Hijack

by Chris Ryan

  Wordlessly, the cadets hit the ground and advanced on all fours. Otherwise, as soon as they reached the clifftop, their silhouettes would be visible from the cove. So they kept low, the wet grass brushing their faces, the rain falling heavily on their backs. Ten metres. Twenty metres.

  ‘Don’t you just love Hector’s little holidays?’ Abby whispered as they approached the edge of the cliff.

  They stopped just before the edge and looked down.

  It was a good job none of them suffered from vertigo. The drop down to the beach was sheer, and they were at least forty metres high. Max removed his NV binoculars from his storm coat. The others did the same. Together, they scanned the shoreline below.

  It was a sandy beach. If this really had been a holiday, and it wasn’t the middle of the night, and it wasn’t raining, the cove would be a lovely place to go. Tonight, though, battered by the elements, it was unwelcoming. The waves crashed heavily against the shore and the high cliff was dark and imposing. At the eastern side of the cove was a winding ridge that led up to the top of the cliff. Max estimated that it would take between five and ten minutes to ascend it, and half that time to make a descent. The wind shrieked overhead. It was that, more than the weather, that chilled Max. It occurred to him that, if an anxious brain were to invent a scary sight, this would be a place where it was likely to happen. But perhaps the farmer really had seen something … Looking out over the cove, Max suddenly wished he was anywhere but here.

  He raised the binoculars. White foam from the breaking waves was blowing in the direction of the wind, which told him it was at least a force six or seven gale. There was no sign of any ships. No sign of anything but the bleak vista of the South Atlantic.

  ‘Could be a long night,’ Lukas muttered.

  To Max’s right, in the direction of the ridge, there was a hump in the terrain. About fifteen metres to his left was a group of large, misshapen boulders. They would offer some protection from the wind and would allow the cadets to stay hidden. At his suggestion, the cadets crawled towards the boulders and crouched on the leeward side, away from the cliff edge. Further along the cliff, about fifteen metres away, a ditch meandered inland, away from the cliff. Beyond that was a solitary copse of trees. For a moment Max wondered if the ditch would be a better place to set up their observation post. But although it was deep enough to keep them hidden, it was too exposed to the elements. Morale was an important factor in a decision like this: they would stay a little warmer and drier among the boulders.

  ‘We’ll take it in turns to keep watch over the cove,’ Lili said. ‘Whoever’s not doing that should check the area behind us to make sure we’re not discovered. I’m happy to go first.’

  ‘I’ll join you,’ Sami offered. Together, they crawled away from the boulders, back towards the cliff. Max, Abby and Lukas took up surveillance positions where they were and scanned the ground behind them.

  There was nothing to see. Empty moorland. Rain. No wildlife. No humans.

  They remained in those surveillance positions for a full hour. Max’s muscles started to ache from cold and lack of movement. The wind bit into his fingers as they held the binoculars. He thought longingly of his warm bed back at the guest house. Then he forced that thought from his mind, because it was compromising his ability to remain watchful. He could hear Hector reprimanding him. If you can’t take a night’s surveillance in the wet, maybe you’re just not tough enough for this job … There had been a time when Max thought Hector’s brutal pronouncements were over the top. Now he knew that his uncompromising attitude had kept the cadets alive, more than once …

  He was glad when Lili returned to the boulders to say it was time to swap positions. He crawled with Abby and Lukas to the cliff edge, where Sami was still surveying the cove. Lying on his front, he raised his binoculars and was greeted by the now familiar sight of the beach.

  ‘You think we’re going to see anything at all tonight?’ said Lukas, who was lying next to him.

  Max didn’t reply.

  Not immediately.

  Something had caught his eye.

  Three figures had appeared in the water, several metres out. The sea, waist high at first, swelled up to their necks, then subsided. The figures waded forward.

  ‘I already have,’ Max said quietly. ‘Look.’

  5

  Frogmen

  Max, Lukas and Abby watched in silence.

