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  Savage Bay

  A Novel by Christopher Forrest

  Copyright © 2012, Christopher Forrest

  Published 2012 by Christopher Forrest

  Layout by Cheryl Perez; www.yourepublished.com

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  Dedication

  For my father, James E. Forrest

  April 6 1942, February 12, 2010

  Thank you, Dad, for my life.

  About the Author

  CHRISTOPHER FORREST has lived on a sailboat, explored Mayan ruins in the jungles of Central America, been struck by lightning, free-dived the barrier reefs off the coast of Belize, and solo-hiked through the Everglades.

  He is the internationally published author of THE GENESIS CODE, SAVAGE BAY, BONES OF ANGELS, and TEMPLE OF FIRE. Hard at work on his next novel, FORREST lives in Sarasota, Florida.

  PROLOGUE

  Three kilometers south of Ibiza, Spain, lies the rock island of Es Vedra. Dominated by a central ridge that juts out of the sea and rises more than four hundred meters in height, the mysterious isle is shrouded in legend.

  Some claim that Es Vedra is the island of the sirens described in Homer’s Odyssey and Iliad. It has been rumored to be the tip of the sunken civilization of Atlantis. Others believe that Es Vedra is the birthplace of Hannibal the Conqueror.

  But some facts about Es Vedra are undisputed.

  Concentrations of metals in the island’s rock formations create an extremely powerful magnetic field, making Es Vedra one of the strongest magnetic spots on the Earth. In close proximity to the island, compasses no longer point due north, and electronic equipment can behave erratically.

  Curious tourists quickly discover that no maps of the island are available, and no charter captains will venture within a kilometer of its shores. Sheer cliffs and hidden shoals render travel to the island nearly impossible.

  The real mysteries of Es Vedra remain hidden in a sheltered cove on the south side of island.

  An ancient secret.

  Forbidden knowledge.

  And a staggering discovery that will forever change the course of human civilization.

  These are the true mysteries of Es Vedra Island: the dark secrets that lie hidden beneath the angry waters of Savage Bay.

  Chapter 1

  SAVAGE BAY, ES VEDRA ISLAND

  THREE KILOMETERS OFF THE SOUTHERN COAST OF SPAIN

  Michael Hawke fell from the sky, eleven thousand meters above Es Vedra Island off the southeastern coast of Spain. The thin air screamed around his body as he plummeted toward Earth at terminal velocity, 193 kilometers per hour. Vicious crosswinds tore at his clothing. In the darkness below, flashes of lightning illuminated a vast thunderhead. Roiling, dark clouds blocked his view of the sea.

  So beautiful.

  He clenched his fists and tried to slow his rapid breathing. His heart thumped in his chest. A surge of adrenaline coursed through his body. He cast one last look toward the sky above and said a short prayer to the Virgin Mary.

  Four others in high-altitude jump gear joined him in free-fall. Commander of the elite special-ops unit know as Titan Six, Michael Hawke was known to his team members by his call sign: Hawkeye.

  Ninety seconds earlier, Titan Six had jumped from an unmarked plane that flew far above any radar defenses below, undetected. Each wore a battle dress uniform, full body armor, and a sophisticated tactical helmet with a heads-up computer display projected inside the helmet’s visor.

  Hawkeye checked their GPS coordinates.

  Right on course.

  Far above, a C-17 Globemaster III transport aircraft disappeared into the moonless night. Over the communications system built into their helmets, the member of Titan Six heard the voice of the C-17’s pilot.

  “Good luck,” he said, “and happy hunting.”

  ALTITUDE: 7,423 METERS

  Nighttime HALO jumps — High Altitude, Low Opening — are always dangerous, even under the best of circumstances. The combination of high downward speed and forward air speed serves to defeat radar detection, ensuring a stealthy insertion for combat parachute jumps. But HALO jumpers also risk potentially deadly hypoxia, decompression sickness, and subzero temperatures.

  Hawkeye flexed his fingers. They were growing numb.

  Not a good sign when you have to pull a ripcord while falling at terminal velocity.

