene was twenty-two years old, single and she lived alone in a ground floor, one-bedroom flat in a small block just of the main road leading into Brighton.