by Rob Jones
Hawke tumbled backwards and grabbed the side of the truck to stop himself going over and falling to his death. At the end point of the arc now, the truck was now almost on its side and both men fell off the truck, holding on to the side now while their bodies dangled over the edge. The hunting knife went bye-bye over the edge and tumbled out of sight in the rocky valley far below them.
Above their heads the chopper’s powerful engine roared in pain as it struggled to keep level while holding the swaying truck on its carousel. Inside the cab Hawke saw the terrified faces of Lea and Khatibi as they were thrown about all over the place.
Van Zyl edged away from him and began to pull himself back in but Hawke knew the best play was to wait for the truck to swing the other way. When it did, he used gravity to help himself get back inside the flatbed, and then the fighting got real.
Van Zyl took a swipe at Hawke but he dodged it and fired another back, striking him on the jaw and sending him flying back onto the cab’s rear window. Hawke saw Lea was holding something out the cab window. It looked like a tire iron, and he wanted it badly but the truck was now starting its swing toward the other end of the arc and Van Zyl was padding back over for a second round.
Swipe. Punch, crack and stagger back. Hawke felt the pain as Van Zyl’s ring-encrusted knuckles ripped into his jaw, but at least the South African hadn’t noticed the tire iron. Hawke flicked out his right boot and tripped the man over. His flight was aided and abetted by the sick-making swing of the truck now approaching the end point of its arc once again. With the Silverado now almost on its other side, Hawke clawed and strained his way forward to the cab while Van Zyl struggled to hang on to the tailgate.
He grabbed the tire iron. Its chunky weight felt good in his hands, and now the truck was approaching the base of the arc again and they were flat for another few seconds. He had no time to waste.
He raised the iron to a fighting position and gripped it tightly as he swung it hard and fast at the South African’s arm. He felt the smash and crack as the arm broke clean in the center of the radius bone. Van Zyl reacted predictably, reaching for the wounded arm and grunting in agony. Expecting the reaction, Hawke’s next move was baked into the first one and now he brought the tire iron up once again from the other side and smashed it into Van Zyl’s jaw, knocking him clean off his feet and tumbling out the back of the Silverado.
He flipped over and over on his way down to the bottom of the ravine, but moved out of Hawke’s sight when the truck began its next swing. The Englishman knew he had only one play – he had to get into the cab of the Kaman and end this before they decided to release the truck. He only had to look at Lea’s terrified face to know there was no alternative.
He climbed up the load chain once again, his hands slipping on the grease as he went, desperately trying to cling on as the chain swung back and forth. He heard Luk’s roar of laughter once again and presumed he thought he was dead. Good. The element of surprise was his only ally in a situation like this, and he couldn’t let these men get away.
At the top of the chain now, he had to let go with one hand so he could grab hold of the Kaman’s starboard skid. It was a risky move even without the violent pendulum effect, but he had no choice. The rushing wind whipped his hair as he grabbed hold of it and then brought his other hand up to solidify his grasp on the chopper. His legs hung out below him, bashed about in the downdraft but at least they were away from the swinging pendulum effect. Looking below he now saw the true terror the Silverado had been put through as it swung back and forth beneath the chopper.
He pulled himself up on the skid but Luk leaned out and caught him in the act.
“I don’t think so, Mr Hawke,” he said.
Hawke wondered what new hell was winging its way toward him but found out soon enough when the certified nutcase from Hong Kong swung his legs out and, grasping hold of his seatbelt, began smashing his boots down on his fingers.
The pain was agonizing and keeping hold of the skid was all but impossible as his instinct drove him to let go of it. He swung back and down, now holding on with only one hand. Knowing what was coming next he swung his hand back up in preparation for when Luk smashed his other hand and just managed to switch grips before falling from the skid.