  The three figures made it to shore. His NV binoculars gave Max a clear view of them. They were frogmen: divers with masks and rebreathers. Neoprene wetsuits clung to their skin and they were carrying assault rifles, from which seawater gushed as they emerged. They ran onto the beach, fanned out and knelt down, their rifles raised. They covered the area as more frogmen appeared from the sea: two lines of five, some of them armed, some of them carrying heavy rucksacks.

  ‘Whale-watchers?’ Abby said quietly.

  All the frogmen were on the beach now. Two of them, clearly the leaders, directed the others with hand gestures. The figures jogged away from the shoreline towards the cliff. In a matter of seconds, they were out of view. Max kept the binoculars on the water. Something didn’t add up. There was no sign of any boats, but the frogmen were carrying too much gear to have swum far. How had they got here?

  ‘What do we do now?’ Abby asked.

  Max thought for a moment. The first part of their objective was simple: to put in surveillance on the cove and attempt to verify the farmer’s story. They had done that. Mission accomplished. The second part of their objective was more difficult: follow the intruders and find out what they were doing.

  ‘I think there’s only one exit from that cove,’ he said. ‘The ridge on the eastern side. We need to put in an observation post at the top of it. If they head up it, we can follow them. If not –’

  ‘Guys!’ It was Lili’s voice, a harsh, urgent whisper. ‘We’ve got a problem. Get over here …’

  Max, Abby and Lukas rolled back from the cliff edge and crawled over to the boulders. Sami was crouched to the side of one of them, binoculars to his eyes, scouting out the grassy terrain.

  ‘What is it?’ Abby asked.

  ‘There’s someone coming,’ Sami whispered.

  Max raised his binoculars. He saw the figure immediately. Approximate distance: a hundred metres.

  ‘Is it one of the frogmen?’ Lukas asked.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Max said.

  ‘How do you know?’ Abby demanded.

  ‘He’s not wearing the gear. Plus, he’s kind of … zigzagging.’ Max paused for a moment. ‘Like he’s drunk.’

  ‘He’s carrying a bottle,’ Sami added. ‘Can you see?’

  Sami was right. Focusing on the figure’s hand, Max could see it. ‘You know who I think that is?’

  The others replied in unison. ‘The farmer.’

  He was definitely coming their way. Although he was meandering, he was closing in on the cadets’ position. If they stayed here at the boulders, there was a good chance he would find them. If they headed to the top of the ridge to avoid him, he would see them moving: there was a bump in the terrain that would make them instantly visible to him.

  ‘We need to get to that ditch,’ Max said, lowering his binoculars. ‘These boulders are an obvious landmark for him to head to, for shelter.’

  ‘What if he finds us?’ Sami asked.

  ‘Then we talk our way out of it. But if we stay here, we’re more likely to be discovered. Does everyone agree?’

  The cadets nodded.

  They crawled to the ditch on all fours. It was about fifteen metres away and, on reaching it, they found that it was about a metre deep. It followed a slight gradient down to the cliff edge. A steady stream of water ran along it. The cadets knelt in the cold stream. The wind moaned along the ditch, making it colder here than it had been on the clifftop.

  ‘We get all the best jobs,’ Abby muttered as the cadets settled in to their new OP.

  Somewhere, in a semi-sober corner of hi
s mind, Banfield knew he shouldn’t have come out again. He knew that the people he had told about the men at the cove hadn’t believed him, and they laughed at him behind his back. And he knew he’d had even more to drink this evening.

  But the semi-sober corner of his mind wasn’t in control. He stopped, raised his half-empty bottle and roared in frustration. The wind was louder than his voice.

  Up ahead, he saw the boulders on the cliff edge where he had spent so much time as a boy. Those dark shapes were like old friends and he felt an urge to be among them. He staggered towards them, only half aware of his inability to keep a straight line.

  He stopped, took another swig from his bottle, and carried on.

  Max peered over the edge of the ditch while the others kept their heads down.

  He could see the farmer with his naked eye. Occasionally the old man stopped and raised his bottle to the sky before carrying on. More than once, Max thought the man would fall over. But he managed to stay upright, despite his stumbling gait.

