DropZone

  DropZone

  Andy Mcnab

  Ethan Blake is seventeen and desperate to escape from his dead-end life. When he sees someone B.A.S.E. jump from the top of his block of flats, it changes the way he sees the world for ever. Soon, Ethan is caught up in the adrenaline-fuelled world of skydiving. He's a natural, so it's no surprise when he's invited to join an elite skydive team, but is he signing up for more than just jumping out of planes? The team's involved in covert military operations – missions that require a special kind of guts, missions so secret even MI5 denies all knowledge.

  Andy McNab

  DropZone

  © 2009

  CHARACTERS

  Ethan

  Driven by a fierce determination to make something of his life, Ethan will push himself to the limit, face his fears head on and stand by his friends no matter what. Skydiving is just the opportunity he’s been looking for, and he doesn’t want to be simply good, he’s out to be the best. Period.

  Johnny

  Quick with the witty comments and fast in the air, he’s a living, breathing definition of ‘adrenaline junkie’. But beneath the smartarse persona lies a seriously capable operator who doesn’t know the meaning of the word quit. His only problem is that he likes to go it alone, and that doesn’t always work well with a team.

  Luke

  The one the rest of the team depend on to make sure everything is safe and sorted. He’s quiet, methodical, and all about the detail. When it comes to skydiving, if Luke doesn’t know it, it’s not worth knowing.

  Kat

  Pretty, athletic and impulsive, she loves being that rare thing among her peers – a girl who skydives. She does it because she knows she’s good at it and because it makes her sexy as hell.

  Natalya

  A serious girl with a mysterious past buried deep somewhere in eastern Europe. No one quite knows where she came from or how she ended up skydiving in the UK.

  Sam

  A world-class skydiver, skilled undercover operator and exceptional soldier, Sam is tough, serious and a natural leader. He has a long history with the SAS – having led operations across the globe – and he hasn’t exactly retired. He’s responsible for bringing the team together in the first place. His word is law. And he’s someone you really don’t want to cross.

  Skydiving

  You jump from a plane at 12,000 feet, reach speeds of over 120 mph, then glide in under your canopy, gazing at the most amazing view of the earth you’ll ever see. Adrenaline never tasted this good.

  Warning: dangerously addictive.

  BASE jumping

  You don’t jump from a plane, but from a fixed object closer to the ground. BASE stands for Building, Antenna, Span (bridge or arch), Earth. Unlike skydiving, a BASE jumper rarely reaches terminal velocity (120 mph).

  Warning: this is the closest you can get to falling to your death without dying.

  Prologue

  ‘What do you mean Ryan’s gone? Explain.’

  Gabe’s voice was hard and businesslike, but then when was he anything else? On the other end of the line, phone against his ear, Sam leaned back in his chair. Outside his window the moon stared back like a bullet hole in a bed sheet.

  ‘He’s not been seen at FreeFall for two weeks,’ he said. ‘He’s missed God knows how many jumps. It’s not like him at all and that’s what worries me. Even if he does come back…’ Sam let his voice trail off in frustration. He’d invested so much time and effort in the whole project and Ryan’s unexplained disappearance had brought it to a dead stop.

  ‘And you’ve no idea where he is, where he’s gone?’

  ‘No,’ said Sam, shaking his head, despite being alone in his office. ‘The kid’s a ghost. That’s why we picked him, remember?’

  Gabe fell silent.

  Sam waited patiently.

  Then came the reply. ‘Find a replacement.’

  Sam laughed, couldn’t help it. ‘You really think it’s that simple?’

  ‘No,’ said Gabe. ‘I don’t.’

  And Sam believed him.

  ‘Look,’ said Gabe, his voice almost losing its edge, ‘I know you can’t just walk down a high street and pick someone out of a crowd, but we need five in this team for the whole thing to work, not four.’

  ‘I know,’ said Sam.

  Ryan had been the last; he’d have brought the team to the magic five they were looking for. If he’d made the grade with his skydiving then he’d have been told the truth about the team – and invited to join. Sam was sure Ryan would’ve jumped at the chance. He’d seemed perfect: independent, bright, driven, a natural skydiver, and with no family ties to speak of. So why the hell had he just vanished?

