Part 1 (1/2)

Alpha Force: Untouchable.

by Chris Ryan.

Prologue.

THE A ASTRONOMER.

On a cold night in early spring James Fletcher climbed out of his hired Land Rover, checked the battery icon on his digital camera, ran his torch once more over his Ordnance Survey map and set off over the dark hillside.

He picked his way carefully over the boulders, using a ski pole to keep his balance. It was a clear night, the stars twinkling in tiny points. He identified Jupiter to the south, Saturn to the west, the full moon setting. He also identified the circ.u.mpolar constellations, Leo and Virgo on the ecliptic, Bootes with its bright star Arcturus, Coma Berenices and Hercules with the M13 globular cl.u.s.ter. James Fletcher's knowledge of the night sky was much wider than average he was a professor of astronomy. He'd come to a holiday cottage far up in the north of Scotland to spend his Easter break photographing one of the night sky's most spectacular phenomena the Northern Lights, or aurora borealis.

He'd seen them many times before but never failed to delight in them. Streams of ghostly greenish-blue light caused by electrically charged particles streaming off the sun and colliding with gases in the Earth's ionosphere. And just now there was plenty of solar activity, so tonight's display should be a good one. He was hoping to get some really special shots for his website.

He became aware of a sound a vehicle was approaching. A white glow appeared from under the ridge: headlights coming up the steep slope. He smiled. Another astronomy nut, no doubt. Well, that was nice he'd have company.

The headlights bounced up over the ridge. They were closer together than a car's probably one of those chunky quad bikes he had seen people travelling around on.

It was was a quad bike. Over the noise of the engine he heard shouts. Two riders. a quad bike. Over the noise of the engine he heard shouts. Two riders.

James waved. He thought they'd cut the engine and come and talk to him. They didn't. The headlights remained on, the engine idling. He couldn't see the riders because they were in shadow. But he heard them talking. One of them said, 'He's got a camera.'

It seemed a little unfriendly, but James was used to dealing with quirky scientists. Many of his colleagues behaved oddly when confronted with strangers. James held out his hand and walked over to introduce himself.

One of the riders shone a torch straight at him. It fixed on his eyes, flicked down his waterproof jacket and trousers to his boots, then went back up to his face. James put his hand up to s.h.i.+eld his eyes and blinked through his fingers. 'Er do you mind, you're dazzling me.'

A voice came out of the shadows. 'He's on his own.'

Something was wrong. They thought he shouldn't be there. 'Er, I'm sorry,' said James. 'I didn't think this was private property.'

'He's got a camera,' another voice repeated.

James heard someone step off the bike and approach him. But he couldn't see him, so he never saw the gun.

His last moments were a deafening noise, a blow like a sledgehammer and a torch still s.h.i.+ning in his eyes.

The man walked up close to the body and looked down at him. A sawn-off shotgun smoked in the crook of his arm. Birds and night animals screeched and hooted as the echo of the shot died down, but it wasn't an unusual thing to hear in these hills. He broke the breech of the shotgun and flicked the spent cartridge onto the gra.s.s. That wasn't an unusual thing to find in these parts either. A smell of cordite and gunpowder rose into the air, mingling with the smell of charred flesh.

'Is he dead?' asked his companion, still on the bike.

The man ran his torch over the body. James Fletcher's throat and chin were a hole filling with dark blood.

The man on the quad lit a cigarette. 'Get that camera.'

The gunman peered closer at James Fletcher's ruined chest. Little pieces of gla.s.s and twisted metal twinkled in the dark, wet mess of flesh. The camera was smashed. 'It's not going to tell any tales,' said the man. 'What are we going to do with him?'

'Put him where we always put things we don't want to be found.'

1.

INSTRUCTORS.

'Listen up, guys.' Amber clapped her hands to get her audience's attention. 'As if you haven't put up with enough humiliation from us, here's one last ordeal. Come and get your certificate, Joe.'

It was a cosy, stone-built club room, with low beams and a big fireplace. The last rays of an August sun were setting outside, and inside the atmosphere was cheerful. Six teenagers were on the last night of an adventure holiday in the north of Scotland with Alex, Li, Paulo, Hex and Amber. Watching the whole proceedings was Mary, the youth co-ordinator. Although she was in overall charge of the project, she was taking a back seat. This evening belonged to Alpha Force.