Luk frowned but had an answer in the bank. Gripping hold of the belt for his life, his old enemy from Kowloon brought both boots up at the same time and smashed them down on both of Hawke’s hands, and this time he had no chance but to let go. He fell away from the chopper but the truck wasn’t there – it was at the endpoint of its arc and all Hawke saw beneath him was the same rocky ravine that had claimed Van Zyl’s life. The chopper had moved over higher ground now and the drop was down to less than one hundred feet but he still didn’t fancy his chances.
He reached out and grabbed the load chain, now at forty-five degrees as it began to pull the beleaguered Silverado and its desperate passengers back into yet another violent, wild swing the other way. Hawke pulled himself along the chain and waited until the truck was beneath him before jumping back down onto the flatbed.
“Well,” he said to himself. “That went well.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Hawke, Lea and Khatibi watched in horror as Korać turned hard to port and piloted the Kaman out over the cliff edge. They all knew what was coming next, and then the Serbian commander went ahead and released the four-hook carousel gripping the roof of the Silverado.
The heavy pickup dropped away from the K-MAX and plummeted toward the mountain slope beneath them. Still outside on the flatbed, Hawke knew he had only one chance to stay alive and made his way through the buffeting crosswind toward the cab.
Lea was there to meet him, and hurriedly moved away from the door so he could climb inside.
“Room for one more?” he said, and clambered in on top of her. He righted himself behind the steering wheel and put on his seatbelt.
“Are you kidding?” Lea said.
“I think he’s not kidding,” said Khatibi.
“Belts on please, ladies and gentlemen,” Hawke said, mimicking the voice of a seasoned airline pilot. “We will shortly be touching down in Morocco and I’m sorry to say we may experience a little turbulence.”
He leaned forward in his seat just in time to see the K-MAX disappearing off to the west but there was no time to worry about the enemy now. The boulders and scree of the Rif Mountains were rushing up to meet them and they would be making contact in five… four…
Three… two…
One! The Silverado smashed into the rocky mountain and immediately bounced back up another ten feet into the air while simultaneously moving forward down the slope. It smashed back down a second time and this time stayed down. The engine revved wildly and Hawke struggled to keep the steering wheel under control as the pickup raced down the thirty degree slope toward the ravine.
“Don’t worry,” he yelled at Lea and Khatibi. “This isn’t my first time.”
Lea and the Moroccan exchanged uncertain glances as the Englishman wrestled to heave the wheel to avoid smashing into a large boulder and the cab filled with the smell of burning brake pads.
He pumped the brakes in bursts but the pads were long gone. Passing one hundred miles per hour, he dropped into third gear but even engine braking was beyond this situation and the Silverado continued to tear down the desert slope toward the ravine.
Hawke’s mind raced and he considered trying to steer out of it, but he knew turning wasn’t an option. To turn the car at this speed meant an instant roll and then the next time the vehicle would be stationary was when it was on fire at the bottom of the ravine.
Not an option.
Lea gripped the dashboard. “Ravine racing towards us, Joe!”
The roar of the engine and the sound of gravel and scree spraying up the sides of the pickup added to the sense of chaos and lack of control as he continued to pump the brakes and change down again into second. The 4.3 litre V6 responded with a wild growl of anger and the
revs shot up into the red, but this time the engine braking slowed the doomed Silverado to forty miles per hour.
“We’re almost over the sodding edge of the cliff, Joe!”
But this time Hawke made no reply. The situation was getting grimmer by the second. He glanced over his shoulder at the back seat. “Grab those magazines!”
“What the fuck?” Lea said. “This is hardly the time!”
“Get them, tear them apart and stuff them down your jacket sleeves and jeans, right now! You too Professor!”
Lea’s eyes widened. “Ah – gotcha!”
When they had done as he’d asked, he did the same while Lea took the wheel. Then he changed the Silverado down into first and this time the engine screeched like it was going to explode.
He jammed his foot down on the brakes hard one last time and between that and the first gear engine braking he reduced the pickup’s speed to twenty miles per hour. Not too shabby under the circumstances, he thought.
