by Matt Rogers
Raul nodded. ‘Don’t worry. I’m prepared. As prepared as I can be.’
King nodded and punched the code José had given him into a steel panel next to the gate. With a mechanical whir that broke the quiet residential silence the gate swung open. He stepped through into the driveway.
The house seemed deserted. All the windows were drawn. A bird shrieked from a nearby tree. The silence unnerved him. On second thought, he ducked back to the car and retrieved the sole HK417, still fully loaded. Raul watched him move with reserved panic on his face.
‘King, what are you doing?’
‘Just making sure…’ King said. ‘José lied to us once already. Better safe than sorry.’
He re-approached the house, mentally alert. He flicked his gaze from window to window, watching for any sign of movement. It was tough. The small mansion had at least a dozen floor-to-ceiling windows facing the wide front yard.
‘José’s come far from the slums he grew up in,’ King said.
‘Tell me about it.’
‘If he really is a good man,’ King said, ‘then perhaps he can help you get on your feet.’
‘Maybe…’
They approached the front door silently, a huge wooden slab set into a polished stone exterior. King tried every key in the set until one slotted home inside the lock. He twisted and pushed the door open. It groaned on its hinges, cutting through the silence. King grimaced and tip-toed into a marble foyer. He held out a palm, signalling for Raul to stay back. At least for now.
Any element of surprise had just been ruined. If there were hostile forces in the house waiting for them to arrive, they would know exactly where to go.
The foyer was enormous. Its ceiling stretched far overhead, making King feel small. Antique coffee tables lined the walls, adorned with polished vases and exquisite mirrors. It seemed that in his newfound wealth, José had developed fine taste in interior decoration.
Hurried footsteps sounded from an adjacent room. Heading straight for the foyer. Two people, King figured. Possibly Raul’s family. Possibly hired killers. Whatever the case, he couldn’t take the chance.
He raised the barrel of his rifle.
A pair of women burst into sight, hurrying through an open set of double doors. Their eyes were wide. They hadn’t been expecting visitors. The woman in front had to be in her late twenties. She was beautiful. She kept her long silky hair tied back in a ponytail. She had olive skin and pearly white teeth and a slender figure.
Must be Ana.
The other woman was much older. She was short and mousy with deep wrinkles in her cheekbones signifying a struggle through years of hardship. She stared at King with terror in her eyes. He knew what she was feeling. She had worked so hard to escape her chaotic life. And now there was a tall stranger aiming an automatic weapon at her and her daughter.
King saw the two of them and felt an enormous weight lift off his chest. The constant unease and worry and questioning was gone. The two of them were safe. José had been telling the truth.
He couldn’t help but smile with joy. He opened his mouth to speak.
They saw the gun and screamed in unison.
CHAPTER 49
Raul’s mother had an instinctual response to the firearm. She first spread her arms out wide, acting as a human shield for her daughter. Even in the tense situation, King admired her courage. Next she charged at him. Her face balled into a mask of anger and she sprinted in an attempt to deter her would-be attacker. If King had hostile attentions, it would have spelt certain death for her. Thankfully, he had no such inclinations.
He stepped aside and tossed the HK417 to the floor. It hit the marble with a loud clang and slid across the foyer, coming to rest on the other side of the room. An instant way to diffuse the tension. The old woman stopped immediately and furrowed her brow, confused by the sudden turn of events.
Then Raul stepped through the door and saw them.
At first, nothing happened. The three stood frozen, taking a second to process the sight before them. King made sure to stay out of the way. He did not wish to interrupt such a reunion. Especially after what it had taken to reach this point.
The trio flung themselves together in a tight hug, spilling out a year’s worth of emotions. They bowed their heads together and sobbed without restraint, holding each other close, letting the frustration seep away.
King thought better of his position and decided to retreat into one of the adjacent rooms. This was not his moment. He would let them speak. He would let Raul break the news of Luis’ demise. He did not wish to loiter awkwardly in the corner and watch events unfold. He had brought the three of them together, and now he would let them become reacquainted in private.
He had a phone call to make.
He stepped into a living room complete with a U-shaped leather sofa and an enormous flat-screen television built into the far wall. More high ceilings. More exquisite decorations. The entire house had a feeling of grandeur to it that directly juxtaposed the grimy warehouse José worked from. King guessed that the man kept his work and home life distinctly separate.
He found what he was looking for in no time. A corded home phone rested on one of the tables just inside the entrance. He picked up the receiver and dialled the number still scrawled on the scrunched-up scrap of paper in his pocket.
José answered on the first ring.
‘I assume you worked out I was telling the truth,’ he said.
‘I did,’ King said.
‘So there are no hard feelings?’
‘I guess not.’
‘I’m sorry that I used you for my own interests.’
‘Don’t worry,’ King said, and smiled. ‘I would have done the exact same thing.’
‘Oh, I know that. I certainly don’t doubt what you told me of your past. Not many people could survive what you just attempted. On that note … where the hell is my truck?’
