Below Zero

13 NOVEMBER ISLAND, INDIAN OCEAN ^{10 HOURS AGO}

The Sikorsky MH-60S Seahawk helicopter came in low across the foam-crested waves. Reaching the coastline of November Island, it thundered over the narrow stretch of white sandy beach, and skimmed the jungle canopy as it headed inland.

To anybody who noticed it, November Island was unremarkable. It was charted only on the most detailed maps, and any keen-eyed kid with a love of scrutinizing Google Earth images wouldn’t bother to take more than a second glance at it. Even to the most experienced analyst, it was nothing more than one of the many beautiful spots of sand and jungle that lay in the warm waters of the Indian Ocean.

The unassuming spit of teardrop-shaped land was only one and a half kilometres long from end to end, and one kilometre across its widest point. It would take the average person no more than an hour to stroll around it. However, very few ‘average’ people visited the island, because if they did, there was a strong chance they would be dead in less time than it would take for them to walk those beautiful beaches.

November Island could only be reached by boat or helicopter, but both were restricted. Every centimetre of the emerald jungle, and the idyllic beach surrounding it, was monitored for intruders. Any boat that approached, perhaps carrying adventurous tourists hoping to discover a deserted island, would be met by a security patrol and turned away with a polite word. Those who ignored the polite word would either disappear without trace, or would be found far out at sea, victim to an unfortunate boating accident.

Inside the Seahawk helicopter, Larisa Lazarovich sat with her carefully selected team of operatives. She flicked through images and files on a tablet computer, double-checking the details Phoenix had sent her several hours ago. Lazarovich was a highly-skilled soldier, and her mission success rate was one hundred per cent. Only one of The Broker’s operatives – a man named Thorn – could beat her record of twenty-eight successful missions. This was to be Lazarovich’s twenty-ninth mission, and she did not intend to fail. The Broker did not like failure, and nor did Lazarovich.

During her first mission for The Broker, when she was twenty-one years old, Lazarovich had led a team into the Amazon jungle to recover valuable documents from a crashed plane. Only one of the team had objected to having a young woman as his leader, so Lazarovich made an example of him. She challenged him to a knife fight, during which she cut him badly, then left him to die. Now his bones were picked clean and scattered across the jungle.

No one ever again questioned her ability to lead a successful mission.

As soon as she detected the helicopter slowing down, Lazarovich pocketed the computer, unclipped her safety harness and stood up. The other operatives followed suit, two of them moving to the side doors and pulling them open.

The pilot said one word. ‘Clear.’

Immediately, the operatives dropped two coiled ropes from each side of the aircraft, and rappelled to the grass below. The instant their boots touched the ground, they sprinted across the clearing and disappeared into a large concrete hangar concealed on all sides by thick jungle. The hangar’s roof was camouflaged from the air by a photo-realistic mesh of images blending seamlessly into the trees. Even from the helicopter, close as it was, the hangar was invisible.

Lazarovich was the last to leave the aircraft, and when she had landed safely, the ropes withdrew into the helicopter, the doors slid shut, and the Seahawk turned and headed away from the island at top speed.

Inside the hangar, the operatives hustled over to the two prototype Osprey aircraft waiting with their pilots already prepared for take-off. On the floor, between the seats in the passenger cabin of each of aircraft, sets of kit were laid out in preparation for the team’s arrival. Thermal clothing, Arctic camouflage, combat helmets, snow boots, webbing and state-of-the-art HK 416 A5 Heckler & Koch Carbines. As requested, Lazarovich’s kit also included a XM25 grenade launcher – ‘in case of emergencies’.

As soon as all the operatives were on board, Lazarovich spoke into her headset.

‘Team is green.’

On that order, Land Rovers towed the aircraft out into the clearing and the engines started up. With tremendous noise, the Ospreys rose vertically from the jungle floor, pausing when they were several metres above the canopy of trees. They hovered as they rotated to face south, then the engines tipped forward and they flew out across the sea.

From the moment the Seahawk had arrived, to the moment the Ospreys were out of sight, less than five minutes had passed. A brief disturbance of noise and activity before November Island returned to being an uninhabited spit of land.

Lazarovich and her operatives weren’t even ghosts. It was as if they had never been there at all.