Flash Flood Read online

  Flash Flood

  CHRIS RYAN

  Contents

  Cover

  Title

  Copyright

  Also by Chris Ryan

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chris Alpha Force Ryan

  Somewhere in the Indonesian Archipelag

  About the Author

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Version 1.0

  Epub ISBN 9781409098225

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  FLASH FLOOD

  A RED FOX BOOK 978 0 099 48863 7

  First published in Great Britain by Red Fox,

  an imprint of Random House Children’s Books

  This edition published 2006

  9 10

  Copyright © Chris Ryan, 2006

  The right of Chris Ryan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  The Random House Group Limited supports The Forest Stewardship Council (FSC), the leading international forest certification organisation. All our titles that are printed on Greenpeace approved FSC certified paper carry the FSC logo. Our paper procurement policy can be found at: www.rbooks.co.uk/environment.

  Set in Sabon

  Red Fox Books are published by Random House Children’s Books, 61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA, A Random House Group Company

  Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

  THE RANDOM HOUSE GROUP Limited Reg. No. 954009

  www.kidsatrandomhouse.co.uk

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Cox & Wyman, Reading, RG1 8EX

  I

  n moments the water had covered the square of green grass in front of the entrance to the ArBonCo Centre. It crept over the road, choking an excavator so that it stalled with its arm poised in the air like a yellow claw. It gushed down the steps of the ArBonCo Centre and filled the sunken stepped area in front of the glass doors like a swimming pool.

  On Ben’s headphones the music continued. The radio station seemed unaware of the catastrophe. He took the phones out of his ears.

  The noise from outside was deafening. There was a loud roar like an earthquake as the water slammed into the sides of buildings. Very faintly Ben could hear other noises too; the faintest of sounds that he thought might be screams.

  Looking across the river, he saw that, over on the north bank, the road was invisible. The river was twice as wide as it had been, bordered now by the rows of buildings opposite. And still the water continued to rise …

  www.kidsatrandomhouse.co.uk

  Also by Chris Ryan:

  The Alpha Force Series

  SURVIVAL

  RAT-CATCHER

  DESERT PURSUIT

  HOSTAGE

  RED CENTRE

  HUNTED

  BLOOD MONEY

  FAULT LINE

  BLACK GOLD

  UNTOUCHABLE

  Coming soon:

  A second Code Red Adventure

  WILDFIRE

  Location: London

  ‘I know you’re probably sick of environmentalists like me banging on about global warming. The sea level rising and all that rubbish. But think of it this way. You know the Thames Barrier? You know that without it a lot of central London would be under water? Well, in twenty-five years’ time, if you don’t build a much bigger Thames Barrier, London will be under water anyway. That’s what rising sea levels mean.

  ‘Twenty-five years; it’s not long, is it? Or, if you’re really unlucky with the weather, it could be twenty-five minutes.’

  Dr Bel Kelland, environmentalist,

  News Focus, August 2006

  Chapter One

  ‘This is crap, this train,’ said the youth with the pierced eyebrow, and kicked the door next to his seat. It was one of the old-type trains with doors that slam shut, and when he kicked it the window rattled.

  A woman sitting on the end of the row with a leather holdall on her knee jumped at the sound and looked annoyed. The youth’s two friends, both wearing hoodies and a variety of face piercings, saw her reaction and snorted with laughter. They were about sixteen, they were bored, and they were determined to make everyone else suffer too.

  Like everyone else in the carriage, Ben and Rachel tried to ignore them. The train journey was unpleasant enough as it was. Ever since they had got on at their home town of Macclesfield in Cheshire it had been stop-start all the way. Now it was stop. Heavy rain had caused flooding and signal failures. The carriage smelled of wet raincoats and damp seats; the floor was wet from dripping umbrellas. Some people were wearing wellington boots. You could hardly believe it was the first week of August.

  Everyone was fed up, wondering when the train was going to move again. Ben Tracey – dark blond hair, thoughtful face, thirteen years old but looked older – was going to London to spend the day with his mother. His parents were separated and he didn’t get to see his mother very often because she travelled a lot. Twenty-two-year-old Rachel, his next-door neighbour, was fully made up and dressed much more smartly than Ben. She was accompanying him as far as Milton Keynes, where she had a job interview. She’d already had to phone to tell them she’d be late. Everyone in the carriage was sitting and gritting their teeth, or looking out at the relentless rain, which lashed the windows like a storm at sea.

  ‘I said this train’s crap,’ said Pierced Eyebrow, and kicked the door again. This time he kicked harder and the window slipped down in the frame. Water dribbled in through the gap and down the window, leaving streaks in the black grime and pooling on the dirty floor.

