Twister cr-5

by Chris Ryan

  Twister

  ( Code Red - 5 )

  Chris Ryan

  Ben Tracy is on holiday in the Cayman Islands when a hurricane warning means he and his new friend, the son of an oil billionaire, must fly out of range. But as the plane heads for Miami, an unfamiliar voice comes over the tannoy: the aircraft has been hijacked. If anyone tries to make their way into the cockpit, they will be instantly shot… So begins this dramatic adventure, the fifth in the exciting "Code Red" series.

  Chris Ryan

  Twister

  Location: Florida U.S.A

  Prologue

  A small island in the Indian Ocean. Around midnight.

  The little girl's name was Basheera. In the island language it meant Bringer of Joy. But there was no joy in that small house tonight. Only sadness.

  Basheera lay on her bed, her frail body lit up by the dim electric light that hung from the ceiling. Her breathing was heavy and noisy, and her parents knew just what that meant. They sat on either side of her, each of them holding one of their daughter's hands. Neither of them said a word. There was nothing to do but wait.

  A blanket covered the lower part of Basheera's body. It was not there to keep her warm — it was a hot, humid night anyway — but because the adults could not bear to look at her legs. Those legs that they had watched grow strong since she was a baby, now bloodied and broken because of the men and their machines.

  She opened her eyes. Basheera's mother gasped. A miracle! But it soon became clear that although her eyes were open, they saw nothing, and they flickered shut again. Her mother put her free hand against the girl's forehead. It burned. The two adults cast worried glances at each other before returning to their silent vigil.

  When the men had come, with their diggers and their machines, everyone had known it meant trouble. Before long the bulldozers had moved in, clearing trees from the forest that was so precious to these villagers, and preparing to dig for the thing they spoke of as if it were the most precious substance on earth: oil.

  The children, of course, had been transfixed by the big machines, just as the grown-ups had been suspicious of them. Despite warnings from their parents and shouts from the men, they had played games around them. It had really been only a matter of time before an accident happened. It had just been a question of to whom.

  If it had been someone other than Basheera who had been caught under the heavy wheels of the bulldozer, her parents would have been sorrowful too. Theirs was a true community: they shared each other's happiness and they felt each other's pain. But when they had seen their daughter's body, damaged beyond repair, their anguish had overcome them. It could not have been put into words.

  The men responsible had washed their hands of it. It was Basheera's own fault, they said. She should not have been where she was. But all the villagers had known this was not true. Basheera had had every right to be there. It was the newcomers who had been trespassing.

  The villagers had rallied around. The chief had declared that all their resources should be directed towards saving the life of the little girl. They had tapped the deep-red sap of the dragon's blood tree — a well-known cure-all — to wash her damaged legs, but that had not been enough. They had performed sacred rituals, but still Basheera had grown more and more ill. There had been talk of taking her to a hospital on the mainland, but she could not have been moved.

  And now it was clear that all anyone could do was pray for her soul, and curse the invaders who, in their greed, had caused this to happen.

  Basheera's last breath was long. It sounded as if her soul was escaping from her body. In the silence that followed, her mother started shaking her head, as if refusing to believe that her daughter had passed away. But the signs were all too obvious: she was no longer breathing, and her chest had stopped moving up and down.

  She had been dead for a full minute when her mother screamed. It was a pitiful sound, an inhuman shriek that echoed not just around their poor house, but around the whole village. Basheera's father gently let his daughter's hand fall, then hurried round to hug his wife, to give her some kind of comfort in that moment when there was no comfort to give.

  Everyone in the village knew what the scream meant, of course, and before long they were gathering outside the house. There was a painful silence as Basheera's father emerged, carrying his daughter's lifeless body in his arms.

  'This is what these people have done!' he roared in the language of the region. 'First they destroy our land, now they destroy our children! It must not continue!'

  The villagers muttered their agreement as Basheera's father turned towards the chief of the village. 'It is your responsibility,' he intoned. 'You are our chief. You must see to it that these invaders leave our land. Basheera's brother, he has spent much time in the West. He will do what is necessary to avenge his sister. And there are others too. Others in the village who will help. You know who they are.'

