Hard Knocks

by Zoe Sharp

  We didn’t need to, but the rest of us followed round to the rear parking area to watch the process. The driver had been right about the immobility of the bike. The clutch and gear levers were gone, snapped away, so there was no way to free up the transmission which was locking the rear wheel tight.

  The men had to practically carry the dead Blade off the truck and over into the corner with the damaged Audis. Todd even tucked a corner of the tarpaulin over it, like a shroud. He turned away, wiping his hands, and caught sight of me.

  “So, d’you still think those bastard machines are better than a car then, Charlie?” he demanded with surprising bitterness.

  I shrugged, aware I had the attention of the others, but pride was at stake. I’d ridden bikes for enough years to know the risks. Blakemore would have known them, too, but that wasn’t what had killed him.

  “Well, everybody’s birth certificate expires sometime,” I said. Yeah, but sometimes it’s earlier than they expected . . .

  Todd shook his head in disgust and came stalking past me. “You’re one hard-faced bitch,” he said under his breath. “That attitude’s going to win you no friends here.”

  The instructors had been expecting us to be spending the morning in a nice warm classroom and they hadn’t looked too happy about the change of plans. Maybe that partly accounted for Todd’s sour mood. What the hell, he’d never liked me anyway.

  By way of retribution they fast jogged us the half-kilometre or so through the forest to the assault course location. It turned out to be not far from the CQB range, out of sight of the Manor house itself.

  We were split into four teams of four, which accounted for all the survivors of the course so far. I remembered the number who’d started out, and wondered how many more we were destined to lose before the full fortnight was up. Only a few days to go now. I’d found out plenty of answers in the time I’d been here, but I realised I just wasn’t sure I knew what the questions were.

  Todd split the three women up between the teams. I ended up with Craddock, Romundstad, and Declan. Hofmann was in the one team without a female constituent and looked smug at the prospect of not being lumbered with such a weak link. That self-satisfied air didn’t last long, though, when Todd explained the purpose of the exercise.

  “You will designate one team member as your injured principal,” he announced. “They are unconscious and must be carried to safety over the assault course.” He grinned nastily at our consternation. “Preferably without causing them any further injury. If we spot any of them lending a helping hand, or generally not behaving like dead weights, you go back to the beginning and start again.”

  Three pairs of eyes swivelled in my direction.

  “Now hang on a moment, lads,” I protested, backing away. “Declan’s skinny. Why can’t we carry him?”

  Craddock smiled and swept me up easily off the ground. He didn’t even grunt with the effort, which was kind of flattering, I suppose. “He is,” he agreed, “but he’s not nearly so much fun.”

  “OK,” I muttered as he set me down again, “but I warn you now, boys, if I feel anybody’s hands where they shouldn’t be, you’ll get them back minus a few fingers, all right?”

  Todd was setting the teams off at two-minute intervals. We watched Jan’s lot go first, getting themselves well knotted up in the climbing net. They bundled her over the six-foot wall like she was a sack of potatoes. For an unconscious VIP her language was loud and colourful. Then Elsa’s team was away.

  By dint of the fact that Elsa was what might politely be termed statuesque, a smaller bloke had been designated as the principal. Even so, they were struggling by the time they reached the rope swing.

  Hofmann’s mob made a better job of the net. He was clearly the powerhouse of the team and even though his principal was much bigger than the others, he seemed to be managing to carry him without immediate danger of herniating himself. Or maybe he was and it was just taking a long time for the message to fight its way through the muscle to his brain.

  An image of Kirk sprang to mind. He’d had been blessed with that same casual strength. It had made him inclined towards bravado. He’d had a tendency to show off, carrying more and more weight in his bergen for cross-country runs, completing high numbers of one-handed or even one-fingered press-ups. Stupid stuff that had made us all laugh.

  “If you’re quite ready, Miss Fox?” Todd’s voice snapped me back to the present. We stepped up to the start line. Craddock hoisted me over his shoulder and held me steady with a meaty hand perilously high up the back of my thigh.

  I reached down his back and grabbed hold of a fistful of the elasticated waistband of his jogging trousers, then pulled up, twisting hard.

  “Let’s not hurt each other here,” I hissed.

  The Welshman’s hand immediately dropped six inches further down my leg and I let go cautiously.

  “OK, go!” Todd shouted, clicking his stopwatch, and we were off.

  Being carried over someone’s shoulder in a fireman’s lift is not only extremely undignified, I discovered quickly, but it’s also bloody uncomfortable, particularly when they’re running. Fortunately, Craddock had big shoulders, coated with slabs of muscle, but even so it wasn’t long before the pressure set up a dull ache in my sternum, making it difficult for me to catch my breath.

  I didn’t have to feign helplessness as Craddock bundled me over the net and rolled me down the far side where Romundstad and Declan were waiting to slow my descent.

