DROP ZONE
R.M. McLeod
Published by Red Panda Press at Smashwords 2011
Copyright R.M. McLeod 2004-2012
To Kate; for unqualified inspiration and her belief.
Also by R.M. McLeod
The Witches of Lewthan Mountain
The Escape of Athelwan
The Ghosts of Badger Wood
Drop Zone
The Time Flyers
Coming Soon
The Theft of the Crown of Bodran
The Revenge of Botan
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any events, persons, alive or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters are fictitious products of the author’s imagination.
ONE
'Well I don't care what we do!' Imogen Carrington flicked her blonde ponytail back over her shoulder and glared, defiantly, at her cousin Ross and sister Abigail.
Ross shook his head. 'You two can never make up your minds what you want to do, except when agreeing to do the exact opposite of what anyone else wants to do.'
'Oh don't be so perfect,' said Abigail. At twelve she was the eldest of the three and she always made sure the others remembered it. 'Anyway, you're only a child, what would you know about anything?'
'Well I'm bored,' grumbled Ross, ignoring his cousin’s sarcasm. He skimmed a pebble across the lake, watching with satisfaction as it bounced eight times before finally disappearing from view forever. Suddenly his face brightened; his blue eyes happy again. 'I know, Abi, why don't we go and explore the old copper mines?'
'Certainly not!' said Abigail. 'You know very well that we’re expressly forbidden to even think of going down there! They're old and dangerous, only last year two people were killed in one of the shafts, two adults who had lots of experience in caving and exploring mines and things.'
Ross grimaced. 'I wish I'd had two boys as cousins,' he began, 'they'd have wanted to go exploring.'
Imogen turned on him angrily. 'Oh grow up, Ross! You know very well what father said about Cooper's Mines. How many times have you to be told? They're old and dangerous, we're not going down them, and that's final!'
***
Half an hour later they were back at their rented holiday cottage being quizzed by the girls' father. 'So, did you three have a good afternoon?' he asked, cheerfully.
'It was boring,' complained Ross, helping himself to an apple from the large wooden fruit bowl on the dining table. 'I really, really wish I'd brought my Nintendo now.'
'Boring?' Ross's Uncle Charles was horrified. 'How can you possibly be bored when you're on holiday in the Lake District?'
'Ross's bored because I wouldn't let him explore Cooper's Mine, dad,' cut in Abigail.
'Tut tut,' admonished his uncle. 'You know the rules about the mine, Ross, I'm surprised at you.'
Ross shrugged, lamely. 'It was only a suggestion, something to do to relieve the boredom.'
'Nevertheless, Abigail’s quite right,' said Uncle Charles. 'Those old mines are lethal, there's been over a dozen people killed down them in the past thirty years. They’re dark, damp and extremely dangerous. Lots of experienced pot-holers have been lost for days down there. I want you to promise me you'll stay well away from them, Ross - do I make myself understood?'
Ross looked up into his uncle's earnest blue eyes then stared at the floor. 'Yes...yes...I promise.'
Uncle Charles patted him on the head affectionately. 'Good lad; knew you wouldn't let me down.'
***
Steady rain, towards the end of the first week of their fourteen-day holiday, dampened the children's spirits still further. Even Charles Carrington's suggestion that he arrange an orienteering expedition, for the following day, did little to help.
'What's the prize?' asked Ross.
'If you can get to the rendezvous by four o'clock then you'll be rewarded with a really good picnic,' replied his uncle, enthusiastically.
Ross rolled his eyes skywards as his tormentor disappeared into the kitchen.
Abigail shook her head. 'Sorry, Ross, I'm afraid my father’s a keep-fit fanatic.'
'But what do we do?' he asked.
'Dad nails clues onto trees, we have to find them and then follow the instructions they hold.'
'Wonderful,' said her cousin, thinking fondly of London and staring wistfully out of the rain-spattered window.
'I need a rest,' complained Imogen, as Abigail ripped the fourth clue from the nail that secured it to an old larch tree.
'Oh don't be such a wimp, Imi; if we want our treat then we have to be at the rendezvous by four o' clock!'
'I am tired, Abigail!' objected Imogen. 'After that low flying plane woke me in the middle of the night I couldn't get back to sleep!'
Ross nodded understandingly. 'Yes, it woke me too.'
Dad said it was probably the RAF, on a training flight,' put in Abigail. 'Apparently it happens quite a lot in the Lake District.'
'Anyway, what's the clue, Abi?' asked Ross, suddenly thinking of food.
