Terminal Velocity Page 8

  Ethan saw Kat go to say something, then back down. He’d agreed with what she’d said, but hearing Sam’s explanation also made sense. And even though the thought of going through what Reg and Mal had just explained made him want to quit simply out of fear, he knew now he wasn’t going to. Not a chance of it.

  Ethan sat up and shook himself to try and focus on what he’d feel like once the exercise was over. It didn’t work.

  A shout came from outside; Reg telling them all to be at the briefing tent in five.

  Closing his eyes, Ethan did his best not to drown in the fear doing its best to swamp him and slipped out of his tent to join the others.

  10

  ‘Name?’

  Ethan was on the ground, cold, wet and – even though he knew this was still an exercise – scared.

  He said nothing, worked hard on being as grey as possible.

  ‘Come on, kid, can’t hurt to give me your name now, can it?’

  Ethan bit down on his lip, drew blood. The metallic taste filled his mouth. He was kneeling in a puddle with a sack over his head, his hands tied behind his back. After giving his pursuers the slip for a few hours, his luck had eventually run out. He’d found the whole evading-capture thing exciting, like it was nothing more than glorified hide-and-seek. But from the moment he’d been caught, everything had taken on a sinister, threatening air. Telling himself it was just an exercise didn’t make any difference; he was scared.

  ‘Can’t help you if you don’t give me your name.’

  Ethan knew his name was the only information he was allowed to give. Nothing else. Not a thing. But he wasn’t going to give it yet.

  A boot pushed Ethan in the back and without his hands free to stop him, he fell forward into the puddle.

  Another voice joined the first. Ethan recognized neither. ‘We haven’t even started yet, boy. Ain’t no one here to tell us when to stop, either. You hear me? While Daddy’s away, we bastards will play.’

  Ethan lay still. He could see nothing through the sack over his head. Whatever was coming, he couldn’t control it. He had to accept that, just like Mal had said. So he did. He was shitting himself, but he wasn’t going to give up. No way.

  No one else spoke as Ethan felt himself lifted up onto his feet and dragged forward. He didn’t struggle, didn’t fight it, just let them take him, doing his best not to trip up.

  Although he was blind, Ethan noticed changes. First the ground beneath his feet became smoother. Was it Tarmac? Concrete? Sounds changed. He was inside – he knew that by the echo of footsteps around him.

  A door opened ahead. Then came a shove to his back. He stumbled forward, toppled to his knees, skidded, thumped down on his side. A door slammed shut behind him.

  Silence.

  Ethan was out of breath and in pain. He had no idea how long he had been on the run before getting caught. But he did know that most of it had been agony in no small thanks to the kit he’d been forced to wear; itchy jumper, ripped trousers, and a pair of crappy toe-crushing trainers. This was all to replicate being on the run in whatever clothes you’d managed to grab before your escape. And now he’d just had his first taste of interrogation. It hadn’t been horrific, but that didn’t matter. He’d been caught. He was alone. And no matter how many times he told himself it was just an exercise, tears came easily. What the hell had he got himself into?

  Sound of a door opening.

  ‘Time to play, shithead.’

  Ethan didn’t resist as once again he was pulled to his feet and dragged. He was as helpless as he was ever going to get. But he had to stay focused and push through the fug of exhaustion and fear threatening to suffocate his mind.

  Ethan felt his hood ripped from his head. Bright lights burned his eyes and he blinked, couldn’t open them properly. Eventually a desk grew in the light and behind it he saw a man with a smashed nose.

  Crap, thought Ethan, recognizing him immediately as the x-ray Natalya had gone at back in the farmhouse. He knew then that things stood a better-than-average chance of getting more than a little bit rough. The thought of it churned his stomach; he felt helpless.

  ‘Name.’

  Ethan glanced as best he could round the rest of the room, if only to get some sense of where he was. He got nothing. No windows. Just grey walls, the desk, the ruined nose. And he’d already completely lost track of time. FreeFall, his move into Johnny’s flat? That seemed like another life completely. Perhaps because it was; how could what he was doing now have anything to do with normality?