  As we progressed further round the course, over the six-foot wall and across the rope swing, the pain in my chest increased. I bit down on it, forced myself not to make any sound of complaint. We were catching up the people ahead of us. The rest of my team would not have appreciated any request to slow down or take things easier. Besides, the end was in sight.

  I nearly made it, too.

  It was the final obstacle that was my undoing. A single-piece rope bridge stretched between two sections of scaffold, nearly four metres off the ground. How to get a supposedly unconscious principal across this gap had caused discussion and disagreement between the other teams. Nobody had come up with the definitive answer.

  If you left it to the strongest member to simply carry them across, he couldn’t hold on to both the principal and the guide ropes at either side. It was a precarious operation, and it seemed much further down from up there than it had from the safety of the ground.

  Jan’s team only managed to hold onto her by the skin of their teeth. By the time they reached the other side she was dangling precariously by her wrists and cursing her team’s cack-handed technique.

  Hofmann went for the brute force approach, hoisting his principal and muscling his way across, leaving his two team-mates to struggle after him. He made it about halfway before his grip and his balance both failed him. I was right about it being a long way down. They were both lucky to escape injury.

  Elsa, who seemed to have taken charge of her team, solved the problem by having one person carry their burden draped over their shoulder, holding on to the guide ropes with both hands. The other two, one in front and one behind, held on with one hand only, steadying the principal with the other. It was probably safer, but it was numbingly slow.

  By the time they’d inched their way to the other side we were the only team left and everyone, instructors included, was waiting under the bridge to watch our crossing.

  “What d’you reckon?” Craddock asked. “Mad dash or slow but sure?”

  I was in enough pain by this time to favour a mad dash, just to get it over with faster, but the other two voted for the other alternative and I had no choice but to go along with it.

  With Declan in the lead and Romundstad bringing up the rear we edged out across the void. Dangling over Craddock’s shoulder all I could see where the back of his legs and Romundstad’s feet that came nervously after. Below them, it was a hell of a long way down.

  Every now and again their collective movements would set up a swaying motio
n on the rope and they’d have to freeze until the lurching subsided. It was painful progress in every sense of the word and a good job, I contemplated tightly, that I wasn’t seasick.

  Then, when we were just over one-third’s distance, I felt Craddock slip slightly to one side. It was enough for me to start slithering off his shoulder. I waited a heartbeat for Romundstad to grab hold of me, but he must have had his own balance to worry about. I didn’t want to be the one who incurred a forfeit from the ever-watchful Todd, but I didn’t see I had much option.

  In the end, I left it too late to save myself anyway.

  Craddock’s boot slipped off the rope entirely. With a bellow that could have been anger, or could have been pain, he managed to get a fistful of guide rope with his left hand, but I tumbled off his shoulder and started heading for terra firma at a nastily accelerated rate.

  For a split-second my vision was a cartwheel of ground and sky, then I thumped down hard, mainly head first, and landed on my face in the dirt.

  The impact left me stunned and sick. For a few moments I lay there, disconnected from myself, watching with vague interest as numerous pairs of booted feet congregated around my head. Eventually, I was rolled over onto my back. The rope bridge seemed miles above me in the sky. Had I really fallen all the way from there?

  Figgis’s long mournful face appeared. “Charlie,” he said, slowly and carefully, “can you move your hands and feet for me?”

  I obligingly wiggled my limbs to show my spinal cord was still attached, but when I sat up it was like I’d been punched in the chest. I wrapped my arms round my ribs, gasping.

  “Steady, girl,” Figgis said. “Take a minute. You might have cracked a couple of ribs.”

  Light-headed, I gave a wheezy laugh and muttered, “Been there, done that.”

  Somebody snorted and when I looked up I found Todd staring down at me. “This is why female bodyguards are a waste of space,” he stated, his voice acid with contempt. “You just haven’t got the physical strength to get the job done.”

  “I’m plenty strong enough when I’m fully fit,” I threw back at him, and regretted the words almost as soon as they were out of my mouth. There was a long pause.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” he demanded.

  I tried to think of an excuse, but none came. The throbbing in my chest was making it difficult to think much. In the end the truth just came dribbling out.

  “I fractured my sternum two months ago,” I said, part shamefaced, part defiant.

  “And you still came on the course?” O’Neill asked, and I couldn’t tell from his tone whether he thought I was a hero or a fool.

  I shrugged. “It’s supposed to be mended.”

  Figgis held his hand out. For a moment I stared at it stupidly, as though he was offering it to shake. Then it dawned on me that he was helping me up.

  I got to my feet. The other students moved back silently to give me room. The whole of my ribcage felt tight, like I’d been crushed by a snake. I tried a couple of deep breaths, with varying degrees of success.

  Todd stood and looked at me with his hands on his hips. “I think you’d better get back to the Manor,” he said, dismissive. “Talk to the Major. He’ll arrange you a flight home.”