'This time it's a map, we have to follow the shoreline of the lake until we see a sign.'
'A sign?' he asked. 'What sort of sign?'
'Well I don't know,' said Abigail, grumpily. 'It just says "a sign"!'
Ross stood up, held out a hand to the still seated Imogen, and pulled her, wearily, to her feet. Then he turned towards the vast lake. 'Oh well,' he began, 'at least if we're going along the lake side I'll be able to practice my skimming technique.'
It was mid-August and after the two previous days of rain and a chill wind, it was now warm and muggy. Imogen was also beginning to become grumpy and now she groaned rather than spoke. 'How much further, Abi? How long now before we see the sign?'
'I don't know!' exclaimed her sister. 'That's the whole point of the exercise, learning how to read maps and find and follow clues.'
'Well I'm bored, tired and hungry.' said Imogen. 'And I'm going to rest here for a moment!' She flung herself down onto the fine shale that formed the boundary between the forest and the lake, her face set, determined.
Ross held out an encouraging hand. 'Come on, Abi, the sooner we finish the sooner we can rest and have our picnic.'
Imogen shook her head, causing her straw-coloured hair to appear as though it were floating in the gentle, afternoon breeze. 'No!' she said adamantly.
Abigail was just about to admonish her when she suddenly let out a scream of excitement. 'Look! Look!' she cried, her finger pointing towards the lake. 'See over there, see those bubbles in the water?'
Ross followed the direction of Abigail's finger and found the bubbles some fifty metres from the shore. 'It's only a diver,' he said, disinterestedly.
'It's two divers,' corrected Abigail, 'see - there's two sets of bubbles. They're coming this way, coming ashore.'
Suddenly an idea occurred to Ross a way of bringing a little excitement to what had so far been quite a boring day. 'Listen, let's pretend that they're commandos, you know, on a secret mission to blow something up or capture someone. We could hide from them and pretend they're after us!'
Abigail stared at her cousin as though he had gone mad. 'Certainly not,' she said, 'that’s a stupid game.'
However, Imogen was still tired and had no wish to continue walking, at least not for the moment. 'Well I think it's a good idea, so let's do it!' Jumping to her feet she ran, quickly, towards the cover of the forest. 'Come on you slow coaches,' she shouted. 'Come on, before they capture us!'
***
Five minutes later, crouching in the lush undergrowth of the forest, Abigail was still angry. 'I still think we ought to go on instead of playing this stupid game. Apart from anything else, mum and dad will be worried about us.'
'Shh,' hissed Ross. 'Look, the divers have broken surface, they're only a few metres away now. If they know we're here they might capture us!'
Abigail looked towards the lake. Sure enough the two divers had emerged from the black water of the lake. They were struggling ashore, each carrying a large square package that appeared to be covered in a black dustbin liner. Reluctantly she shrugged her shoulders, silly though she thought the game was, she may as well go along with it now. In a few moments, when the divers had gone, they could get on with what they were supposed to be doing.
The divers were both young men, tall and muscular. They came ashore together and placed their heavy burdens on the exact spot on the beach where only a few minutes before the three orienteers had been arguing. They removed their masks, air bottles and weighted belts before tugging at the hoods of their dry-suits. The hair of the tallest man was long, dark, and greasy. Now it fell unevenly onto his shoulders and across his face and, aggressively, he brushed it away before taking a careful look at his surroundings.
The other man, his red hair cropped much shorter than his companions knelt in front of the package he had apparently just retrieved from the lake. After briefly examining it he produced a large diver's knife, its polished blade glinting in the afternoon sunshine. Quickly he plunged the blade deep into the package, pulled it out, licked it, then smiled with obvious satisfaction.
'All right?' asked his long-haired companion.
The kneeling man nodded. 'Yeah, it's the stuff okay.’
'Right then.' said the other. 'We'd better hide the gear and get going.'
From her place of concealment, just inside the forest, Imogen suddenly felt cramp pains in her left leg. As she moved it her knee crushed a long dead beech twig, the resulting crack sounding as loud as a gunshot.
Both men were visibly startled at the noise and they stared, open-mouthed, in the direction of the concealed trio. The long-haired man drew his own knife, scowled and began walking, slowly, towards the forest. Towards the exact spot where Ross lay hiding in the tall, green ferns.
2
Ross saw the diver's boot just in time, just as it was about to collide with his head. Flush-faced, he sprang to his feet, heart pounding, and breathing heavily.