  His two friends laughed. ‘Hey, man, you’ve broken it.’ One of them scratched his nose, making the piercing he’d got there jiggle up and down. He noticed the woman with the holdall looking at it distastefully. He stuck his finger into the nostril and waggled the stud from inside like someone making a teddy bear wave. ‘Hey, Grandma, do you li
ke my piercing?’

  She looked pointedly the other way, out of the window.

  Pierced Eyebrow fished in his pocket. He brought out a marker pen and wrote an unreadable signature in big letters on the glass, then sat back grinning.

  Through the open window they could hear the sound of a train approaching. Pierced Nose got up, stuck his head out and yelled at the train.

  ‘Any chance of a lift, mate?’ His last word was swallowed up by the thunder of the train approaching. Pierced Eyebrow and his companion, who had a septic-looking piercing through his top lip, grabbed Nose’s Abercrombie hoodie and yanked him back in.

  The train bowled past close to the windows; the clearance couldn’t have been more than half a metre.

  The three youths looked shaken for a moment, then started to laugh. Pierced Nose shook the rain out of his hair. ‘Hey, man, that was cool – you gotta try it.’

  Septic Lip stood up and stuck his head out of the window. ‘There’s another one coming. Watch this.’ He pushed the window all the way down and leaned his whole upper body out, waving with both arms while the train drummed closer. ‘Woo-hoo!’ he called.

  Now everyone in the carriage was staring at them. This train was going a lot faster; it was an inter-city. They could feel it shaking the floor of the carriage. Its horn blared.

  ‘Woo-hoo!’ called Septic Lip, his arms waving wildly out of the window. Nose and Eyebrow grabbed the back of his jeans and pulled him in. The train passed in a blur of blue and white. The shock wave shook the stationary carriage from side to side.

  The youths were laughing. Septic clutched at Eyebrow’s sweatshirt and pushed him towards the window. ‘Come on, man: your turn.’

  Eyebrow wasn’t going to stick his head out without the audience’s attention. He looked around at the rest of the passengers to see how well the show was going down. Ben thought he looked as if he expected some kind of praise for being so brave.

  Pierced Nose noticed Ben’s expression. ‘What are you looking at?’

  Rachel had been looking too. She looked away immediately the youth started talking to them. But Ben held his gaze. ‘Be careful,’ he said.

  Now the other people in the carriage were looking at Ben.

  ‘Go back to reading Harry Potter,’ said Eyebrow. He turned away and looked out of the window, planning when he’d stick his head through. When he glanced back, Ben was still looking at him.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Well, it’s just that I had this friend …’ Ben said. ‘But go ahead, it’s your life.’ He turned back to the novel he’d been reading.

  Pierced Eyebrow couldn’t stand losing his audience’s attention. That wasn’t meant to happen. Especially as that audience was now paying more attention to Ben than to him. He walked over to Ben. ‘Yeah? And what are you saying?’

  Ben put his bookmark carefully back in his book before looking up at Pierced Eyebrow. ‘He was a good friend too. I’d known him for years.’

  ‘That’s lovely,’ said Eyebrow. ‘Very touching.’

  Ben nodded, as though considering the matter, but said nothing. He opened his book again to resume reading.

  Eyebrow looked irritated. ‘And … ? Your point is … ?’

  Ben gave a sigh and carefully replaced his bookmark. He definitely had Eyebrow’s attention now: he could take all the time he wanted.

  ‘It was very sad. He got on a train – one of the old ones with windows like this. He’d had a burger at a stall in the station – you know how they can be a bit dodgy. Well, he started feeling sick, which serves him right really for eating such rubbish.’ Ben paused again.

  ‘Come on, I haven’t got all day,’ said Eyebrow, but Ben wasn’t to be hurried.

  ‘There was a woman sitting next to him,’ said Ben, ‘and my friend thought, I’m going to be sick, what shall I do? I can’t be sick on her. But he couldn’t stop it, so he put his head out of the window.’

  Septic and Nose looked at Ben as if they suspected the story was about to turn into a joke and make them look foolish. But they couldn’t help but listen.

  ‘And then what?’ said Eyebrow testily.

  ‘A train came the other way and took the top of his head off. Like an egg.’ Ben mimed it, one hand slicing over the top of the other.

  For a split second the look on the youths’ faces was shocked. Then they covered it up with bluster.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ sneered Nose. Eyebrow glanced towards the window as though he was still going to take his turn playing chicken with the next express, but Ben noticed he didn’t put his head out again.

  Ben opened his book and scanned the pages, as if taking time to look for the bit he’d been reading. ‘But you go ahead. Carry on doing what you’re doing.’