  Can’t be the cold, thought Hawkeye. He wore a polypropylene jump suit that protected his body from extreme temperatures.

  An urgent chime sounded in his ear.

  Hawkeye’s tactical computer was alerting him to a potential problem. One chime meant that Titan Six was veering off course from their designated drop zone. A quick re-check of his GPS display confirmed that the jump team was being swept east by heavy crosswinds.

  Hawkeye looked down. A thick cloud barrier blocked his view of the ground and sea below.

  “Power up your gliders,” he said into the microphone built into his helmet. Hawkeye’s voice was broadcast over a secure COM channel to the other members of Titan Six. Each operative on the team wore a carbon fiber glider called the Gryphon. With a wing-span of less than two meters, the Gryphon stealth glider provided its wearers with greater maneuverability and speed.

  “Compensate for westerly crosswinds,” said Hawkeye over the COM. His speech felt heavy and slurred.

  In unison, the jumpers spun their bodies vertically, pointed their heads almost straight down, and activated the microjets on their Gryphon gliders.

  Seconds later, the chime sounded again in Hawkeye’s ear, signaling the success of their course correction. Titan Six would be on the ground at Savage Bay just after midnight.

  Perspiration began to cloud the visor in Hawkeye’s helmet. Something was very wrong. Hawkeye hit the cloud barrier of dark thunderheads, and his vision went dark.

  He was now flying blind.

  ALTITUDE: 5,217 METERS

  After nearly four minutes, Titan Six burst through the cloud layer into the open night air. Ragged lightning bolts flashed and disappeared. Behind the visor of his tactical helmet, Hawkeye’s pale blue eyes surveyed the view below.

  The lights of Ibiza and coastal towns of the Spanish mainland dotted the landmasses below. Savage Bay and the island of Es Vedra Island were dark. The graphic display projected onto Hawkeye’s helmet visor identified Es Vedra with a red line circling its dim contours. A bright red square indicated the location of their designated drop zone.

  The winds were stronger here, below the mass of thunderclouds. Hawkeye made a quick visual scan of his team. All were highly trained and had extensive combat experience. Some had served with Hawkeye in Force Recon, the special forces unit of the U.S. Marine Corp. Others were from elite military units of other countries, including Japan and Britain. All were now employed by the world’s largest private military and intelligence contractor: Titan Global.

  Dressed in identical tactical gear, the members of Titan Six were nearly indistinguishable from each other, with one exception. Hawkeye’s younger brother, call sign Tank, was visibly much bigger than anyone else on the team. A giant of a man, Tank was Hawkeye’s second-in-command and best friend.

  Hawkeye’s head throbbed behind his temples. He took a few experimental deep breaths. His chest was tight and his breathing labored.

  Not good.

  Far below, the seas churned and waves pounded the rocky coastline
of Es Vedra. Hawkeye felt light-headed, and was forced to consider the worst case scenario. Aboard their transport aircraft, the five members of Titan Six had undergone a forty-five minute pre-breathing period, inhaling 100% oxygen to flush the nitrogen from their bloodstreams. Just before the jump, they switched to the oxygen supply in their suits. If the switch-over had not been done perfectly, nitrogen could return to the bloodstream.

  Hypoxia or decompression sickness. Either way I’m dead.

  “Tank,” Hawkeye barked into his helmet mic. “I’m in trouble. Bravo Foxtrot.”

  The military slang conveyed Hawkeye’s grim situation to Tank and the team, placing the blame squarely on himself for his misfortune.

  “Status?” asked Tank.

  “Faint, labored breathing and a headache,” Hawkeye replied. “And my mind is foggy. Having a hard time keeping focus.”

  “Hang in there, Chief.”

  Hawkeye took another look at the island of Es Vedra rushing up from below. It’s rocky ridges and capricious coastline concealed the secret hidden beneath the uninhabited island. Then his vision tunneled, and the world went black.

  ALTITUDE: 3,217 METERS

  “Everyone to the drop zone,” said Tank, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ve got Hawkeye.”