  An image of his mum and Jo flashed in his mind. He remembered the ruined flat. The fact that he wasn’t there suddenly felt like a weight crushing in on his chest. He found himself questioning what he was doing, why he was away at all, when he should’ve been back with them, sorting stuff out, protecting them from his dad. What if the police hadn’t caught him yet? What if he came back to the flat?

  A voice bellowed in his ear, made it ring, smashed Ethan’s thoughts of home into a thousand pieces.

  ‘You deaf? Answer him!’

  Maintain your mental integrity …

  Mal’s words were clear in Ethan’s mind. He grabbed a hold of the image of his mum and Jo. This time, though, he focused on how he wasn’t just here for himself, but for the three of them. He was going to make something of his life, show his waster dad exactly what he was capable of.

  ‘Ethan Blake,’ he said, but nothing else. And he made sure he kept his eyes low, staring into the middle distance. Be the grey man …

  Then the shouting and yelling and insults began.

  Though nothing physical, it was difficult to take. He was alone and didn’t know how long the interrogation would last. It was psychological torture, he knew that. Calling him names, threatening him, his family, his friends, telling him that the rest of the team had broken down already …

  ‘And what about your mum?’ said the man with the smashed nose. ‘You don’t think we know about her? About your sister?’

  Ethan felt himself go cold. What did they know about his family? What? He looked up.

  ‘Ah, so we’ve hit a nerve, have we? Worried about your mummy, eh?’

  Ethan couldn’t help himself; he eyeballed the man speaking to him.

  ‘Been some trouble at home, I see,’ said the man. ‘Something to do with your daddy?’

  Ethan felt torn inside. What if his interrogators knew something he didn’t? What if his dad had come home while he’d been away, and he’d just not been told? The list of what-ifs came at him machine-gun fast.

  The man leaned in close. ‘Just give up now, Ethan, and this can all be over. You can go home and everything will be just like it was.’

  At that, Ethan pulled his eyes away. They were using his family against him, he realized. OK, so he had no idea what was going on in the outside world, but if he gave up now, he’d be failing not just himself, but his mum and Jo. And his dad would’ve won.

  That wasn’t going to happen. No way.

  Ethan knew he had to survive this, and he remembered then what Mal had said about zoning out, focusing on something that would remind him of what he had to live for.

  So Ethan buried down deep inside his own mind. And to keep himself as alert as he could, to block out what was happening, he turned his thoughts towards something he knew inside and out, something of such importance to his life he couldn’t live without it: skydiving.

  The sound of the shouting soon became background interference to what Ethan was now remembering; his first ever skydive. Strapped to Sam in tandem, he’d been nervous and excited. Just thinking about it brought back the memory of the sensation of tasting adrenaline for the first time; the metallic taste in his mouth, a tingle in his fingers. His life had been in Sam’s hands, and against all sense and logic he’d allowed the man to throw them both out of a perfectly good plane at 12,000 feet. It was a moment that had changed the course of his life for ever …

  The hood was thrust back on. Ethan was pulled from his thoughts. Thi
s time the hood was used to drag him backwards out of the room. A door slammed behind him, another opened up ahead. A few steps later he was grabbed, spun round and his legs kicked apart. Rough hands forced him to lean forwards and he felt the rough brickwork of a wall under his hands, which were pulled high above his head.

  Footsteps walking away.

  In less than a minute, Ethan felt pins and needles prickling his hands.

  Stress positions …

  The prickling sensation soon spread down his arms and he felt himself starting to buckle. His left knee gave way and his foot shuffled forward.

  A boot cracked against his ankle and pushed it back out to its original position. Hands pulled his arms straight. The prickling soon turned to pain.

  Don’t let them break you …

  The pain became unbearable. He buckled again. A punch winded him, he was kicked and pulled back into position.

  Then a shock of cold made him yell out as icy water was poured over his head. It snatched his breath away; he gasped like a drowning man.