‘The Cobra?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought I’d park it for you. It’s near the ground floor somewhere.’
A pause. King heard José walking on the other end of the line. Then another pause. ‘Is that what that enormous hole is in the side of the ship?’
‘You’re on it.’
‘Jesus. That’s going to be a hassle to solve.’
‘Not my problem. You sent me to die.’
‘You sent yourself to die. I covered you in armour to try and avoid that. Let’s call it even.’
‘I can respect that. I must say — you don’t sound too bothered about what I did to Roman.’
‘We were business associates,’ José said matter-of-factly. ‘Not friends. He was a cruel man, just like we all are. You have to be in this line of work. Initially I was mad — but now I get the lion’s share of the profits, don’t I?’
King shook his head. ‘Crazy world. Can I ask a question?’
‘Of course.’
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why are Raul’s family here? You directly disobeyed Rico. He would have found out eventually. He would have butchered you.’
‘We were in the final stages of preparing the shipyard assault. At that point it didn’t matter what I did. We were hoping to bury him well before he caught onto it. Besides, it wasn’t his smartest move asking me to take care of things.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Ana and I…’
Everything clicked. ‘Ah.’
‘The things you do for love, hey?’
King smiled. ‘I wouldn’t know. But I’m glad you’ve found someone that makes you happy.’
‘You got a woman?’
‘Not yet.’
‘You should find one. Might settle you down.’
‘I see that hasn’t worked so well for you.’
‘Touché,’ José said. ‘So where does the great Jason King go from here?’
‘Somewhere quiet, I think.’
‘You enjoy that. I have many hard years ahead.’
‘Never said it wasn’t. I relish hard work.’
King raised an eyebrow. ‘You patronising me? Saying I don’t work hard?’
‘Not at all, my friend.’
‘You should hear some stories…’
‘I can only imagine.’
‘I’m done with that life.’
‘You don’t seem to be.’
José was right. King said nothing in return, but he found himself thinking hard. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d told himself he was done. Done with fighting, done with killing, done with violence. He’d been through hell down in a small country town in Australia, and now he’d been put through a second round in Venezuela. He began to wonder if peace would ever come.
He thought he might get himself killed trying to find it.
‘Want some advice?’ José said after a lengthy period of silence.
‘I’m all ears,’ King said.
‘Go find some place in the middle of nowhere. Lay low for a while. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t provoke anyone. If someone tries to start trouble, turn and walk away. That’s how you settle down.’
‘I’m trying, José,’ King said. ‘Trust me. I’m trying.’
‘Can you do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘If you get provoked, can you ignore it?’
King tightened his grip on the phone. ‘I honestly don’t know. Seems like I can’t.’
José sighed. ‘Hate to say it, my friend, but you might just be made for this life.’
‘I might just be.’
‘Good luck, King. And don’t worry about Raul. I’ll take good care of the three of them. You have my word.’
The line went dead. King spent a long time cradling the phone in his hand, staring at nothing in particular.
Thinking.
Maybe it was time to shake things up. Just like that, he made a decision.
No more travel. No more hopping from country to country, willingly heading into dangerous locations. Maybe he had been looking for trouble all this time — subconsciously. Putting himself in situations where he knew he could retaliate. He thought back to the crowded bazaar in the heart of Maiquetía, where the madness had begun. If he’d simply stepped aside to let the short thug pass by, none of this would have happened. He would have continued on with his nomadic existence until the next sign of trouble reared its head.
But then where would Raul be? Still in El Infierno.
Would José’s assault on the Movers have succeeded without King’s help?
Would it have backfired spectacularly, leading to the slaughter of Raul’s family after Rico discovered what José had done?
More than likely.
King sighed and headed out of the living room. Truth was … he probably wouldn’t have done anything differently. Even in hindsight.
He stepped into the foyer and saw the two women staring at him with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Their eyes were bloodshot and their cheeks were puffy. They’d been crying.
‘I told them what you did for me,’ Raul explained. ‘What you did for Luis.’
King shrugged. ‘Not a problem.’
‘They don’t speak English. But they want you to know that they will always be in your debt.’
King smiled. Raul’s mother crossed the room and held out a plump hand. King took it. Her skin was warm. She squeezed hard, and King noted the gratitude in her eyes. He nodded acknowledgement and smiled back.
He turned to Raul. ’Take care of them.’
‘Of course. They’re not leaving my sight.’
‘Do you need the car?’
Raul paused. He cocked his head. ‘You’re going already?’
‘I’ve done my job.’
‘I know, but…’
‘I’m sorry. But I need some space. I have a few things in my life that I need to sort out.’
‘Of course. Completely understood.’
Raul crossed the room and held both arms wide. King embraced him and slapped him on the back, hard. ‘We did it, brother. We did it.’
When they parted, Raul had tears in his eyes. ‘I can’t put into words how thankful I am.’
‘I know,’ King said. ‘Don’t worry. I get it.’
‘How can I contact you?’