  Tank powered down his glider and popped the release to separate the wing from his harness. Pulling his arms tight to his sides, Tank shot through the air toward his brother.

  The other team members dove toward the designated landing site, each glancing back to catch glimpses of the harrowing scene.

  Tank slammed into Hawkeye’s limp body, wrapping his arms around his brother in free fall. The glider’s wings ripped away from Hawkeye’s harness as Tank hammered at the release clips, freeing him from the Gryphon.

  With tremendous strength and sheer force of will, Tank held Hawkeye to his chest, intent on locking him in place by clipping their harnesses together in a tandem jump configuration.

  A burst of wind snapped Hawkeye’s head back, slamming the back of his helmet into Tank’s visor.

  Momentarily stunned, Tank lost his grip on his brother. Hawkeye’s body spun away, falling, spinning, and twisting out of Tank’s reach.

  ALTITUDE: 1,973 METERS

  “Tank!” yelled a voice over the COM.

  It was Shooter, Titan Six’s sniper and the only female operative in the squad.

  “Tank!” repeated Shooter frantically.

  Tank shook his head, trying to dissipate the fog in his head. He tasted blood in his mouth. Then his mind cleared, and Tank watched helplessly as Hawkeye tumbled head-over-feet far from his reach. Without his Gryphon glider, Tank couldn’t generate the horizontal velocity necessary to reach Hawkeye.

  “Shooter is in,” Tank said, signaling clearance for Shooter to take over the rescue effort.

  “Shooter in,” she confirmed.

  Shooter activated the jets on her stealth glider, sliding laterally through the air. Hawkeye was spinning on a vertical axis, his feet coming up clockwise over his head in a tight circle.

  Shooter carefully timed her movements, then rushed forward to grab Hawkeye’s feet as they spun up towards her. Her thick gloves did little to cushion the blow as she grabbed the ankles of Hawkeye’s tactical boots. Hawkeye’s armored shins smacked into Shooter’s open hands.

  “Got him!”

  Shooter’s arms strained against the sheering forces of air currents trying to tear Hawkeye from her grip.

  I’m not going to be strong enough, she realized.

  “Coming to you, Tank,” Shooter said into her helmet mic.

  Shooter tightened her grip on Hawkeye’s boots, shifted her center of gravity, and the Gryphon’s microjets pushed her across the void toward Tank.

  ALTITUDE: 1,111 METERS

  Shooter and Hawkeye careened into Tank. The force of the impact sent the trio sliding violently away from the rest of the team. A chime sounded urgently in their ears.

  Tank grabbed Hawkeye’s harness with his left hand. With his right, he tried to force a carabiner on Hawkeye’s harness over one on his own. On his third attempt, there was a satisfying click as it locked into place.

  “Got it!” said Tank over the COM channel.

  It was quick work to fasten another carabiner, and then a third.

  Shooter gave him a thumbs-up and pushed away, moving to a safer distance from the tandem pair.

  ALTITUDE: 145 METERS

  One by one, the HALO jumpers deployed their ram-air parachutes. The hard-opening chutes were tough on the jumpers, abruptly halting their free-fall descent less than 150 meters above the rocky beach at Savage Bay below.

  Tank pulled his primary parachute. The added weight of Hawkeye’s body jerked Tank hard against his harness as the canopy opened. Fifty meters below, Titan Six’s team members started to land on the beach, one after another.

  Shooter’s specialty was sharp-shooting — she was a sniper. Shooter was ebony-skinned, with blue eyes and burgundy hair worn in Caribbean-style braids. A former British SAS operative, she was widely believed to be the best sniper to ever serve the Crown.

  Shooter hit the beach on one foot, a few feet from the shoreline. Hopping to stay upright, she brought her other boot down hard, dragging it to keep her balance. Shooter stumbled on the rocks and lost her footing, falling into the knee-high waves. She freed herself from her parachute, cursed her bad landing, and ran toward the trees at the far end of the beach.

