Read Online BLOOD GURKHA: Prophesy (James Pace novels Book 5) by Andy Lucas - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Andy Lucas
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well away from the commercial airways.
With many hours to kill, Pace suddenly found his shoulders sinking further into his comfortable leather armchair-style seat, overcome with weariness. Draining his coffee and only managing a couple of bites of his cereal bar, he suddenly found it hard to keep his eyes open. Hammond was having the same problem.
‘You look terrible,’ Hammond quipped, finishing his own drink with a couple of burning swallows. ‘I think it’s a good time to grab some sleep.’
Pace did not reply. His eyes were already closing as he succumbed to sleep, barely managing an acknowledging nod. Just as tired, Hammond found sleep more elusive, as his uncooperative mind replayed images and thoughts related to everything that had happened over the past few days. They were heading into trouble again but it was all part of their job. The only difference this time was that they would be going in alone; without the immediate back-up of the McEntire Corporation.
After a while, Hammond drifted off as well, as the plane voraciously devoured the miles separating the United Kingdom and South America.
Also safely stored aboard was all the equipment the men were going to need, rapidly gathered by Ramsay a few hours earlier, from one of the closest emergency safe houses to Stapleford Abbotts. Weapons, food and clothing were not an issue.
The main element to their survival; luck, was something beyond Ramsay’s control.
7
The harbour was calm, untroubled by the strong winds whipping up the sea in angry white breakers beyond the huge stone barrier. As it had done for over eighty years, the thick strip of neatly-fitted concrete blocks shrugged off the disturbance with distain.
A narrow, shingle beach curved around the land side of the cove, rapidly rising up a steep slope for a few hundred metres before rising vertically in the form of a one hundred metre, sheer cliff face.
It was the middle of the night and the few jetties and rickety, wooden warehouses lay in total darkness with no hint of torchlight from the absent security guards. Abandoned when the Scorpion affair blew up in ARC’s face, all overt activity had ceased. The road that curled away, up towards the top of the cliff, lay empty and forlorn.
To the two men watching from out at sea, the eerie silence could not yet be experienced. Their only concern was coping with the heavy swells that smashed into their small rubber Zodiac, regularly dousing them both with icy sheets of foaming seawater.
Not wanting to be burdened with bulky survival suits, even though Pace’s last one had saved his life several times, the McEntire men accepted the fact that they were going to spend the night wet and cold. Dressed in black combat fatigues, the only concession to the sea was that all of their equipment and weaponry sat safely tucked up inside a large plastic sack which Hammond gripped tightly with one hand, while hanging on to one of the boat's rubber handles for dear life with his other.
Both men were hunkered down as flat in the bottom of the Zodiac as possible. Bracing himself with spread legs, Pace was trying his best to sweep the complex with a special pair of waterproof night-vision binoculars, with some success despite the constantly shifting boat.
‘It looks deserted,’ he mentioned. ‘Nothing is moving on the shore.’
‘We know the site is still operational,’ countered Hammond. ‘The local military is protecting the land perimeter and all entrance roads. Satellites have confirmed it.’
‘So,’ reasoned Pace, ‘we should be seeing some lights, somewhere.’ He paused as a particularly vicious wave overbalanced him and the binoculars slipped painfully down from his eyes onto the bridge of his nose. Replacing them, he studied the buildings intently once more. ‘But there’s nothing.’
‘Then whatever’s going on here is clearly not taking place in the buildings we can see, or maybe they've had their windows blacked out like
With many hours to kill, Pace suddenly found his shoulders sinking further into his comfortable leather armchair-style seat, overcome with weariness. Draining his coffee and only managing a couple of bites of his cereal bar, he suddenly found it hard to keep his eyes open. Hammond was having the same problem.
‘You look terrible,’ Hammond quipped, finishing his own drink with a couple of burning swallows. ‘I think it’s a good time to grab some sleep.’
Pace did not reply. His eyes were already closing as he succumbed to sleep, barely managing an acknowledging nod. Just as tired, Hammond found sleep more elusive, as his uncooperative mind replayed images and thoughts related to everything that had happened over the past few days. They were heading into trouble again but it was all part of their job. The only difference this time was that they would be going in alone; without the immediate back-up of the McEntire Corporation.
After a while, Hammond drifted off as well, as the plane voraciously devoured the miles separating the United Kingdom and South America.
Also safely stored aboard was all the equipment the men were going to need, rapidly gathered by Ramsay a few hours earlier, from one of the closest emergency safe houses to Stapleford Abbotts. Weapons, food and clothing were not an issue.
The main element to their survival; luck, was something beyond Ramsay’s control.
7
The harbour was calm, untroubled by the strong winds whipping up the sea in angry white breakers beyond the huge stone barrier. As it had done for over eighty years, the thick strip of neatly-fitted concrete blocks shrugged off the disturbance with distain.
A narrow, shingle beach curved around the land side of the cove, rapidly rising up a steep slope for a few hundred metres before rising vertically in the form of a one hundred metre, sheer cliff face.
It was the middle of the night and the few jetties and rickety, wooden warehouses lay in total darkness with no hint of torchlight from the absent security guards. Abandoned when the Scorpion affair blew up in ARC’s face, all overt activity had ceased. The road that curled away, up towards the top of the cliff, lay empty and forlorn.
To the two men watching from out at sea, the eerie silence could not yet be experienced. Their only concern was coping with the heavy swells that smashed into their small rubber Zodiac, regularly dousing them both with icy sheets of foaming seawater.
Not wanting to be burdened with bulky survival suits, even though Pace’s last one had saved his life several times, the McEntire men accepted the fact that they were going to spend the night wet and cold. Dressed in black combat fatigues, the only concession to the sea was that all of their equipment and weaponry sat safely tucked up inside a large plastic sack which Hammond gripped tightly with one hand, while hanging on to one of the boat's rubber handles for dear life with his other.
Both men were hunkered down as flat in the bottom of the Zodiac as possible. Bracing himself with spread legs, Pace was trying his best to sweep the complex with a special pair of waterproof night-vision binoculars, with some success despite the constantly shifting boat.
‘It looks deserted,’ he mentioned. ‘Nothing is moving on the shore.’
‘We know the site is still operational,’ countered Hammond. ‘The local military is protecting the land perimeter and all entrance roads. Satellites have confirmed it.’
‘So,’ reasoned Pace, ‘we should be seeing some lights, somewhere.’ He paused as a particularly vicious wave overbalanced him and the binoculars slipped painfully down from his eyes onto the bridge of his nose. Replacing them, he studied the buildings intently once more. ‘But there’s nothing.’
‘Then whatever’s going on here is clearly not taking place in the buildings we can see, or maybe they've had their windows blacked out like
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