  The chief was a tall, gaunt man. His face was deeply lined and his eyes were dark. He nodded solemnly and the crowd grew silent to hear what he had to say in his deep, rich voice.

  'These men think we are stupid. They think we are savages. They do not understand that we choose to live like we always have. They do not understand that we are like a sleeping snake — quiet when left alone, but deadly when angered. I swear to you now, over the body of this dead child, that this will not continue.' He turned to Basheera's mother and father. 'They will suffer as you have suffered. I do not care if it costs all our money or all our lives. They will leave our land and never come back. That is my promise to you, as long as I am your chief.'

  His words resounded in the air, and they seemed to satisfy the assembled villagers, who voiced their approval before melting away into the night. Soon, only one of the crowd remained. He was a small man, but muscular. There was an angry scar along the left-hand side of his face and his eyes burned with a zealous fire. The chief looked at him seriously, pointed at him and then nodded. The scarred man nodded back and smiled. It was as though he had been chosen to do something, and that choice had made him glad.

  Without saying a word, the two of them left, and then there was no one remaining outside the house. No one except Basheera's mother and father, helplessly clutching the cold, still body of their little girl, knowing that their life would never, ever be the same again.

  Chapter One

  Many thousands of miles away. Two weeks later.

  It was the evenings that Ben Tracey liked most of all. The air would be full of the smell of wood smoke from the barbecue, and the red sun would be setting dreamily beyond the horizon, lighting up the flat sea with its warm glow.

  It had been a good holiday and Ben felt he had deserved it. His holidays had a funny habit of going wrong, so there had been something rather blissful about two weeks by a beach in the Cayman Islands. His friends back at school had been jealous when they had heard he was going to be sunning himself on Grand Cayman courtesy of an old family friend who lived out there; they'd been doubly jealous when they'd heard he'd be flying out by himself, without any parents to cramp his style.

  Ben couldn't help but smile at the thought of their faces when he had told them where he'd be staying. The house that Alec Ardler — an old teacher of his father's who always reminded Ben of pictures he'd seen of Albert Einstein — owned was ramshackle, but it was right on the beach. Open the gate at the bottom of the garden and you could walk straight out onto the fine golden sand. Beyond that was the sea, blue and clear like you normally only saw on postcards. It was the rainy season, which meant the beaches weren't as full as they might otherwise have been, but when the rain came it was in short, sharp bursts that cleared the air and made it all the more pleasant to be outside. The rest of the time, it was glorious sunshine.

/>   Ben had known Alec for as long as he could remember. They'd always got on well, but he hadn't seen the old man for years, so he would have been excited to receive the invitation to spend his half term with him even if Alec hadn't retired to the Cayman Islands. He must have been comfortably in his eighties, but he was surprisingly spry for his age, and his mind was as agile as his body. He was one of those grown-ups who refused to talk down to anyone. Ben liked that. He liked the way Alec left him to his own devices; he liked the way that when they met for their regular dinner of barbecued fish in the garden, he sounded genuinely interested in what Ben had to say. He was a bit odd at times, a bit intense, but over the course of the two weeks, Ben felt that he had renewed a good friendship. So much so that he had opened up to him about the events of the previous couple of years — the floods in London, the fires in Adelaide, the horrible events of the Congo. He'd been a bit more reticent about what had happened at the military base in the UK, but in general he had told Alec more about his adventures than anyone else.

  'Regular little harbinger of doom, aren't you, matey?' the old man had said. Ben just grimaced ruefully.

  And now the holiday was nearly at an end. Just a couple more days and he would be flying back to England. Back to school and the dreary surroundings of his everyday life. He wasn't much looking forward to it and as he sat outside with Alec that evening, nursing a glass of chilled mango juice, he sighed heavily.

  'Penny for your thoughts?' Alec asked quietly. He had a habit of using old-fashioned phrases like that.