  Sam was pissed off. Ryan’s disappearance meant he’d got it wrong. And Sam never got things wrong.

  ‘Did I say something funny?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Sam. Gabe had lots of qualities, he thought, but a sense of humour wasn’t one of them.

  ‘Then do it,’ Gabe continued. ‘Anyway, we had our eyes on two possibles originally. What about the other?’

  ‘I never had my eyes on two,’ said Sam. ‘You did. I found Ryan. You found Jake.’

  ‘So focus on Jake,’ said Gabe, like he wasn’t expecting an argument.

  ‘You’ve read my report?’

  ‘Of course I’ve read it,’ replied Gabe, sounding more than a little irritated. ‘And he’s ticking the boxes.’

  ‘But not necessarily the right ones,’ Sam cut back. ‘Jake’s too interested in himself. There’s no way I’m bringing him onto the team until I’m absolutely sure. You know that. And it’s my word on this – that’s the agreement.’

  ‘You saying I’m a bad judge of character?’

  ‘You picked me,’ said Sam, and the smile that flickered across his face was anything but warm.

  For a moment, neither man spoke.

  Sam broke the silence. ‘So what about Ryan?’

  ‘If he’s gone, he’s gone,’ came the reply. ‘Unsuitable. We’re better off knowing now than halfway through an operation. I’ll try and trace him, find out what happened. But he’s no longer your concern. Anything else?’

  Sam knew the conversation was over. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Good,’ said the voice. ‘Keep me posted on the team – and on Jake.’

  The phone went dead. No goodbyes, no farewells, just silence.

  Sam replaced the receiver and leaned forwards, resting his arms on his desk. In the gloom of his office, lit as it was by only a simple desk lamp, Sam stood up and walked over to a filing cabinet. The thing looked tired and beaten, like it had been dropped just a few too many times off the back of a truck. He slid open the second drawer, pulled out a thick folder and flicked through it.

  From the pages of the files inside, the photographs of four faces stared out: two male, two female. Of the males, one was serious, collected, had eyes that looked like they could spot a flea on a rat’s arse at a couple of miles. The other had a wildness about him, like he was ready to jump out of the photo, steal your girlfriend and ride off into the sunset. The girls were just as different. One had haunted eyes in a pale face that showed nothing but determination. The other looked like she wanted to take on the world in a bar fight, and come out not just the winner but with her makeup intact and not a hair out of place.

  Sam picked up another two files. Jake and the missing Ryan stared up at him. But it wasn’t Ryan’s disappearance that bothered Sam; it was what he’d do if Jake didn’t make the grade. And, deep down, Sam had a hunch he wouldn’t. Not just because Jake’s attitude was all wrong, but because if a mission went tits up and the team were facing a total shit storm, Sam’s gut instinct told him that Jake would bottle it. He was prepared to give Jake the training, but if he didn’t shape up there wa
s no way in hell Sam was going to put the team at risk.

  After a few moments, Sam replaced the files in the cabinet and walked to his office door. Reaching out, he flicked the room to darkness, then slipped away into the night. But one thought haunted him: when Jake screwed up, just how the hell was he going to find anyone else?

  1

  The yell from above shattered the night like a brick through a window.

  Ethan jarred to a halt, earphones halfway to his head. He’d been out for another late-night walk to clear his mind. It hadn’t worked.

  Looking up, he saw someone falling from the roof of the block of flats he called home; a silhouette racing towards him, getting bigger, closer, on target for a direct hit he knew would kill him.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  His voice didn’t.

  ‘Shit…’

  Keeping his eyes pinned on the figure, Ethan quickly pulled himself out of its way, turning back up the street to a vandalized bus shelter that was tagged to hell.

  Suddenly another sound filled the darkness, like bed sheets flapping in the wind, followed by a whoop and a shout of ‘Yeah – nailed it!’ and the silhouette exploded in the sky, expanding from a black smudge to a black oblong. Its descent slowed dramatically. It drifted away from Ethan, riding wind and moonlight.