  Then Max saw movement elsewhere. His blood froze.

  Three figures appeared beyond the boulders, at the top of the ridge leading from the cove to the clifftop. Very slowly, Max put his NV binoculars to his eyes and focused in on the figures. One look confirmed his suspicion. The men still wore their diving suits and had rucksacks on their backs. They carried assault rifles and wore night-vision goggles. Everything about them said special forces. They scanned the area, weapons raised. Max suddenly felt highly exposed, peering out over the edge of the ditch. Although this was the best hiding place they could find, it was not a good one. He ducked down into the ditch again. ‘Don’t move,’ he hissed at the others. ‘The frogmen are coming …’

  Banfield’s world was spinning. Ten metres short of the boulders, he fell to his knees. He had to shut his eyes to stop the nausea. He staggered to his feet again and stumbled onwards.

  He reached the closest boulder and put his hand against the cold stone, steadying himself.

  Then he saw them.

  They were to his right. Three men in black. They had seen him and were approaching. They had weapons. And the weapons were pointed directly at Banfield.

  Banfield stared at his bottle. Then back at the figures. He closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them again, the figures were still there. Only closer. Ten metres.

  Banfield started shouting. ‘What are you doing here? What are you … what are you doing here? Go back to where you came from! You don’t … don’t belong here …’ His words were slurred, his sentences incomplete. A knot of anxiety burned in his chest, but he held up his bottle like a weapon, ignoring the whisky that sloshed down his arm and onto the wet grass. Then he staggered towards the gunmen, still shouting, his words once more drowned out by the wind.

  But the wind carried his voice to the cadets’ hiding place. What are you doing? Go back! You don’t belong here!

  ‘What’s happening?’ Lili hissed.

  ‘It’s the farmer,’ Max said. ‘I think he’s challenging the frogmen.’

  ‘But they’re armed!’ Lili said. ‘They’ll kill him. We have to do something!’

  She started getting to her knees.

  ‘No!’ Max hissed, pulling her back down. ‘Think about it. If they were going to shoot him, they’d have done that already.’

  Lili froze. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘We don’t have an option,’ Max interrupted. ‘They’re armed, we’re not. If we show ourselves …’

  He thought she was going to argue. But she didn’t. Instead, she manoeuvred herself so she could just see over the edge of the ditch. Max knew better than to try to dissuade her. Lili was determined. Reluctantly, he joined her.

  ‘What the hell does he think he’s doing?’ Max breathed.

  Banfield was roaring at the frogmen now, brandishing his bottle like a caveman’s club. The three gunmen had surrounded him. Their weapons were raised, pointing at his chest, their barrels just out of reach of his bottle. He spun around, jabbing the bottle at them. It even clunked against the barrel of one of the rifles.

  ‘Get away from here!’ he shouted. ‘Get away from here!’

  One of the gunmen lowered his weapon. Banfield felt a surge of triumph. They were listening to him at last.

  His triumph was short-lived.

  The gunman let his weapon hang across his chest. He wore goggles that obscured his eyes. Now he flipped them up. Banfield couldn’t help gasping. There was something monstrous about his eyes. Even by the silver light of the moon, Banfield could tell that the whites of his eyes were not white at all, but so bloodshot that they appeared completely red. He gaped at them, then noticed other features: a black tattoo that crept up the man’s neck and onto his left cheek. A double razor slit in his right eyebrow. They were clearly intended to make him appear threatening, and they did, but it was the eyes that were worst.

  The gunman stepped forward and, with a grin and a violent swipe of his arm, knocked the bottle from Banfield’s fist. In an instant he had one arm around the farmer’s neck and had forced Banfield’s arm up behind his back.

  Banfield tried to shout again, but he couldn’t: the pressure on his throat was too strong. He suddenly felt himself being pushed towards the cliff and began to struggle furiously. But the man with the red eyes was too strong. He forced Banfield across the wet grass, through the wind and the rain, until they were teetering at the very edge of the cliff.