  Ben smiled. 'Oh, I don't know,' he said. 'Just thinking about going home.'

  The dying embers of the wood crackled on the barbecue, and Alec nodded. 'Got a taste for the good life, eh? Don't blame you. Still, your parents will be looking forward to seeing you.'

  'Yeah, I know, it's just—' Ben stopped talking and looked at Alec curiously. 'What's the matter?' he asked.

  Alec's brow was furrowed. He was looking past Ben and out to sea. Ben followed his gaze and immediately saw what had grabbed his friend's attention. It was the sky. Minutes ago it had been like it always was at this time of the evening, flecked with pinks and oranges from the sun. But not now. Above them the sky was still clear, but now it was impossible to make out the horizon. In the distance the sea looked dark grey and seemed to merge into the sky, which was suddenly full of huge, bubbling clouds. It was as though they were being surrounded.

  The two of them fell silent as they watched this peculiar weather formation. When Alec spoke, it was almost under his breath. 'I've been here a long time,' he said. 'I've never seen anything quite like that. Amazing thing, nature. Always got a surprise up its sleeve.'

  'Looks to me like a storm is coming.'

  Alec turned his head to look straight at Ben. There was something piercing in his eyes. 'Oh,' he said, 'a storm is coming all right. A storm is always coming. From everything you've told me, you should know that better than most. It's just a question of when.'

  Ben blinked, unsure how to reply. It was such a strange thing to say. He had the feeling that Alec was talking about something other than the weather, but he didn't know what.

  A chill descended and Ben shivered slightly. Alec stood up promptly. 'Come on,' he said. 'It's cold. If you're supposed to go diving with Angelo early tomorrow we should hit the hay.'

  Ben nodded, relieved that the weird moment seemed to have passed. He stood up too and made his way indoors; though as he did so he couldn't help but notice that Alec lingered slightly, looking out to sea with an unknowable expression on his face. 'It won't last,' the old man said almost to himself. 'Be right as rain in the morning.'

  Darkness fell, but the two men in the beaten-up old Ford parked fifty metres down the road had no plans to go home. They had sat there all day, all the night before and for several days and nights previously. They took it in turns to sleep and ate sparingly from their stash of food, only leaving the car to find somewhere to use for a toilet. They were both dark-skinned but one of them — the one who sat in the driver's seat — was a lot smaller than the other, and had a deep scar down the left-hand side of his face. It was his turn to keep watch now. He did so intently while his partner slept, keeping his gaze fixed on the ornate villa beyond.

  They had already staked the place out, of course, when they first arrived. They knew that if anyone left for a period of time they would do so by car. And as this was the only road that led to the house, they could be sure of knowing when that happened.

  Just so long as they kept watching. Kept vigilant. Kept their minds on the job in hand.

  He looked at his watch. Eight p.m. Changeover time. He nudged his partner, whose eyes opened immediately. To look at him you'd think he had never been asleep.

  'Your watch,' he said in a language that was never heard in this part of the world.

  His partner nodded. 'Anything?' he asked.

  The man shook his head. 'Nothing. Not yet. There will be, though. They can't stay in there for ever. Don't lose your concentration.'

  With that the man closed his eyes and almost instantly fell asleep.

  Ben slept fitfully. It wasn't the heat of the night or the mosquitoes that kept him awake. It was the constant visions of bubbling skies and black seas that seemed to drift through his dreams. He woke up the next morning feeling like he had hardly slept at all, but as he opened the shutters of his bedroom and looked out over the dawn sunrise, he was happy to see that the sky was as clear as it had ever been.

  Alec had been right. The storm had passed, and Ben could enjoy the last two days of his holiday. And even though it was very early, he knew that Angelo would already be waiting for him.