‘You can’t. I don’t have a phone.’
‘What about your family? Your friends?’
‘Don’t have any.’
‘Is that what this is? You’re finding a new life?’
‘I’ve been travelling for a while. Think it might be time to buy a place. Stay in one location.’
‘Here?’
‘Not a fucking chance.’
Raul laughed. ‘I was only joking. I don’t blame you.’
‘No offence intended, but I’ve had enough of Venezuela for a while.’
‘None taken. I wouldn’t blame you if you never came back here. Where are you thinking?’
‘Not sure yet. I hear Europe is nice this time of year.’
He turned and made for the door, nodding his goodbyes to the three of them. They watched him go like he was an apparition, someone who had simply appeared to fix all their problems and then shrink away into the shadows. Maybe that’s what he was. Maybe that’s all he was ever meant to be. He certainly hadn’t had time to look after himself.
King stepped out into a dusty Venezuelan evening. His ribs suddenly seared with pain. With all potential threats eliminated, his body had given up on suppressing the feeling. It came fast and strong, making him hunch slightly to ride out the agony. He fought the urge to cough. He knew it would only lead to another sharp burst of searing fire. He tried to ignore it and looked ahead.
The sun had begun its descent, melting into the horizon, casting an orange glow across the Caribbean Sea. The waves sparkled under the rays. He admired the view for a moment. Then he stepped down onto the gravel driveway and made for the pick-up truck running idly in the courtyard.
He got in and slammed the gearstick into drive and rolled away.
CHAPTER 50
Through the open front door, Raul watched the pick-up truck disappear over the edge of the road and vanish from sight. He was left amidst his family. He didn’t move for a long time. It was only after King had left that he realised just how incredulous their journey had been.
He turned to his mother and said in Spanish, ‘Are you okay?’
She nodded. ‘We’re together now. We’ll get through it. Luis will watch over us.’
Ana said, ‘Who was that man?’
Raul shrugged. He didn’t know what to say. ‘Just a guy.’
‘What did he do?’
Raul reminisced on the trail of destruction one American tourist had carved through the darkest depths of Venezuela. He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’
He walked to the front door and closed it, feeling sorry for whoever decided to cross King’s path next.
BOOK 3
RELOADED
A JASON KING THRILLER
MATT ROGERS
“Only the dead have seen the end of the war.”
- George Santayana
CHAPTER 1
After a harrowing amalgamation of third-world war zones, terrorist strongholds, biological weapons facilities, corrupt prisons and extreme environments in the most remote corners of the globe — all Jason King really needed was a little sun.
The Bay of Calvi twinkled under a cloudless sky. It was mid-summer on the Mediterranean island of Corsica, and the weather couldn’t have been more perfect. A collection of multi-million dollar pleasure yachts — all polished and smoothed until they gleamed — rested in a spacious marina built into one side of the bay. The turquoise water had a clarity that seemed to be the trademark for these kind of exotic locations. It lapped gently at the sandy shore, adding soft background noise to the serene ambience of the bay.
The town of Calvi itself was calm and peaceful. The houses stood almost side-
by-side, all sporting traditional thin schist tiles on the roofs. A cluster of restaurants dotted the Quai Adolphe Landry curving past the marina and running along the bay’s edge.
It was paradise.
Jason King surfaced noiselessly from the warm ocean and wiped his eyes with a calloused hand. He tread water and took a deep breath. Watching. Waiting. Ordinarily he would be armed, having approached a target with precision, preparing himself to bring death to whoever he’d been ordered to attack.
But this life was very different to his previous one.
He wore swimming trunks and nothing else. His skin was a deep shade of brown from over a month of soaking up the Mediterranean sun. Veins ran along his forearms, like a road map spread across bulging muscles. His current physique had been chiselled out of an intense desire to maintain the physical fitness of years past.
When he’d first landed in Corsica, he imagined he might take a break from rigorous exercise in an attempt to instil a sense of normalcy into his life. But he quickly found that would not be the case. The iron kept his mind at peace when all else failed. He enjoyed it.
And, of course, it had its benefits.
It seemed that he had finally found his peace. He swam gently to shore, taking his time. That was what he relished most.
The freedom.
With no financial burdens to speak of, and the remnants of his career fading piece by piece into memories, he could simply do as he pleased. For the first few months of his retirement, he’d embraced the life of a nomad, a wanderer who moved from country to country with no fixed abode — seeing the sights, enjoying the change of pace.
It hadn’t gone as planned.
Two separate incidents in Australia and Venezuela had caused him to reconsider his future trajectory. Whether by fate or coincidence or sheer bad luck, trouble had followed him to the most remote corners of the globe. He’d left a trail of bodies in his wake — the exact thing he’d been attempting to avoid by getting out of the game.
He’d tasted the closeness of death many, many times since stepping away from covert ops. It was a concept he was all too familiar with. An increasingly repetitive action that he knew — if he allowed it to continue — would eventually catch up to him.