The Break Line by James Brabazon

Author:James Brabazon [Brabazon, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9780440001478
Google: KQaCDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B07CL8Y4SC
Barnesnoble: B07CL8Y4SC
Goodreads: 40000145
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2018-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

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EIGHTEEN FIFTY. I overflew the killing ground outside Kabala. Nothing moved. It was time to go off the edge myself. I spiraled up above prying eyes to fourteen thousand feet and adjusted the flight path to northeast. I set the airspeed to eighty knots. Cabin temperature dropped. The air thinned, but at that altitude I didn’t need oxygen. I shuffled over into the copilot’s seat and slid it back to give myself room. The SIG was holstered on my thigh. I strapped the day bag to my chest. The rifle bag was fastened underneath it, crossways. Then I put on the parachute, a skydiver’s sport rig from Ezra, over the old jumpsuit he’d thrown into the deal. I lashed the GPS tight to the inside of my left forearm and switched it on. Musala passed beneath the winking red of the port wing tip, clinging to the southern bank of the Mong River.

I double-checked the autopilot. Judging by the amount of fuel left, she’d come down in deep bush over the border in Guinea, somewhere to the west of Marela. I unlatched the passenger door and pulled the D ring. The door came away with a powerful blast of freezing-cold air. Pressure imbalance rocked the little Cessna momentarily, but the autopilot held her, and she settled down.

Nineteen fifteen. I stepped out onto the wheel strut and held the aft edge of the open door. Somewhere below in the last glimmer of daylight, Karabunda passed to the west. I dropped and released. The silk carried me silently above the savannah. Ten thousand feet. The Cessna carried on, wing tips blinking into the distance, vanishing into the last dregs of the day. Five thousand feet. I watched for movement, half expecting the hills to spit out bright arcs of tracer. But none came, and the GPS brought me straight over the drop zone. One thousand feet. What I lost in the visibility of a long descent, I gained in accuracy and silence. But if the drop zone was hot, I’d be dead before I landed.

Five hundred feet. The horizon suddenly rose fast, and the rank-smelling hot hum of the woodland floor rushed up to meet me. I pulled hard right over a dark patch between the trees as the last of the day bled out of the sky. I squinted hard into the gloom and saw nothing, no one.

And then my boots hit the ground.

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