  Angelo Bandini was a lot more used to the luxuries of the Cayman Islands than Ben. He was a bit shorter than Ben, but a good deal more tanned, with long dark hair and deep brown eyes. He was one of those people you could tell was rich just by looking at him: expensive clothes, all the latest gadgets. His dad was a successful businessman — something to do with oil, Ben had worked out, though Angelo seldom talked about it — and had a house on Grand Cayman just next to Alec's, as well as several others dotted around the world. There were quite a few differences between Alec's simple place and Angelo's, however. For a start, Alec didn't have men with guns at the door. Angelo was holidaying without his parents, but he was very far from being alone. He didn't like calling the burly American guy who shadowed him everywhere he went a bodyguard, but that was what he was.

  They had met on the first day of the holiday and Ben had innocently asked his new friend what the deal was with all the security. Angelo had blushed. 'It's just my dad,' he'd explained evasively in an English that put Ben's lack of Italian to shame — a result of the years of schooling Angelo had had in America. Ben sensed that it wouldn't be a good idea to press the matter. 'Hey' — his new friend had changed the subject — 'you know how to scuba dive?'

  Ben had grinned. 'Not really,' he said. 'But there's a first time for everything, isn't there?'

  Angelo had been a patient teacher. They'd started out in his father's swimming pool. It had only taken a couple of days for Ben to get the hang of it before his Italian friend had decided he was good enough to take the plunge into the sea. And once that had happened, Ben felt he was hooked for life. They had gone diving every day — sometimes twice a day — and Ben was keen to fit in as much as he could before it was time to leave.

  He quickly threw on some clothes, tiptoed out of the house to avoid waking Alec, then hurried round to Angelo's house.

  Angelo's guards were used to Ben by now and he was allowed into the beach-facing garden without any problems. His Italian friend was already waiting for him there, the scuba-diving gear at his feet and an expectant smile on his face. '

  Sei pronto, Ben?

  ' he asked in his musical Italian accent. 'Are you ready?'

  'Sure am,' Ben replied. He looked up to the sky. 'Hey, did you see the storm clouds last night?'

  Angelo gave him a strange look. 'Storm
clouds? No, Ben, I did not see any storm clouds. The sky is clear.'

  Ben gave a moment's thought to explaining, but then decided not to. The sea was calling, and he could tell they were both eager to get started. Together they gathered up the equipment and trudged down to the beach where Angelo's speedboat — a sleek white machine — was moored, one of Angelo's father's helpers already aboard. There was no one else there at this early hour, just a few birds paddling on the wet sand and occasionally burrowing their beaks to look for food. Ben and Angelo waded out to the boat, carrying their gear above their heads, then slung it in and clambered aboard. As Angelo started up the motor himself, Ben noticed the ever-present figure of one of his bodyguards watching them from the shore.

  The beach was shallow, so they had to motor a little way out to get enough depth for diving. By the time Angelo stopped the boat and let down the heavy motorized anchor, the bodyguard was just a dot in the distance. It was incredibly peaceful out here; their on-surface helper was so quiet he was almost invisible and there was nothing else but the splashing of the sea against the side of the boat for company. The two friends remained silent as they donned their canisters and masks before throwing themselves backwards over the side of the vessel.

  The water was cold but not icy, and Ben soon got used to it. With Angelo alongside him, he kicked his way down, switching on the powerful underwater torch as they got too deep for the sun's light to penetrate fully. Instantly the ocean seemed to light up and a nearby shoal of brightly coloured fish swerved away from the sudden light in a single, graceful movement. Ben's ears were filled with the heavy sound of his own breath, and as he kicked even deeper he moved the torch around to try and find the bank of coral that he loved visiting so much.

  It didn't take long to locate the complicated wall of colour that they were looking for. They approached it reverentially, as if they would scare it away if they were anything other than respectful. As they swam towards it, Ben saw the huge, flat form of a stingray. When he had first seen one of these strange, beautiful fish, he had been a bit fearful. But Angelo had explained that they rarely attacked human beings with their poisonous stinger, and Ben had learned to admire them at close range. The stingray drifted away and in its place another shoal of bright-yellow fish seemed to appear from nowhere. It was a beautiful sight, caught against the oranges and purples of the coral. Ben felt he could stay down there for ever.