  Rachel got a magazine out of her bag and held it up in front of her face to stop herself laughing. She could see the dilemma clearly. The youths were shaken, but they didn’t want to show it or they would look stupid. But they certainly no longer felt like sticking their heads out of the window. Eyebrow and Nose fidgeted, and Septic had put up his sopping wet hood and was trying to use it to dry off his short spiky hair. With just a well-chosen story, thirteen-year-old Ben had completely disarmed them.

  She couldn’t help but admire him. If she’d been there on her own she’d have sat there quietly and hoped the lads would disappear; she’d never have had the guts to say anything. But then, Ben’s mother was the environmental campaigner Dr Bel Kelland, and often appeared live on television and had arguments with world leaders and the chairmen of big corporations. Maybe that’s where he got his confidence. He certainly didn’t get it from his father, Russell Tracey, who was a brilliant scientist but rather shy.

  ‘Man, it’s boring in here,’ said Pierced Eyebrow. ‘Let’s go and find somewhere more interesting.’ He swaggered up to the doors leading to the next carriage and pushed through. The others followed him.

  Rachel put down her magazine. ‘That was an interesting story. Who was the friend?’

  ‘My cousin Jack,’ said Ben. ‘And he wasn’t that polite. He threw up over the woman.’

  Rachel laughed. ‘Is that how your mother deals with troublesome people?’ She was rather in awe of Ben’s mother, and fascinated. Bel travelled the world, making her mark. When the tsunami struck South East Asia in 2004 she was filmed in the devastated villages, warning politicians and the public alike that this was the kind of thing that happened when you didn’t look after your planet. With her slight figure, straight red hair and trademark crumpled safari shirt, she was instantly recognizable. No wonder she had outgrown an insignificant town in the north-west like Macclesfield.

  ‘No,’ said Ben. ‘My mother would have waded in and had a fight. It would be very embarrassing.’

  ‘Your dad’s not like that at all.’

  ‘Yeah. If Dad had been here too he’d have sat in the corner and fumed in silence.’

  ‘How did they ever get together?’

  ‘Beats me.’

  The train began to move again, slowly, painfully. The guard spoke over the tannoy. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are now on the move again. We’re running forty-five minutes late. But just to cheer you up, the weather in London isn’t any better than the weather here.’

  Around the carriage, people sighed, looked at their watches and flipped open their phones. They were thoroughly fed up with all this rain.

  Chapter Two

  The groundsman at Lord’s Cricket Ground in northwest London looked miserably into the grey sky. The rain pounded on his umbrella as if it was a drum; the water ran off the edges like a cascade. Most of the summer had been like this. The Wimbledon tennis championships had dragged out to four weeks instead of two, in order to get enough dry days to play all the matches. If the weather didn’t improve, it looked as though the summer’s cricket might never start at all.

  He put the collar of his Barbour up and stepped onto the pitch. The grass was so soggy, his feet sank in; it was like standing on a wet sponge. Ev
en if the rain stopped, it would be a good few days before play was possible. But there was no let-up forecast.

  The drumming on the top of his umbrella became louder, as though the clouds had detected his thoughts and were offended by them. Thunder rumbled out of the glowering sky. Now a storm was coming too.

  He decided there was no point in staying. There wasn’t any work he could do today. He squelched off the grass, grateful when his feet met the solid tarmac of the car park. The rain was so hard it was hopping off the asphalt like jumping beans.

  The groundsman opened the door of his car, pulled his Barbour off and bundled it, dripping, into the passenger seat, then scrambled in.

  He couldn’t see through the windscreen. The rain was so hard it blurred it as though the glass was melting. He started the engine and put the wipers on. Even on extra fast they struggled to create a clear space he could see through. He edged along the drive and pulled out into St John’s Wood Road.

  The engine stalled, which it often did. His car didn’t like wet weather. As he pulled the handbrake on and turned the ignition key again, he caught a glimpse of looming headlights behind. There was a wail of a horn and a screech of tyres. A big silver saloon, travelling too fast, aquaplaned on the road and hit his rear bumper with a dull crunch.

  For a few nanoseconds he got a clear view through the rear window of the driver of the car getting wearily out, then the rain blurred the glass again.

  Great. Just what he needed.

  Ensign Henrik peered through the windscreen on the bridge of the ship. The wipers could barely keep up with the volume of water streaming down the glass.

  Outside was the grey choppy surface of the river Thames. It blended into the brooding grey of the sky. From time to time he could see the lights of boats in the distance, pinpricks of red bobbing up and down on the choppy waters.

  ‘You’re doing fine,’ said a voice behind him. The captain leaned back in his chair and took a drag on his cigarette. ‘Just keep her steady. Remember you’ve got a full load.’