  Gator was the machine gunner. A former Army Ranger, Gator was the unit’s SAW-man, carrying the modified M249 Squad Automatic Weapon strapped to his chest. He was perhaps the ugliest individual to have ever served in the U.S. Army. With a square face, flat nose, and a bushy unibrow running across his forehead, Gator was pleasantly homely. He was also one of the finest solders Hawkeye had ever known.

  Gator hit the beach hard, flexing his knees to absorb the impact. He rolled to one side, pulling the release handle to separate the parachute canopy from his harness. Gator jumped to his feet, eyes searching the empty cove. He did not leave the beach.

  Pyro was the ordnance and explosives engineer. He was Japanese-born and had served in Japan’s Dai-ichi Kktei-dan, the elite paratrooper unit known in English as the Narashino Airborne Brigade. He was thin but well-muscled, and kept his dark hair shaved to the scalp.

  Pyro executed a perfect landing, surveyed the beach through the night scope of his Howa Type 89 assault rifle, then joined Gator at the shoreline.

  Tank and Hawkeye completed the five-person squad. Twenty meters above Savage Bay, Tank’s harness bit into his shoulders as he started to spin in the strong gusts of wind, careening wildly over the waters of the cove. They were dropping fast now, unable to regain control of their descent. Tank swung like a pendulum beneath the parachute canopy, anchored by the lines attached to his harness and the dead weight of his brother strapped to his chest.

  A riot of thoughts rampaged through Tank’s mind. He swung helplessly toward the churning sea, flailing his arms in a futile attempt to slow their speed.

  “We’re going for a swim,” Tank said into his helmet mic.

  From her vantage point in the tree-line, Shooter could see the entire beach and cove through the night-scope of her sniper rifle.

  “The beach is clear,” Shooter reported.

  ALTITUDE: 0 METERS

  Tank and Hawkeye slammed into the churning waves. The parachute canopy collapsed around them. The icy water brought Hawkeye back to consciousness as they sank beneath the surface. He opened his eyes as the cold water engulfed the two brothers. The parachute canopy clung to their bodies, weighing them down and blocking their vision.

  Hawkeye reached back and slapped Tank’s thigh, hard, letting Tank know that he was back in the game. Tank rapped his fist against Hawkeye’s helmet, returning the greeting.

  The impact knocked the wind out of Tank, and his lungs burned, desperate for oxygen. He twisted and kicked his legs, succeeding only in entangling them further in the cano
py.

  Hawkeye clawed at the nylon parachute, searching frantically for an opening. He was disoriented and couldn’t tell which way was up.

  No, no, no.

  Then strong hands grabbed each of his arms, lifting Tank and Hawkeye to the surface of the water. Both men gasped for air, pulling the wet parachute fabric from their faces.

  Gator dragged the brothers toward the beach.

  “Before he passed out, Hawkeye said he may have hypoxia,” said Tank between breaths.

  “Dammit,” Gator replied. He cut through Tank’s harness with his knife, freeing the brothers as if he were separating conjoined Siamese twins.

  “Help me get him on the beach,” he said.

  Tank and Gator dragged Hawkeye out of the surf and laid him on his side. Tank removed Hawkeye’s tactical helmet. Then a voice crackled in their headsets.

  “Movement in the tree-line,” said Shooter. “Five hostiles.”

  Shooter watched the approaching figures through her night-vision scope. They were menacing in appearance, wearing dark body armor cut in harsh angles that resembled the skin of a stealth bomber. Each of the commandos wore a helmet with a futuristic-looking visor. They carried a formidable assortment of weapons.

  “Where are they?” asked Tank.

  “Three hundred meters west of your position,” she said. “Five targets. No, wait. Make that six. Six heavily-armed hostiles advancing toward the beach.”

  Chapter 2

  THE FIGHT CLUB, IBIZA, SPAIN

  18 HOURS BEFORE THE SAVAGE BAY HALO JUMP

  Eighteen hours before the Titan Six special ops team parachuted onto Es Vedra Island, Hawkeye was hell bent on punishing both himself and his blood-thirsty opponent in a brutal, no-rules cage fight.