2
The Xtreme sports competition’s heats had been held over the previous week. Three events: cross-country mountain biking on the lower slopes of the mountains, wildwater kayaking and freestyle snowboarding. The points system for each event quickly decided who went through to the next stage. Max was one of the youngest competitors, each of whom had to be between fifteen and eighteen and attend school in Europe. Bobby Morrell, ex-U.S. junior champion, was leading the points board so far. He attended the International School near Toulouse in southern France. Max knew he was the boy to beat. Thankfully, because of the costs involved, the mountain bikes and kayaks were provided by the organizers and were all standard. There was no unfair equipment advantage; success was down to a competitor’s skills. But the snowboarding was another matter. The really good riders had specialist boards for different events. Max would have to make do with his own, modest, middle-of-the-road board-if he got through the kayak race in good-enough time.
The water roared.
“Max Gordon?” a steward shouted.
“Here!”
The previous heats had determined who was who time-wise, and at this stage of the competition the fastest kayakers went last. And that was Max and Bobby.
The American shook his hand and they touched knuckles. “Good luck, Max. Remember, watch that drop at the halfway mark. You get it wrong and it’ll force you to the left where the river splits. Don’t get pushed down there. That’s damned near a grade four river in these conditions. It’s dangerous enough to put you under and kill you, Max. Okay?”
Max nodded. He liked the American. The eighteen-year-old champion always passed on his experience to the younger competitors. They both wanted to win, but for Bobby it was nowhere near as big a deal as it was for Max. The five-thousand-euro prize money would go a long way towards helping Max buy equipment and pay for travel expenses if he wanted to continue competing in these events in the future. His dad didn’t have much money to speak of, and although the school had managed to secure a grant for him to stay on and study, any extras were up to Max.
He fitted the splash apron around the kayak, then nodded to the stewards that he was ready. The roaring water almost deafened him to the beeps of the electronic starter. A steward helped with the countdown, spreading his fingers wide, the palm of his hand towards Max’s face. Five fingers, four, three, two …
Max’s shoulders bunched; his grip tightened on the double-bladed paddle.
One!
The start Klaxon shrieked and Max plunged the kayak into the first swirling wave.
He immediately realized the water was trickier than that of the previous time trials. It twisted and pounded him. The snowmelt farther up the peaks meant the heavy runoff was being funneled like water down a narrow drain.
He thrust the paddle’s blades left and right and threw his body from side to side for balance. It was all about countering the strength of the river with skill and judgment. Wildwater kayaks are long and narrow; their rounded hulls made them fast, but unstable and hard to turn.
Water thundered over him. He’d misjudged one of the eddies and nearly rolled, his helmet deflecting him from the boulder that was the cause of the spurting power. He had to use the curved boat to his advantage. The river was widening. Slower water nearer the bank gently swelled into calmer pools. Max stayed in the rough and tumble, curving turns-using the boat to pick up the energy of the water and hurtle him along. The dangerous bend wasn’t far now. No one would be on that side of the river anyway-not by choice. The rapids were treacherous there.
Max saw the foaming water snarl angrily past hidden boulders; these were the fastest jets, the edge of the wave train. He took the curve and felt the lift and surge as the tongue of water powered him along, its roar muffling his shout of joy.
The cold, stinging water lashed his face, and as he turned to shake his head free of it, he saw another kayak, protected by a promontory, clear the calmer-flowing water near the riverbank.
It couldn’t be Bobby, he’d never have passed him this far downriver. Besides, he wouldn’t start his run until Max was across the finishing line. Maybe there’d been a problem with the previous competitor, a German girl who was doing well in all the events. Had she got caught up? Had a problem? Hadn’t they relayed the information back to the start line? His mind raced as he battled the crashing water. No, this was a more rugged kayak than the Xtreme competitors were using, carbon-fiber-made, and it certainly took the rapids in its stride. Whoever was in the kayak was pounding across the current, which meant he had a lot of strength and skill. And he was coming straight at Max.
Collision course.
He was going to sink him!
It was Sharkface.
Max dug in the paddle, forced the water around it, threw his body weight to one side and sideslipped the kayak so that the attacking boat glanced off.
It shuddered into him, nearly rolling him over.
The two boys fought the confused water almost side by side. Sharkface swung his paddle in a backward slash, catching Max off balance. Max’s boat spun, nearly capsized, and was saved only by Max counterbalancing in the opposite direction, but in doing so he was vulnerable. The scarred boy held his paddle above his head and, like a mighty sword blow, hammered it down onto Max.
Max braced for the impact, held his paddle across him and took the blow square on. Now it was the other kid who had lost his balance and was vulnerable. Max powered the paddle into the water and in a couple of strokes took the fight to him.
Side by side they thundered down the white water, and for every stroke in the water that kept them upright, another was hammered into their opponent. Like two swordsmen on horseback, they cut, slashed and battered. A glancing blow sliced beneath Max’s helmet, the edge of Sharkface’s paddle cutting into his forehead. Blood mixed with the cold water, closing his eye.
A surge of anger almost lifted Max out of the kayak as he yelled and slammed his body weight and paddle down onto the boy.
Sharkface slumped. The water sucked his uncontrolled boat away. Max balanced his own kayak and wiped the blood from his eye. He was still going fast, but now he was looking at the back of his attacker. The unconscious boy had still not lifted his head. His paddle was churned away in the water and both kayaks were at the dangerous bend. Sharkface was on the wrong side of the river. If he got sucked down there, even if he was conscious, odds were he would drown. As unprovoked and vicious as the attack had been, Max wasn’t a killer.
He saw a curving channel of water, paddled furiously and felt the nose of his kayak lift, then settle, as the faster, stronger and more dangerous current took control.
Within seconds he reached the other boy, the kayaks now side by side as Max shielded the uncontrolled boat from the rapids. If he could dig in his paddle and slow the pace he could force both of them away from the side tributary that now exerted a huge pressure on the river’s flow.
Max’s shoulder tendons felt as though they were tearing, but he kept the paddle in the water, throwing his weight against Sharkface’s kayak, taking the strain for them both.
And then the river eased, the noise lessened, and slower water gave Max the chance to control his own kayak’s progress by letting the other boat slip away. It nudged the bank, the water acting as a buffer, making it roll over gently on its side.
Max steered past, aiming for the center of the main river again. With a final backward glance he saw Sharkface clamber groggily from the kayak and slump down on the bank. Someone hadn’t liked the fact that Max had helped Sophie last night. And she was right-they were paying a lot of money to give these violent kids whatever they wanted, and to buy their obedience.
The adrenaline kept Max going, but in his heart he knew the attack had cost him valuable time.
As he rounded the final bend, the finish line was two hundred meters away, crowded with spectators and officials. He caught a glint of sunlight on the road that snaked up the mountain pass.
A stationary black car and two men, both in black leather coats, stood watching. One held a pair of binoculars
