The thunderous boom of jet engines reverberated through the air as the Red Arrows seared across the azure blue sky. The Royal Air Force’s world famous aerial aerobatic team twisted and spun, cart-wheeling and barrel-rolling to the delight of spectators far below.
Each year, Royal Naval Air Station Culdrose played host to an International Air Day, presenting hundreds of aircraft from around the globe to gawping members of the public. Many of the displays were static, the parked jet fighters and helicopters standing in hangers or on runways, cordoned off and guarded by military police and base personnel. But the main focus of the thousands of civilians who were allowed into the base, catered for by souvenir stands, craft markets and fast-food vans, was the ‘central arena’ where the amazing war machines of militaries from around the world took to the skies to perform daring stunts to the awe of the masses.
And of all the aerial displays, none attracted more attention than the famous Red Arrows. Only the Royal Air Force’s ‘best-of-the-best’ ever got behind the controls of the bright red and white BAE Hawk T1As. Small, fast and manoeuvrable, the nine jets screamed through the skies above South West Britain, performing their carefully choreographed sequence of daring fly-bys at speeds in excess of ten miles per second. Often their fly-by would take them out into the distant horizon until they were little more than pinpricks. But the thunderous boom of their sonic engines signalled their return even before their sleek, predatory shadows raced across the throngs of civilians.
Sheltering in the shade of one of the navy base’s large aircraft hangers on the far side of the arena, Raine, King, Sid and Nadia stood just outside the entrance watching the display.
After a quick touch down at a Chilean Air Force base, the team had quickly migrated onto a waiting transport jet and made the long flight to England. They had spent much of that time resting and, having landed at Culdrose in the dead of night, they had been assigned quarters. In the morning, as hoards of camera toting members of the public were being thoroughly searched before being admitted into the base, the team had been escorted by Royal Marines to the point indicated on Kha’um’s tactile map.
It was an empty field in the wasteland just to the east of the base, still within the razor-wire perimeter. There were indications of an ancient creek bed which had long since dried up and been claimed by the luscious green grass of the West Country.
Nadia had taken a radiation reading but there was no evidence of any tachyon emissions.
“Maybe we were wrong,” Raine had suggested.
In response, King chucked him one of the shovels they had brought along. With the help of the grumbling marines, it hadn’t taken long to dig a six-foot deep hole even as the first of the day’s air displays thundered into the sky.
One of the shovels had hit something hard then. Not rock, however, but what little remained of a rotten wooden board.
“A mine shaft,” Sid had stated the obvious. Indeed, a shaft, roughly five feet wide had been sealed and then buried beneath layers of earth and turf. Shining a flash light into the gloom revealed a tunnel stretching away into darkness.
“Still no tachyon emissions,” Nadia had reported.
King had pulled the data tablet out of his satchel on which was an image of Abubakar’s dagger, the real thing now kept under guard back at the base. He zoomed in on the line etched into the blade. “It’s the route they took through the mine,” he realised.
Gibbs had ordered the marines to secure the perimeter and for Raine and King to suit up into their NBC suits when an urgent call from West had stopped them. Ambassador Langley was ordering the entire team back to the hanger they had been assigned. Reluctantly leaving the mine shaft under the protection of the marines, Gibbs had led them back to the base and vanished into the small office in which West had set up the com equipment. He hadn’t looked happy.
Now, the four civilians stood watching the Red Arrow display while Gibbs barked down the radio, demanding an explanation from Langley.
Raine glanced into the hanger to see the SOG team preparing the equipment he and King would need to go down into the mine. His eyes settled on the curvaceous form of Kristina Lake. She gave him no attention whatsoever, but that hadn’t been the case during the night.
Exhausted from the misadventures of the past days and the long flight to Britain, he had nevertheless laid on the bed in the room the base commander had assigned him, unable to sleep. A mid-night knock at the door revealed the SOG operative, wearing only a pair of tight shorts and a form-hugging black vest. For a second, Raine had been disappointed, hoping to have found Nadia standing there, but his disappointed didn’t last long. Without so much as a word, Lake had peeled the vest from her torso and shimmied out of her shorts to stand there naked.
Raine fully understood her need. Female SOG operatives needed to be of a certain mind-set to survive the testosterone-fuelled environment. It was some of the reason women couldn’t serve in Delta Force. But working for the CIA was different. There were certain missions where a female operative, trained to be just as deadly as any of her male counterparts, was essential. That mind-set required an adrenaline junky, someone who not only could handle the danger but thrived on it. She, like Raine and the rest of the team, were trained to control that excitement, to reshape and hone it into discipline, but Raine knew how that pent-up fire needed to be released.
Lake wasn’t there for emotional comfort. She was there to fulfil the physical need of her body and who was he to deny her that? He’d simply shrugged then removed his own underwear.
After an intense session of fierce, animalistic love making, they’d laid there for no more than five minutes, without any gentle touching, soothing stroking or whispered nothings. Then, without a word, Lake had stood, pulled on her clothes, nodded once and left—
“Hey, Boss,” a voice suddenly broke into the sweet memory, shocking him back into the moment. “Sorry, I mean—”
“It’s fine,” he cut off O’Rourke’s faux-pas. They had served together for a long time and in all that time the younger soldier had referred to him simply as ‘Boss.’ His new boss wouldn’t be happy about the slip, but that only made Raine appreciate it all the more.
“Gibbs wants to see you. In the office.”
“Okay,” he replied, removing his mirrored aviator sunglasses as he stepped back inside the hanger, sending a winning, roguish grin Lake’s way.
King glanced behind to see Raine head towards the small office set into the rear of the hanger which Gibbs had commandeered. He stared at his back for several long seconds. Once again, the disgraced soldier had saved his life and try as he might not to, he was starting to consider the cocky pilot a friend. But something kept his ‘shields’ up, a barrier he wasn’t sure he wanted to break down. An ugly truth.
“What’s his story?” he asked O’Rourke just as the SOG operative was about to head back inside. He stopped and looked at King.
“Raine’s?” he asked, his words drowned out as the nine Arrows shot past before breaking formation, three teams of three splicing out in opposite directions. But King’s question had caught the attention of the two women as well.
“Gibbs says he’s a traitor,” Sid added. “But I don’t believe it.”
O’Rourke kept his face impassive as he came to stand between King and the women. He looked out, his intense eyes tracking the course of the planes across the canvass of a clear English summer sky.
King knew the truth too. He could see it in the soldier’s face as his mind drifted off to some other place, some other time. King had seen that expression before. In Raine. Painful memories flooded both men, but King knew that Raine was no traitor. He had been wrongly accused, or taken a fall for someone—