'Who are you?' asked the long-haired man, scowling at the eleven-year-old as he materialised from the cover of the ferns.
'My name's Ross, we're only playing; we’re pretending you're pirates or commandos or something, that you've come ashore to kidnap us from our island.'
'Who's we?' asked the first man's companion.
Slowly, looking frightened and embarrassed, Abigail and Imogen rose to their feet. The men were surprised, the girls had been only a couple of metres from where Ross had been concealed but they had still not seen them.
'Spying on people can be dangerous you know,' said the long-haired man.
'Only when people have something to hide,' observed Abigail.
An evil grin began to spread over the face of the man's companion.
'Where are your parents?' he asked.
'We don't know, well we’re not quite sure,’ said Ross. 'We're orienteering you see, we have to find the final clue before we meet up with them and have something to eat.'
'Well then, you'd better get on your way, if your parents are waiting. Just one thing though, we'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything about having seen us. We're on a special mission you see, sort of – secret – can you kids keep a secret?' The trio nodded as one, desperately wanting to be on their way. The long-haired man nodded with satisfaction. 'Good, off you go then, straight to your picnic, to your mum and dad.'
***
For five minutes they ran as fast as they could until, breathless, they stopped by the lakeside and rested on a large boulder. 'I told you it was a silly idea,' gasped Abigail. 'Those men could have been really dangerous! They didn't like the idea of us spying on them.'
'What were they doing anyway?' asked Imogen.
'That's simple,' began Ross, 'they're drug runners!'
'Drug runners?' Abigail sounded unconvinced.
'Of course, that plane we heard overhead last night must have dropped the packages into the lake. The men we saw were retrieving them. I'll bet they're international drug runners!'
'Good grief,' said Imogen,' they could have murdered us then. Bug runners are very, very dangerous, mother once said so.'
Sometimes, especially when excited or tired, Imogen muddled up her words. Abigail corrected her automatically. 'Drug runners, Imi and your right, we must tell our parents what we saw as soon as we get to the picnic site.'
'I don't think that's a good idea, Abigail,' said Ross.
Abigail turned on her younger cousin. 'Oh and why not? You said yourself that they’re probably criminals; drug smuggling is a very serious offence you know. If they are smugglers then they should be arrested and locked away, so they can't keep on harming people.’
'If we tell your parents we'll only get into trouble for playing games and dawdling,' protested Ross. 'You know what your father's like; he'll blow a fuse as usual and want to ground us.'
Abigail looked at him defiantly, then at the final clue in her hand. 'I don't care what you say, I'm going to tell him.'
***
Abigail did tell her parents and predictably, her father did become angry that they had allowed themselves to be put into such a potentially dangerous situation. Mrs. Carrington absolutely forbade the children to go for long walks by the lakeside until the local policeman had been informed and his advice sought.
Detective Constable Benthwaite arrived the following morning, just as the family had completed breakfast. The policeman was quite young, no older than twenty-four thought Mrs. Carrington. He was a friendly man and he sat at the breakfast table, enjoying a cup of tea, as he heard the trio's story from the lips of Abigail and Ross. When they had finished he frowned and nodded.
'Yes, yes, you did right to let me know about this.' He turned to Mr. and Mrs. Carrington. 'But...well...I wouldn't get too excited about it. It’s true that there’s been some local criminal activity going on, associated with drugs. However our detectives seem to have it well under control. I've been asked to say thank you and that we'll look into your children's story.'
He looked at them sternly. 'In the meantime, I suggest you stay away from where you saw the men. Take their advice and keep what you saw a secret, that is to say - don't tell anyone else. There are some very unpleasant individuals out there these days, you’ll be far safer if you stay away from them.'
***
Later, in the garden of the rented cottage, Ross was throwing a tennis ball against the trunk of a gnarled old ash tree. 'What a waste of time,' he said at length.
'What is?' Both Abigail and Imogen spoke at once as they cleaned their roller-blades.
'That copper,' complained Ross, 'he didn't believe a word we were telling him. You could see it in his eyes, to him we were just kids with an over vivid imagination.'
Abigail snorted. 'What do you expect, we are kids aren't we? Since when do kids’ opinions matter to grown-ups, especially police officers? They think they know everything!'
Ross threw the ball harder, as he did so breathing more heavily with the exertion. 'Well I think we ought to teach them all a lesson!'
'How?' asked Imogen.
'I don't know – perhaps we could capture the drug smugglers red-handed. They'd have to take notice of us then!'