Right now, black American Amber was hosting the pa.s.sing-out ceremony, her Boston accent and easy confidence making her a natural compere. When she called his name, Joe, a lanky, dark-haired fifteen-year-old, put down his pint of c.o.ke next to his chair, pulled his hoodie over his face and stood up to collect his certificate. Wolf-whistles and a smattering of applause accompanied him back to his seat by the stone fireplace, where he sprawled gratefully and picked up his drink again.

'Joe also wins the Oscar for the most spectacular horse-riding stunt,' smiled Amber.

Her comment produced another barrage of cheers from the small audience as they remembered all too well a calamity that had happened during the week's holiday, when the quiet cob Joe was riding was stung by a wasp.

Amber looked down at the next certificate in her hands. 'Alice?'

There was more applause and a girl stepped forward, her blonde hair held down by a red baseball cap.

'Alice deserves a Grammy for teaching Alex some new marching songs,' said Amber. 'Honestly, we can't thank you enough.'

Alex, in the corner, chuckled along with the rest. Their six charges looked happy enough now, but the adventure holiday had not started so well. None of them had wanted to be there. They'd been sent by their parents, who were desperate to wean them off PCs, X-boxes, PlayStations and iPods. The hostel, where the main activities on offer were abseiling, orienteering and kayaking, had come as a big shock. The kids were appalled.

They weren't the only ones. On that first night Alex, Hex, Li, Paulo and Amber wished they'd never agreed to take the project on. Their brief had been to introduce a group of city-bred teens to the joys of the wilds. But they had to force these kids to even go for a walk, let alone climb a mountain. Instead of sharing their love of the outdoors they were running a boot camp. When Alex drove them back to the hostel in the Range Rover at the end of the first day the rear-view mirror showed a row of hostile stares, white iPod wires framing their faces like stethoscopes. But bit by bit, something had changed. They began to enjoy the way a compa.s.s could make sense of a featureless wilderness of rocks and heather; the way you could kayak along the surface of a loch as silently as a fish; the way a couple of ropes and an abseil harness let you defy gravity. They stopped listening to their iPods on the journey back; they talked to each other about what they'd done that day.

In some ways, Alex thought, the week had been like a trip back in time. Back to when Alpha Force had first met, on a holiday crewing a sailing s.h.i.+p around the islands of Indonesia. Alex had loved it. The sea was like the open moors in Northumbria where he had grown up, only better. However, the other four people on his watch were not impressed. There was Hex from London, whose parents had sent him after he'd wreaked havoc hacking into a computer. There was Li, a striking, fine-boned Anglo-Chinese girl who skived off work by trapezing through the rigging. There was laid-back Paulo from a ranch in Argentina, who seemed to be on permanent siesta and could only be roused in order to flirt with Li. And there was spoiled American heiress Amber, who had recently lost her parents and hated the whole world. But after the group were marooned on a deserted island they became the closest of friends. When Amber found out that her dead parents had been human rights campaigners, this close-knit group of survivors wanted to carry on with their work. Now, every holiday they got together to hone their survival skills and hang out. And very often they found missions in the most unlikely places.

It was Amber's rich businessman uncle, John Middleton, who had found them this gig. A travel company owned by a friend of his had set it up and the original guides pulled out. He needed somebody to help run the adventure holiday at short notice. John Middleton knew the very people. And afterwards, the five friends would have a few days with the place to themselves.

Alex came back to the present.

'Fleur wins the Oscar for best director for that lovely video of Paulo sliding into the loch on his a.s.s.'

Another round of whistles, laughter and applause, and a girl with long dark wavy hair made her way back to her seat, a certificate in her hands. Paulo's handsome face grinned under his curly mop. He gave Fleur a high five as she pa.s.sed him to sit down.

The door opened. A pet.i.te blonde girl in cropped grey trousers came in and plonked herself down on the sofa next to Alice, her arms folded.

The group stared at her.

'Oh,' she said, noticing their attention. 'Did I just miss the group hug?' Her voice dripped with sarcasm. She stared at Amber and put her hand out. 'Come on, give it to me.'

Tiff's arrival had changed the easy-going mood of the room. Some of the kids looked down, not knowing what to do; others continued to stare at her.

Amber felt her hackles rise but tried to hide it. 'Give you what?'