  Stunned and staring, he watched as the shape floated down just ahead of him, a human figure dangling underneath what he now guessed was a parachute. It landed gently, silently.

  Ethan couldn’t believe it: some idiot had just parachuted from the top of the block of flats – his block of flats. He watched as the figure rapidly gathered in the parachute to nothing, bundling it up as though rolling the night into a ball, then jogged towards him.

  A van in the road next to him sparked to life. Another figure loomed out of the darkness, emerging from the far side of the vehicle, video camera in hand. As the van door swung open, music blared out into the night, a barrage of heavy guitar and drums.

  The idiot with the parachute stopped in front of Ethan. Ethan recognized him from the year above at school: he had been in the upper sixth; Ethan was in the lower. His hair was long, blond, wild; Ethan’s was night-time black, and sprang from his head like a frozen explosion. He had given up trying to do something with it years ago. He almost felt the same way about his life, but something kept him looking for the right thing to do with it. He wanted a purpose – he just hadn’t found it yet.

  ‘Totally awesome, Johnny!’ yelled the van driver, pointing the video camera at the guy with the parachute standing next to Ethan. Ethan turned and found himself providing an involuntary wave for the movie. Idiot.

  The parachutist Ethan now knew as Johnny tapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘Pen?’

  Ethan shook his head.

  Johnny ran over to the van, reached inside, came back. He grabbed Ethan’s hand and wrote on it.

  ‘Check this in about an hour,’ he said, indicating the scribble on Ethan’s palm. ‘You’re famous!’

  Ethan stared at his hand and the MySpace address now scrawled on it.

  It was a stupid question, but Ethan couldn’t help himself: ‘Don’t people usually jump out of planes rather than off buildings?’

  Johnny grinned. ‘This is BASE jumping. You do skydiving first, then this – same deal, less room for error.’

  ‘More chance of death,’ said Ethan. ‘Why do you do it?’

  Johnny leaned a smile in close. ‘Life’s too short not to,’ he said.

  Then, pulling the parachute in with him, he jumped into the van next to the driver.

  Doors slammed, and the road swallowed the van.

  Quiet. It was all suddenly so quiet.

  Ethan stood there for a moment, staring at the space where the van had been, watching flashbacks in his mind of what he’d just witnessed. The adrenaline still surged through him; he could feel it like pinpricks in his fingers. And he hadn’t even been the one doing the jump. He tried to imagine what it had felt like for Johnny.

  Just when he was wondering what to do with his life, searching for a purpose, some nutball had jumped off his roof. For some reason Ethan couldn’t explain, it changed everything.

  Staring at the web address on his hand, he headed home.

  2

  ‘Ethan?’

  He heard his sister, Jo, calling him as he reached his bedroom door.

  He turned back up the hall and went into the kitchen. Like the rest of the flat, it was small and functional. If a surface could be used, it was. Shelves sagged under the weight of tins jostling for position. Squeezed in here and there were photos of Ethan and Jo and their mum. Dad wasn’t anywhere. The only thing attached to the wall that wasn’t a shelf or a photo was one of Jo’s paintings. Ethan didn’t understand it, or even like it that much, but he admired it. Jo had always been into her art and knew it was what she wanted to do with her life. He envied that. After school, Ethan’s future was confused. He hadn’t a clue what to do with it. And that scared him a little. He often wished he had something that interested him in the same way art did Jo. But nothing had ever really grabbed him and refused to let go.

  The earlier shots of Jo showed a happy girl with flyaway hair. The later ones showed a girl dressed in black, hiding behind make-up. Ethan smiled – his sister’s approach to fashion had always been interesting. She was as much a piece of art as the stuff she painted.

  Ethan looked at the pictures of his mum. She mostly looked tired but happy, though nowadays she looked just tired, he thought. And he knew whose fault that was. They all did: two kids, two jobs and an arse for a husband – it was a killer. Ethan felt the anger rise in him as a picture of his dad snagged in his mind. If there was one reason to find a purpose in life, then it was to show that bastard that nothing he could say or do would ever affect Ethan again.