“All right ladies and gents – time to depart the stricken vessel!”
He opened his door and kept it in place with his leg as he manoeuvred to leave the speeding Silverado.
Khatibi peered outside the truck. “You cannot be serious?”
“It’s this or you go over the ravine,” Hawke said flatly. “The magazine you just stuffed down your pants should help cushion some of the impact. Do not stretch your arms or legs out to defend yourself. Your instinct will tell you to do this, but I’m telling you not to because if you do you’ll break every bone in your arms and legs. In other words, listen to me and not your instinct.”
“This is not very reassuring.”
“Where’s your spirit of adventure?” Hawke said as Lea climbed over his lap toward the door. “Hello…” he said. “What’s all this then?”
She kissed him on the lips. “Not now you mad bastard.”
He laughed as she leaped from the car and disappeared behind in a blur of dusty twists and tumbles.
“Think of it as something to tell the grandchildren, Professor.”
Khatibi looked like he was going to be sick, but one look at the rapidly approaching ravine helped the decision-making process and he reluctantly opened his door and turned to leave.
But stayed put.
So Hawke leaned over and gave him a friendly nudge, pushing him out of the cab and leaving himself the sole passenger on RMS Silverado. The ravine was now less than a hundred yards ahead and they’d be over the edge in seconds. He got as close to the ground as possible, bringing his hands up under his chin and tucking his elbows in tight to his sides.
And then he leaped from the pickup.
He smashed into the ground hard, and immediately began tumbling wildly as the Silverado raced away in a cloud of diesel fumes. Seconds later it vanished over the edge of the ravine and was gone.
But Hawke was still tumbling over and over. Every rock felt like it was tearing a hole in him as he skidded and smashed over them, slowly coming to a halt in a haze of scree dust and blazing Moroccan sunshine.
Pulling himself onto all-fours, he started to pull the magazine padding out of his jacket and coughed up some of the dust. Aware of a shadow he looked up to see the silhouette of Lea Donovan standing between him and the sun.
“Thanks to your brilliant plan,” she said quietly. “We now have to walk about a million miles to get back to the others.”
“I’m fine thanks,” he said.
“Stop being such a big baby,” she said. “And aren’t you glad I came up with that magazine idea?”
He rubbed the dust out of his eyes and staggered to his feet.
“Where’s the professor?”
“Just over there. I think he tore his jacket.”
“You think he tore his jacket?”
“Uh-huh.”
“He can fix it on the sodding boat then, can’t he?”
*
The flight to Rabat on the Eurocopter took longer than any of them could bear, but things were still moving fast because thanks to the coordinates from the Temple of Hercules and a 4G wifi connection, Ryan and Khatibi were able to determine the exact location of Atlantis. They all felt they had a chance finally to overtake Kruger.
They touched down in the commuter town of Salé to the north of the built-up city and after hiring an SUV they raced into Mellah on their way to the Marina Bouregreg.
“All looks pretty tame to me,” Scarlet said with a sneer as she looked around her new surroundings.
“Tame?” Ryan asked. “This city’s past is even longer and dodgier than yours.”
“Oh, now that’s very funny,” she said, glancing at his grinning face.
Ryan winked at her. “Just saying. This place is where the Barbary corsairs used to come into port to restock.”
Lea sighed and pulled her sunglasses down from her forehead and over her eyes. “Ryan, say pirates if you mean pirates.”
“You’re lucky he didn’t say buccaneers,” Scarlet added with a laugh.
“If you’ve quite finished,” Ryan continued, “I’m simply making the point it’s not tame, even if it wasn't always the capital.”
“How’s that then?”
“A French general switched it from Fez to Rabat after the invasion in 1912.”
“Please don’t say that word,” Scarlet said.
Khatibi looked at her. “What word?”
“Sober,” Lexi said. “Scarlet has a fear of the word sober.”