  Ethan felt his legs give, but managed to catch himself before he hit the floor. It didn’t matter. He was dragged back into the position again, shivering like crazy.

  Seconds became minutes. Ethan lost track of time. Each time he was dragged back into the room with the interrogator, he was battered by more shouting. His interrogator would scream things which in a normal situation would make his blood boil. In this place, though, it was just words; he was numb to it. Numb to everything. The only thing in his mind was skydiving. It was his sole focus.

  Remembering where he’d come from and how he’d got to where he now was, sent sparks firing and jumping through Ethan’s brain. He pictured everything from clipping into a rig to dealing with a cut away.

  His interrogator changed tack and placed a hot mug of tea and a fresh bacon sandwich in front of him.

  ‘Come on, Ethan,’ he said, gesturing towards the food and drink. ‘These are yours, mate. Just tell me what I need to know.’

  Ethan hadn’t a clue what they needed to know. They’d never asked. Or if they had, he’d either not heard it or blocked it out. And he certainly wasn’t their mate.

  ‘The mission, Ethan, remember? Why did you HAHO onto that island a few months ago? What was all that about? Who were you working with?’

  What? Why were they asking about that? Ethan was confused, caught off guard. He knew full well that the details of that mission were top-secret. Sam had made that absolutely clear.

  ‘Smells good, doesn’t it, the bacon? The tea’s steaming hot. Warm you up good and proper. Just tell me about the mission, Eth. Come on; help me, I’ll help you, right?’

  Ethan’s brain went crazy with flashbacks of the mission. He squeezed his eyes shut, forced his mind back onto skydiving. He wasn’t going to give anything away.

  The interrogator leaned forward and picked up the bacon sandwich.

  ‘Last chance, Ethan. If you don’t let me help you now, then I can’t guarantee your safety. They’ve been taking it easy on you up till now.’

  For the first time Ethan wanted to give up. The questions about the mission had thrown him. And smelling the sandwich made him realize just how hungry, cold and desperate he really was. But he just had to hang in there.

  ‘No?’

  Ethan stared at the wall and said his name, nothing else.

  The interrogator bit into the sandwich, nodded at Ethan. He knew what was going to happen next.

  It was the same routine again and again. But he didn’t give in. No matter the questioning, he’d still stuck to just his name. He was in a little place in his mind, focusing not on the pain or the fear of being hit, but on skydiving, rehearsing moves in his head again and again and again.

  After another bout of questions and shouting, his handlers went a step further than before. Rather than placing him immediately in a stress position, one of them stomach-punched him. When the interrogator spoke, Ethan felt his face close to his ear, could feel warm breath against his skin.

  ‘I’m growing seriously tired of this, Ethan. Just give up, right? And if you think Sam’s around to make sure we don’t get too rough, you’re wrong. You’re alone, mate. We’ve got you for as long as we want.’

  There it was again: mate. Hearing it spoken here made it sound like a threat.

  Reeling from the punch, Ethan didn’t have a chance to recover as he was snapped up straight, then kicked to the floor. He landed hard on his shoulder, pain stabbed him.

  ‘Bastards …’

  The word was out before he could prevent it.

  ‘What did you say, Ethan?’

  Ethan spat, tasted blood. Some sodding exercise this had turned out to be. They were going too far. He was exhausted, close to losing it. Where the hell was Sam, anyway?

  Ethan felt himself grabbed and dragged to his feet. All thoughts of being the grey man disappeared. He’d had enough.

  A voice came in close.

  ‘You haven’t the faintest idea just how much of a bastard I can be, Ethan.’

  But Ethan wasn’t listening. Not any more. With every ounce of strength he had left he launched his head backwards at the owner of the voice. He felt it make contact and heard the voice yell out. The hands let him go and the room was filled with screams.

  Ethan’s sense of payback was short-lived. He knew immediately he’d made a seriously big mistake. A boot crashed into his stomach with such force that he didn’t just buckle, but felt his feet leave the floor. Then a heavy slap caught him across the side of his head, making his ear ring out and sting so hard it felt like it had been ripped off. He fell to his knees. Another slap against his other ear sent him to the floor and he cracked his head.

