Jack Ford: The Killing Grounds: an explosive and gripping thriller for fans of James Patterson

And the noise of the thick canvas sail, thunderous as it snapped through the air.

The boom swung across the decks. Shaking violently. Threatening to come lose from her tacks. And with the wind becoming increasingly stronger, harder to defeat, Jackson yelled frantically. ‘Coop! I can’t hold her! Coop! Please!’

Cooper hurried to help. But as he did the crosswind caught under the mainsail. Filling it out and causing the boom to swing back at speed across the deck towards Jackson.

‘Look out!’

The rapidity of the vessel’s boom hurtling sideways made it impossible for Jackson to get out of the way.

It hit him hard.

Split open his forehead from the bridge of his nose to the base of his hairline.

A large skin flap exposed an inch-wide wound as a fountain of blood first patterned then soaked his top. Pooling down onto the deck. He jerked backwards. His body going into seizure. Caused him to slump hard into Ellie as his legs gave way. Sending her staggering back towards the rails.

‘No! ...’

Cooper’s cry stretched further than his reach. His fingertips only managing to brush Ellie’s hands. Too far to catch her but not too far to miss the terror, the panic, frozen in her eyes as she mouthed his name. Screaming out for him to help as she buckled under Jackson’s weight. Losing balance as both she and Jackson plunged overboard.

Racing over the chain rigging, steadying himself as the yacht bobbed fiercely up and down, Cooper grabbed the lifebuoy. Stole a quick glimpse round.

The wind had begun to blow the sails straight on. Denying them any lift. Leaving them to flutter passively like flags at half-mast. And he knew the combination of the dying sails and the boom crashing freely from side to side would stall the vessel to an eventual stop, allowing him to attempt to rescue Jackson and Ellie without fear of the yacht drifting away.

Dashing over to the rails, Cooper leant over.

Ellie had always teased him about the concern he’d shown over her not being able to swim, but she was now floundering and struggling and battling and terrified as the force of the ocean pounded her into the side of the yacht, her hands sliding down the fiberglass side as she desperately scrabbled for some kind of hold.

With water rushing over her face and into her mouth, Ellie’s words were punctuated with the sounds of wild gasping.

‘Help… me… Tom…! Tom…! Help… me… please…’

Throwing the buoy to her, Cooper’s eyes once again darted along the surface of the ocean. But this time he was looking for Jackson. ‘Ellie, hang on to that…Whatever you do, keep hold of it.’

‘Pull me up!’

‘I have to get Jackson… just hold on.’

‘Tom…! No, wait! ...’

He turned away and Ellie continued to scream his name. The draw for him to look back was hypnotic. But he couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Wouldn’t. In truth, he didn’t dare. His composure was already beginning to crack. Peeling away. Exposing his vulnerability which he knew would serve only to distract. Costing time. Costing lives.

There… He could see Jackson to the left of the boat. Unconscious. Floating face down.

And without a breath of hesitation, Thomas J. Cooper dived in.

‘I’m here… It’s okay, I’m here… Stay with me Jackson, stay with me!’

Treading water, Cooper turned Jackson over carefully. Real slowly. And the sea turned red with blood.

‘Jackson…! Jackson!’

There was no response, but that didn’t surprise Cooper. He could see the injuries to Jackson’s head were worse than he’d initially thought. The gash so deep he could see skull. His eyes so swollen, if he’d been conscious, Cooper doubted Jackson would’ve been able to open them anyway. But at least he was alive. Barely. But alive all the same, and whatever happened, he was determined to keep it that way.

Using an extended arm tow with his hand under Jackson’s chin, Cooper swam, heading for the yacht’s ladder. He could hear Ellie still screaming. Screaming strong. But that was good. Real good. It told him what he wanted to know… She was still there.

Unexpected swells of rolling waves suddenly carried Cooper and Jackson sideward. And the sound of roaring and chugging and racing engines and a glance to his left confirmed his fears. Old battered white skiffs. And in them, Somalian pirates. Heavily armed and sporting t-shirts bearing American logos and wearing Bedouin scarfs showing only their eyes.

They hadn’t seen him. Though he knew it was only a matter of time. His only chance, however slim, was to get to the stern box on the other side of the yacht which held his gun. In desperation, Cooper dived under the water, dragging an unconscious Jackson with him.

Under the surface the sounds were distorted. The vision blurred, made harder from the dark billowing clouds of Jackson’s blood. And Cooper counted down, calculating how long it’d be safe to keep an unconscious Jackson under water.

Four seconds.

Three.

Two.

Re-surfacing, and hoping he was near enough to the yacht, Cooper was met by an onslaught of bullets and a firing of guns and a fusion of sounds and a discord of chaos and Cooper’s breathing was hard and his chest was tight and his energy was slowly draining away.

Chopping waves and whirling blades hovering above sent a downdraft of stinging ocean spray. And to the soundtrack of machine guns and through a gusting wind, Cooper squinted up.

And there in the sun drenched sky, reflecting light like armored angels waging war with dragons, were two US Navy helicopters.

As the skiffs turned and retreated the aerial rescue basket was lowered into the water and Cooper kissed Jackson on the side of his head. He whispered, ‘It’s goin’ to be alright. You hear me, Jackson? It’s going to be alright.’

*

‘Lieutenant, we’re going to take you both back to the ship,’ the US navy officer shouted above the blare of the rotating blades as the air crewmen hoisted Jackson and Cooper into the Seahawk helicopter.

And with the helicopter beginning to rise and veer away from the yacht, Cooper shook his head. Gesturing desperately to the crewmen as he watched them tend to an unconscious Jackson.

‘Lower me back down… Now!’

‘Sorry sir, we have orders to get you straight back to the ship.’

Cooper’s voice was barely heard but he had no doubt his face conveyed the lost sound of anger. ‘I don’t give a damn about orders, Officer. Just lower me the hell down. There’s one other civilian still in the water.’

‘Sir, the other helicopter will have it covered. I’m sorry sir, there’s nothing I can do.’

*

‘Where’s Ellie? Answer me, Officer, when I’m talking to you.’

Struggling to hold down his sense of panic, Cooper stood on the landing pad of the USS Abraham Lincoln , as the air crewmen from the second Seahawk helicopter made their way from the chopper.

His panic. His fear. Emotions which held familiar echoes of his childhood. Feelings he’d refused to allow to penetrate as an adult began to engulf him. Overwhelm him.

‘You heard me, Daniels, where’s Ellie?’

The tall. Sinewy. Bald-headed seaman who Cooper could see was now regretting being first out of the helicopter, paled. Muttering the fewest of words.

‘I’m… I’m sorry, Lieutenant.’

The mix of bewilderment and shock and disbelief and confusion acted as a catalyst for Cooper’s anger. He lunged at the new recruit. Grabbed him by his oversized flight suit and shook the hell out of him.

‘What are you talking about? Answer the goddamn question!’

Daniels looked behind him, hoping his colleagues would come to help – not to his physical rescue, but to his verbal one. ‘I… I am, sir… I did.’