Lea rolled her eyes and turned to watch the city flash past as they headed west through the Quartier Bettana and closed in on their destination. If she asked him, she knew Ryan would be able to tell her about the French colonial architecture, or the influence of Moorish culture, but she just didn’t want to hear it. The truth was she was starting to feel lost. She was rarely on the same continent long enough to see two sunrises in row, and it she felt like it was beginning to get to her.
And yet she was still running. Still running toward the truth of what had happened to her father, still running hand in hand with Joe Hawke… but was she running towards something or away from something? However she felt about it all, ECHO was her only family. There was her brother Finn, working for the police in Dublin, but they hadn’t spoken in years, so if she had any family at all, then it was the people around her now, and those back on Elysium.
Any thoughts she had of leaving the team seemed almost ridiculous. No matter how tired of this she got, it was her fate now, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Her thoughts were interrupted rudely by the sound of a loud horn and a grotesque string of abuse flowing from the mouth of Scarlet Sloane. Startled, she looked up from her daydream to see the former SAS woman giving a mouthful of loud abuse to a cab driver who was dangerously tailgating her. “Why don’t you get off my arse?”
“Said the bishop to the rugby team,” said Ryan, giggling at his own joke.
“Urghh,” Lea said.
“Will you please just stop that?” said Scarlet.
“Sorry.”
Scarlet slowed now as she pulled up into the marina area and cursed as she brought the vehicle to a stop and slammed the automatic transmission into park. With the former SAS woman at the wheel the journey through Rabat had been more hair-raising than strictly necessary and they were all very grateful to arrive and get ready to sail out to sea. Eden had spoken with the Moroccan Government who had agreed to the use of a French-built VCSM coastguard vessel, and as they approached the docks they all sensed the spectre of Atlantis rising on the horizon.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The VCSM inshore patrol vessel was one of just two operated by the Royal Moroccan Navy, and was used primarily for ocean surveillance off the country’s coast. It wasn't usually armed but a light machine gun had been installed on the boat’s foredeck for the purposes of the mission.
Now, they were cutting though the North Atlantic Ocean at twenty-five knots and following the course heading to the Dacia Seamount that Khatibi had wo
rked out. Looking at the map he was sending them to precisely the middle of nowhere, but they had no other play and decided to take the chance.
Lea’s thoughts were largely restricted to how incredibly long it took to get anywhere by sea, accustomed as she was to flying around from country to country on board extremely fast private jets. The VCSM wasn’t exactly sluggish compared to many sea-going vessels, but it still felt like they were crawling along at a snail’s pace as the ship ploughed through the choppy ocean yard by yard.
Standing at the bow she had resisted Hawke’s pathetic attempt to recreate the Titanic scene with Jack and Rose, and turned to watch him as he made his way back inside the ship. Looking down the starboard side of the deck, she saw Reaper speaking in French with some of the crew. They were sharing tobacco and laughing crudely at a joke that thanks to the Frenchman’s hand gestures she had not the slightest inclination ever to know.
Down the portside, Maria and Lexi were leaning on the rails either side of a very green Ryan Bale, trying to comfort him as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the heaving North Atlantic. She smiled when she saw it and recalled the time they had taken the ferry from Dublin to Holyhead and the exact same thing had happened. That was a long time ago, and now he had Maria Kurikova to take care of him.
Like Hawke, Lea had hoped the Moroccans might have been able to provide more of a force to help them, but she knew she should be grateful enough for the ship. There was no other way to get out to the Dacia Seamount and then dive down to the ocean floor, and the officials in Rabat could easily have denied them the vessel.
None of this was new and the ECHO team were more than used to making do with depleted forces and whatever equipment they could lay their hands on. While they usually left Elysium with all the kit they needed things moved so fast that most times they had to improvise and this was yet another one of those times, what with Wolff’s weapons long since lost in Serbia and Morocco.