  ‘His eyes,’ Lili whispered.

  Max knew what she meant. The soldier’s eyes were red, like fire, and for a dreadful moment Max thought he was looking right at him. But then he turned his back and pushed the old man to the edge of the cliff.

  ‘No!’ Lili whispered.

  But even she could see that there was nothing they could do.

  Max was frozen in horror next to her. In the ditch, Abby demanded an update. But neither of them answered. It was as if they were watching a horror movie in slow motion. They didn’t want to watch, but they couldn’t take their eyes off it.

  Banfield didn’t feel drunk any more. He felt stone-cold sober. His toes were over the cliff edge and the only thing that stopped him from falling was the man holding him from behind.

  Fear flashed through him. The moon appeared from behind the clouds and suddenly illuminated the cove below. He could see the sand, and the waves crashing on the beach, and the jagged rocks immediately below. His assailant said something in the Argentine Spanish that Banfield had never bothered to learn, in a harsh, guttural voice. But he understood the man’s tone, and he knew the end was coming.

  He felt the arm around his neck loosening. He attempted to struggle one final time, twisting his body around in the vain hope that he could escape.

  But of course he couldn’t. All it took was a gentle push in the small of his back. His feet slipped over the edge. His arms, suddenly released, wheeled in the air as he tried to keep his balance.

  They continued to spin as he fell from the cliff edge, and they only stopped when he slammed onto the beach below.

  Max and Lili stared in horror. The farmer had screamed as he fell, but the scream had died away immediately, dissipating into the wind.

  They had just witnessed a murder.

  A dread chill closed around Max’s heart. They had done nothing to help that man. Nothing at all. And it was his fault. He had stopped Lili from going to his aid.

  ‘We … we couldn’t have done anything,’ Lili whispered. She took Max’s hand and squeezed it in reassurance.

  But there was no time for that. The man who had thrown the farmer off the cliff had re-joined the others.

  The men raised their weapons again and started to walk towards the cadets.

  6

  Minisub

  Max and Lili crouched with the others in the ditch, out of sight.

  The rain had stopped but the wind was still strong. It blew the clouds fast across the night sky. As they slid past the moon, it caused a strange strobe effect. One mome
nt, the cadets were lit up. The next, they were in shadow.

  Max was shocked into silence. Even if he had wanted to tell the others what he’d just seen, he couldn’t. The frogmen were approaching. Silence was essential: these men were killers. Max breathed deeply, trying to stay calm.

  Not easy. The guilt he had felt when the red-eyed frogman had flung the farmer over the edge still pounded through him, no matter what Lili might have said to make him feel better.

  Thirty seconds passed.

  The voices, when they heard them, were much closer than Max expected. He could hear two men speaking in Spanish. One of them had an unusually guttural voice. He estimated that they were no more than five metres from the ditch. He held his breath, doing everything he could not to move or make a sound. The other cadets were statue-still, crouched next to him. The moon suddenly appeared from behind a cloud, so brightly that it cast a shadow of the nearby frogmen over the ditch. Max felt nauseous. If they came even a step closer, they would see the cadets …

  The moon disappeared again. Darkness engulfed the cadets. A moment later, the frogmen spoke. Max could tell from the volume and direction of their voices that they were not so close as before. They had moved along the ditch, away from the cliff edge. A wave of relief crashed over him. He allowed himself to breathe.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Sami whispered.

  ‘They threw the farmer over the cliff,’ Max whispered back. And because he knew Sami well, and understood how his friend loathed injustice, he gently held his forearm to keep him still. He calmed himself – and his guilt – with another deep breath. ‘Remember, we need to find out who they are and what they’re doing.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘They’re armed, Sami,’ Lukas cut in, in a harsh whisper. ‘We’re not. We can’t fight them. Max is right. Stay still.’

  Which they did. The rain returned, pelting down on their hunched backs. The wind blew fragments of conversation their way, but it was hard to tell who was speaking or how far away they were. The cadets remained like that for fifteen minutes, then Max and Lili gingerly peered out again.