'Don't be silly, Ross,' said Abigail. 'How on earth do you think we could capture drug smugglers? As the policeman said, those people can be very, very dangerous. They even kill police officers to prevent themselves being arrested, I’ve read about it in the paper. What do you think they would do if they found out we knew what they were doing and caught us?'
Ross was becoming angrier and angrier when the smallest germ of an idea came to him. He stopped throwing his ball and sat on the lawn next to Imogen. 'What night did we hear the aircraft, Abi the one that woke us up?'
'Wednesday, or rather, the early hours of Thursday morning,' she replied.
'But one also came over on Sunday morning,' said Abigail. It was just after we'd got here, our first night. I heard it in the distance, it was the same aircraft I'm certain, it just flew over a different part of the lake.'
'Well I didn't hear an aeroplane,' objected Imogen.
'Quite possibly,' agreed Abigail. 'As I said it was nothing like as loud. You and Ross were also tired after the journey down from London. It would have taken an earthquake to have woken you up!'
Ross was thoughtful. 'What was the weather like – the night we arrived?'
'Dry,' said Imogen, 'I know it was dry because we went for a walk into the village.'
'Was there a moon?' asked Ross.
'Yes,' said Abigail, quite a good half moon, it was very bright.'
'And early Thursday morning it had stopped raining and the moon had come out. I remember because I jumped out of bed and drew back the curtains to try and see the aircraft,' said Ross.
'What are you getting at, Ross?' asked Imogen, impatiently.
Ross smiled at his cousin. 'Can't you see, Abi? The plane only comes over when the weather's fine and there's a good moon. I mean, that's obvious isn't it, they might crash or miss the drop-zone otherwise.' He looked skywards, his eyes squinting with the brightness of the sun. 'If the weather holds, tonight could be ideal for them.'
Abigail eyed him carefully. 'What exactly are you suggesting, Ross?'
Her cousin smiled and rose to his feet. 'Tonight we'll hide in the forest and watch out for the plane!'
At first Abigail was about to object but instead she climbed to her feet, thought how dismissive the policeman had been, spat on the palm of her hand and banged it against the upraised palm of Ross's.
'Too right we will!' she said. 'Too right!'
'And me!' exclaimed Imogen. 'Don't forget me!'
3
That evening the sky was disappointingly cloudy and as Ross scratched at yet another lump, caused by the myriad number of midges and other flying insects that dwelt at the lake edge, Imogen yawned with boredom.
'I think it's time we went home now,' she said. 'It's far too dark, we're all being bitten stupid and I'm tired.'
Abigail nodded her head. 'You're right, Abi.' She turned to the still scratching Ross. 'We're going now.'
Ross frowned. 'Just give it another five minutes, Abigail; five minutes, that all!'
'You said that half an hour ago. Look,' she held up her watch and pressed the illumination button, 'it's now a quarter past two, very cloudy and they're not coming!'
'It's beginning to clear over there,' he replied, pointing towards a gap in the clouds. 'It's also quite windy, in a few minutes they may come.'
'Well I'm going anyway,' said Imogen, climbing stiffly to her feet. You can stay here if you want to but I'm tired, cold and I want my bed!'
With head downcast, Ross dutifully followed his two cousins away from the shoreline of the lake and together they began the long climb up the fell-side that would take them back to their holiday cottage. They had been climbing for some ten minutes when they heard the droning sound. As one they all stopped to listen and it was as one they all realised the noise was that of a propeller driven aircraft, an aircraft that was coming speedily towards them.
It was much brighter now; as Ross had forecast the clouds were quickly receding and the newly exposed three-quarter moon gave them all the light they needed to find their way comfortably. 'Quickly,' said Ross, 'into the bushes – hide!'
'Hide!' objected Abigail. 'What on earth for, you don't seriously think the pilot will be able to see us – do you?'
'He might not,' he agreed, 'but those men on the far side of the lake, the ones holding torches may!'
Both the girls looked in the direction of Ross's finger; sure enough, three, bright, swiftly moving torches could now be seen where only moments before had been the blackness of the forest night. Quickly they scurried under the nearest bush, as they did so the aircraft flew low and over the top of them, towards the moon-silvered lake and the mysterious men with the torches. Twice the aircraft circled until the pilot, presumably satisfied at last with the signals from the ground, made one final, low-level run over the glittering water beneath him. From their place of concealment, a good two hundred feet up the fell-side, the children watched as a package was released from the side door of the twin-engined aircraft. It was in the air for no more than a few seconds before entering the lake with an, apparently, noiseless, splash.