Stormbreaker

was a popular leader. He was tough and he was fast—completing a thirty-mile hike as if it were just a stroll in a park. But he had a weak spot. Somehow he’d allowed this para chute jump to get to him and he was too scared to move. It was hard to believe, but there he was, frozen in the doorway, his arms rigid, staring out. Alex glanced back. The assistant pilot was looking the other way. He hadn’t seen what was happening. And when he did? If Wolf failed to make the jump, it would be the end of his training and maybe even the end of his career. Even hesitating would be bad enough. He’d be binned.
    Alex thought for a moment. Wolf hadn’t moved. Alex could see his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to summon up the courage to go. Ten seconds had passed. Maybe more. The assistant pilot was leaning down, stowing away a piece of equipment. Alex stood up. “Wolf…” he said.
    Wolf didn’t hear him.
    Alex took one last quick look at the assistant pilot, then kicked out with all his strength. His foot slammed into Wolf’s backside. He’d put all his strength behind it. Wolf was caught by surprise, his hands coming free as he plunged into the swirling night air.
    The assistant pilot turned around and saw Alex. “What are you doing?” he shouted.
    “Just stretching my legs,” Alex shouted back.
    The plane curved in the air and began the journey home.
    Mrs. Jones was waiting for him when he walked into the hangar. She was sitting at a table, wearing a gray silk jacket and trousers with a black handkerchief flowing out of her top pocket. For a moment she didn’t recognize him. Alex was dressed in a flying suit. His hair was damp from the rain. His face was pinched with tiredness, and he seemed to have grown older over the past two weeks. None of the men had arrived back yet. A truck had been sent to collect them from a field about two miles away.
    “Alex…” she said.
    Alex looked at her but said nothing.
    “It was my decision to stop you from jumping,” she said. “I hope you’re not disappointed. I just thought it was too much of a risk. Please. Sit down.”
    Alex sat down opposite her.
    “I have something that might cheer you up,” she went on. “I’ve brought you some toys.”
    “I’m too old for toys,” Alex said.
    “Not these toys.”
    She signaled and a man appeared, walking out of the shadows, carrying a tray of equipment that he set down on the table. The man was enormously fat. When he sat down, the metal chair disappeared beneath the spread of his buttocks, and Alex was surprised it could even take his weight. He was bald with a black mustache and several chins, each one melting into the next and finally into his neck and shoulders. He wore a pinstriped suit, which must have used enough material to make a tent.
    “Smithers,” he said, nodding at Alex. “Very nice to meet you, old chap.”
    “What have you got for him?” Mrs. Jones demanded.
    “I’m afraid we haven’t had a great deal of time, Mrs. J,” Smithers replied. “The challenge was to think what a fourteen-year-old might carry with him—and adapt it.” He picked the first object off the tray. A yo-yo. It was slightly larger than normal, black plastic. “Let’s start with this,” Smithers said.
    Alex shook his head. He couldn’t believe any of this. “Don’t tell me,” he exclaimed, “it’s some sort of secret weapon…”
    “Not exactly. I was told you weren’t to have weapons. You’re too young.”
    “So it’s not really a hand grenade? Pull the string and run like hell?”
    “Certainly not. It’s a yo-yo.” Smithers pulled out the string, holding it between a pudgy finger and thumb.
    “However, the string is a special sort of nylon. Very advanced. There’s thirty yards of it and it can lift weights of up to two hundred pounds. The actual yoyo is motorized and clips onto your belt. Very useful for climbing.”
    “Amazing.” Alex was unimpressed.
    “And then there’s this.” Mr. Smithers produced a small tube. Alex read the side: ZIT-CLEAN. FOR
    HEALTHIER SKIN. “Nothing personal,” Smithers went on, apologetically. “But we thought it was something a boy of your age might carry. And it is rather remarkable.” He opened the tube and squeezed some of the cream onto his finger. “Completely harmless when you touch it. But bring it into contact with metal and it’s quite another story.” He wiped his finger, smearing the cream onto the surface of the table.
    For a moment nothing