  “Hang on,” I protested. “You can’t just chuck me out.”

  “I think you’ll find we can do anything we like, Miss Fox,” he said with a grim smile. “Injury is one of the commonest reasons for people failing this course. It’s against school policy to let you continue. Like it or not, you’re out.”

  Nineteen

  It was a long way back to the Manor, and nobody offered to walk with me. Before I was even out of earshot I could hear Todd resuming the lesson, sending the students off round the assault course individually. O’Neill and Figgis were shouting insults and encouragement.

  As I walked back into the teeth of an uncouth wind I felt instantly forgotten. The sands had closed over me and now there was nothing to show I’d ever been there.

  I was out. Finished.

  But there was always the chance, I realised, to argue my corner with the Major. Somehow I didn’t think he was going to bend the rules in my case, but it was worth a try. I would call Sean as soon as I got back, I reasoned, and seek advice before I braved Gilby.

  I tried not to worry about Sean’s reaction to my expulsion from the course. I didn’t think for a moment that he’d blame me for it, but that didn’t make it any easier to believe I hadn’t failed him. I closed my mind to telling him about Rebanks. Sean should be in Germany by now. I would wait until I could tell him face to face.

  I thought about a lot of things on the way back. It helped keep my mind off the pain in my chest. The bitter weather was sidling in through my jacket with negligent disregard for its apparent insulation properties. The sweat had cooled on my body and shivering made things hurt all the more.

  It was better to have something else to concentrate on, not least of which was the fact that Romundstad should have saved me, and either couldn’t or wouldn’t do so. It was an interesting point to ponder. I shifted from that to wondering what he might have had to gain by letting me fall.

  Kirk had let me fall, too. A calculated act of cruelty from a man with a big heart. Not surprising in some ways that it had been on his conscience, as Sean had claimed. Didn’t stop him standing against me at the time, though. Peer pressure is a powerful method of inducement.

  Eventually, the back of the Manor came into view and I trudged across the rear parking area. I’m not entirely sure why, but as I drew level with what was left of Blakemore’s bike, I slowed. It was a mess, even more so than I remembered. How could I just give in and leave here with my tail between my legs when there were still so many unanswered questions?

  When I looked back towards the house, there were two men with machine pistols walking across the terrace.

  I ducked quickly behind the wrecked Audis, trying not to wince as I did so, but they hadn’t seen me. If I hadn’t made that brief pause I would have been out into the open. On killing ground. The thought made me start to sweat again. I didn’t need to be told that these weren’t Gilby’s regular men. So who were they?

  If these were a couple of the mercenaries that the Major was using for the kidnappings, then I needed to know. Particularly if he wouldn’t budge on kicking me out. The more information I could take away with me for Sean, the less this whole painful business would have been a disaster.

  I peeped round the corner of the tarpaulin and watched as the men scanned the whole of the area carefully and methodically. Then they started round the side of the house, keeping sharp, moving like professionals. They were carrying IMI Mini-Uzis on shoulder straps. How many more of them were there?

  I thought all too briefly of hightailing it back to the assault course and fetching the instructors, but then I thought of the distance, and the time it would take, and realised that I was on my own. Besides, what if they were all part of it? All I’d be doing would be exposing the rest of the students to danger.

  The only weapon I had on me was the small folding knife in my jacket pocket. I don’t think even the Swiss Army are expected to actually engage the enemy with one of those. Ah well.

  As soon as the men had disappeared round the corner of the house I sprinted for the cover of the terrace wall. I blanked out the pain in my chest, pushed it down to another level. There’d be plenty of time to worry about how much it hurt later. I crept up the steps, keeping low, but there was nobody on the terrace itself and nobody else waiting behind the French windows.

  The windows themselves were unlocked. I opened them as little as I could get away with and slipped in through the gap. I had a sudden flashback to my covert entry to the indoor range, and hoped this wasn’t going to end the same way. Besides anything else, I didn’t think I was up to much of a fight.

  I moved through to the open front hallway, staying on my toes across the echoing tiled floor. It was empty. For a moment I stood there, listeni
ng, assessing my options. Then I heard muffled guttural voices coming from the dining hall.

  Something told me that opening the dining hall doors would not be in my best interests. Instead I took the small corridor off to the side, the one that led direct to the kitchens. On the run-up towards lunch the place should have been a hive of activity, but even the overhead lights were off. Cautiously, I moved deeper. There was enough daylight coming through from the adjoining room for me not to trip over anything noisy on the way.

  I stayed down below the level of the industrial stainless steel kitchen units, comforting myself with the thought that at least if anyone started shooting at me there’d be plenty of furniture that was solid enough to hide behind.

  Big serving hatches had been knocked through between the two rooms, so it wasn’t difficult to get a view of what was going on in there. What I saw didn’t exactly reassure me.