  No chance to recover: hands grabbed him, the air filled with swearing, and he was back in the stress position, more icy water poured over his head.

  Door slam.

  Ethan knew he’d messed up, but how the hell anyone could be expected not to react under this kind of pressure, he didn’t know. And anyway, how long had he been in there? Hours? Perhaps even days? How much longer were they going to keep him? What if he gave in – would it really matter? This was just an exercise, after all, wasn’t it? It’s not like giving up now would mean he’d find himself staring down at the bottom of a shallow trench, the barrel from a pistol pinching the back of his neck.

  He was only human. He couldn’t take it for much longer. He’d go insane!

  The screech of the door opening hooked Ethan out of his thoughts.

  ‘You lost it, Ethan.’

  What? Questions in here? Why wasn’t he being dragged into the other room? The voice was different too. Deeper.

  ‘Failed, just like the rest.’

  Ethan gave his name, tried to gather his thoughts. That voice. It sounded familiar. Maybe he was just making that bit up; wherever he was, the acoustics were weird, made everything sound strange.

  ‘Shut it, Ethan. Give up. It’s over.’

  The hood was ripped off again. Ethan saw his new interrogator, realized why he’d recognized the voice: Sam.

  ‘You blew it, Ethan,’ said Sam, and any hope Ethan had of a little sympathy was blown to pieces in an instant. ‘I thought I could rely on you. Seems that I was wrong. A pity. I thought you had potential. Guts. Grit!’

  Ethan was in shock. What was Sam saying? That he was out? No longer one of the Raiders? No way! If he’d known his place on the team was at risk, he’d have focused harder. But what more could he have done?

  ‘You’ve wasted my time, Ethan. No more chances. If you can’t deal with this, how the hell do you expect me to be able to depend on you when the shit really starts to fly?’

  Ethan muttered his name. It was all he could think to say. His mind was doing cartwheels trying to work out how he’d failed. Why?

  ‘It’s over! You screwed up once too often.’

  Ethan said his name again, this time clearer, watched Sam turn away from him, head to the door. How the hell was this happenin
g? Sam should’ve told him that his future with the Raiders was at stake. It wasn’t bloody fair!

  Sam turned back round. Ethan looked up, forgot all the stuff Mal had told him about not giving eye contact, being the grey man.

  And then he saw it: the black armband.

  Ethan knew it was important, couldn’t remember why. He stared at it, searched for why he should know what it meant. Then he realized.

  ‘It’s over? The exercise?’

  Sam nodded.

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Well done, Ethan. You look like shite by the way.’

  ‘You mean I haven’t been kicked off the team?’

  Sam shook his head.

  Ethan felt relief flood through him; the team was everything to him.

  Sam walked over and stood in front of Ethan. ‘But you know you screwed up, don’t you? Reacting the way you did, slamming the back of your head into the interrogator; if this had been for real, you could have found yourself in a hole in the ground with a bullet in your head. Or worse. Understand?’

  Ethan nodded.

  ‘Let’s get you cleaned up.’

  Sam took hold of Ethan’s arm and led him out of the room and down a corridor. At the other end, Ethan walked into a room where night time stared in through grimy windows barely covered by curtains like spider’s webs. Here he found the rest of the team. And they were none of them in any better state than he.

  Johnny walked over, helped Ethan to sit down at a battered wooden table. Wincing with aches and pains, Ethan couldn’t hide from the only thought now in his mind; had he lasted as long as the rest of the team?

  Sam handed him a mug of hot chocolate and a bacon sandwich. Then Kat rested a blanket rested over his shoulders.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.

  ‘Like shit,’ Ethan said. It felt good to see Kat again. He had a feeling that just hearing her voice could kick him out of a coma.

  ‘If it’s any consolation,’ said Kat, ‘you outlasted me.’

  Ethan raised his eyebrows over the hot mug in his hands. He’d been in there longer than Kat? Well, that was something at least.