  Jo was by the fridge, hiding behind her long black fringe. ‘You’re home, then,’ she said. ‘Hungry?’

  Ethan nodded. ‘Dad still out? Shame he comes back, if you ask me.’

  Jo took a bowl of pasta out of the fridge, put it in the microwave and turned the dial to heat it for two minutes. ‘Mum made this for us,’ she said. ‘She asked where you were. I couldn’t tell her because I didn’t know.’

  Ethan tried to ignore her disapproving look. ‘I meant to leave a note,’ he said.

  Jo sighed. ‘She’s worried about you.’

  ‘Oh,’ was all Ethan could manage, the guilt nagging at him again. The last time he’d seen his mum had been two days ago; somehow their paths hadn’t crossed – him getting home late after his last exam, her heading out for the night shift.

  The microwave pinged. Jo got out a bowl of steaming pasta and handed it to him, then put in another bowl for herself.

  She turned back to him. ‘She thinks you’re too much like Dad – you know that, don’t you?’

  The words stung Ethan. ‘He’s a waster, Jo,’ he said, spitting bitterness with every word. ‘All he does is drink money away – or lose it at the bookies.’

  ‘Think I don’t know that?’ said Jo. ‘She’s worried you’re going the same way.’

  Just talking about his dad made Ethan’s blood boil. He found it hard to stay calm. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘just because I’m not sure what I’m doing with my life doesn’t mean I’m going to end up like him. I’m not going to be a jobless alcoholic. I’ll have my A-levels. Dad’s got nothing.’

  Jo didn’t answer. The microwave pinged. She took out her pasta.

  ‘Thanks for your support,’ said Ethan. ‘Really.’

  Jo shrugged and started to eat.

  Ethan stood there in silence. He hated his dad; always had. He was a bully. And now Ethan was seventeen his dad had started to really push him around. Ethan had nearly lost it with him more than once, but his mum had always stepped in, calmed things down.

  ‘Where did you go, anyway?’ asked Jo.

  ‘Out,’ said Ethan. ‘Trying to clear my head. Everyone I know seems to have a plan for
what they’re doing, where they’re going, but I…’ His voice trailed off. Then he said, ‘I keep thinking about the Royal Marines.’

  ‘Dad would hate that,’ said Jo.

  Ethan smiled. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Look, I know you’re not like Dad. But Mum worries, Ethan, you know that.’

  ‘I know. And I promise I’ll never be like him. Ever.’

  ‘OK,’ said Jo. She patted him on the arm and headed for her bedroom.

  Ethan went to his room. It was pretty bare except for a few posters from Kerrang!, the computer on the desk in the corner, and his bed. Clothes and magazines littered the floor like rubbish washed up on a beach.

  He kicked a space between some magazines and put the pasta down on the worn carpet. Then he flicked on his computer. It was old and took a while to warm up, but soon the screen flared blue and he logged on.

  The myspace page loaded and Ethan found himself staring at Johnny’s face. He clicked the MOST RECENT icon. The screen filled with a shaky image – a skyline he recognized as the one outside his window. Ethan realized this must’ve been what the bloke in the van had been filming: Johnny BASE jumping from the roof above his flat. The image blurred in a rush as a whoop and a yell burst from his speakers: the sound of Johnny leaping into nothing. The image changed again, slowed, and Ethan watched the view float by as Johnny glided to the ground in front of the flats.

  In the next scene, Ethan saw himself standing next to Johnny, shock on his face, waving.

  Flicking through Johnny’s myspace pages, Ethan surfed numerous films taken by Johnny and his friends. In all of them, Johnny was grinning and laughing as he jumped off things, or out of planes. Ethan lost track of time, clicking on picture after picture, movie after movie. And he saw something in Johnny’s face that he wanted for himself. Johnny looked so alive, like every minute mattered, counted for something. Ethan’s life had never really felt like that. It was almost as though he’d spent it in a waiting room with no idea what he was actually waiting for. But perhaps it was time to try and change that.