by Matt Rogers
He would soon find out what that was. For some reason or another, King had been allowed to live. He would utilise that opportunity, as he always did. It only took one slip-up on the part of his adversaries.
Across from him, Slater’s eyes flitted open at the same time as he jerked awake, springing off the couch in one tense motion. He looked around the room, wide-eyed. Then he dropped back onto the cushion and let out a giant breath. Easing the pent-up terror in his system.
‘Bad dreams?’ King said.
Slater looked at him. ‘Yeah.’
‘You usually get them?’
‘Not like that one.’
‘What do you mean?’
Slater settled back into the sofa and put his feet up on the coffee table in the centre of the room. ‘Sorry, King, but I haven’t known you long enough to get this personal.’
King nodded. ‘Understood.’
‘I might tell you after all this is over.’
‘I think I have an idea anyway.’
Slater raised an eyebrow. ‘You do?’
King pointed to the kitchen, to the trail of blood flowing steadily along the floor. ‘You looked at that man like you wanted to tear his limbs off one by one. I assume as a Black Force operative you’re accustomed to violence and corruption and unpleasantness. Something particular about what he said set you off. Something personal.’
Slater’s expression glazed over, like he was flashing back to memories long in the past. Memories he’d rather not dwell on. What the mercenary had said seemed to have stirred them out of his subconscious. ‘Human trafficking … of that kind. It has particular meaning to me.’
‘You don’t have to say another word if you don’t want to,’ King said.
Slater scoffed. ‘I know that, King. I’m a big boy. I’ve got my head on my shoulders. I can tell you whatever I wish to tell you.’
‘And I won’t be—’
‘My mom,’ Slater interrupted, blurting out the two words like they’d been swirling around in his head for far too long.
‘Your…?’ King said, beginning to understand the implications. His skin turned pale.
‘I told you I grew up on the streets,’ Slater said, staring past King, refusing to make eye contact. His eyes began to water. ‘Before that, we never had money. My parents worked odd jobs when they could. It was never enough. We barely got by. So my mother turned to … other methods of employment.’
‘I’m sorry,’ King said. It was all he could manage.
Slater shrugged. ‘Just the facts. She fell in deep with the wrong crowd. Did unspeakable things. Then one day, she vanished. She’d been spending more and more time around the pimps and the dealers and the fiends. They must have seen a tantalising opportunity. She was beautiful. Far too pretty for that kind of work. So I imagined they shipped her off to some third-world country to please a few dictators. Something like that. I’ll honestly never know what happened to her.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ King said, lost in his thoughts, unable to comprehend what that would do to a man. ‘How old were you?’
‘Thirteen,’ Slater said. ‘Old enough to work out the most likely outcome. Young enough to not be able to do anything about it.’
‘What about your father?’
‘He didn’t have a spine,’ Slater said, his tone suddenly cold, emotionless, detached. ‘Sure, he was sad, but he didn’t do anything. He probably knew exactly who took her. But what could he do? He was a skinny drug addict.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘He killed himself the year after.’
King took a moment to respond. His own childhood had been a breeze in comparison to Slater’s. He couldn’t imagine what that level of grief and distress would do to a young teenager.
Yes you do, he thought. It created a Black Force operative.
‘When I joined the military,’ Slater said, ‘I never expected it to lead to this. But then again, I’m glad I ended up in a division like Black Force. It allows me certain … exceptions. Being off-the-record has its advantages.’
King paused. ‘Do they know?’
Slater shook his head. ‘No. If they did, I imagine they’d use me as a wrecking ball to destabilise international trafficking operations. But if that’s all I spent my time doing, it would consume me.’
‘I’ve dealt with traffickers before,’ King said, thinking back to his time in the secret world. ‘I imagine they would show up on missions every now and then.’
‘They do,’ Slater said. ‘And I can’t help myself. I always go overboard.’
‘Command hasn’t clued in?’
‘I’m sure they have,’ Slater said. ‘But I think they pass it off as just instability. After all, you have to be a little insane to do what we do.’
‘What you do,’ King said. ‘I’m out.’
Slater cocked his head and waved an arm around the place. ‘Does it look like you’re out?’
King didn’t respond.
Of course it doesn’t, he thought. You’ll never be out.
‘What about you?’ Slater said. ‘Your parents still alive?’
King mused on the question for a long while. ‘My mother isn’t.’
‘She died when you were young?’
King nodded. ‘Cancer.’
‘I’m sorry.’
King shrugged. ‘The three of us saw it coming for a long time.’
‘You and your parents?’
King nodded again.
‘Only child?’
A third nod. ‘Yourself?’
‘Yep,’ Slater said. ‘Just me.’
‘Dad raised me for the last half of my childhood. He didn’t do a very good job.’
Slater frowned, as if he didn’t wish to probe any further yet knew it wouldn’t be enough to leave it there. ‘Was he abusive?’
King shook his head. ‘He just wasn’t there. Mom’s death hit him hard. Harder than I thought possible. He fell into himself. It was impossible to communicate in any meaningful way.’
‘Does he know what you do?’ Slater said, then corrected himself. ‘What you did?’
‘He knows I joined the military,’ King said. ‘I think that’s the extent of it.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘I have no idea. I haven’t seen him in fourteen years. In all likelihood, he’s in the ground.’
Slater paused. ‘You ever think about tracking him down?’
King hesitated, then shook his head. ‘Not my thing. We went our separate ways. We understood that.’
‘I’m sure he’d want to hear from you.’
‘I wouldn’t know the first place to start looking.’
Slater shrugged. ‘I hope one day you try. If my father was alive, I’d be sure to give it a shot. You don’t want to find out too late that he passed before you could meet.’
He settled back into the sofa and closed his eyes again, unaware just how profound of an impact his statements had made on King.
King got up and crossed to the kitchen, leaving Slater to get some rest. He glimpsed the body of the dead mercenary on the floor. He ignored it. He had spent too much of his career surrounded by the dead for their presence to bother him. He propped himself up on the counter and rested his elbows on his knees…
… and wept.
CHAPTER 33
He came to roughly an hour later, stirring out of unconsciousness on the sofa opposite Slater. At some point he had clambered off the kitchen counter and returned to the comfort of the cushions. Slater was still fast asleep. The man’s stomach rose and fell in his slumber.
King wiped his eyes and moved to the bathroom to clean himself up. He hadn’t anticipated turning into such a wreck, but Slater’s words had struck a chord with him. He would do his best to hide how much of an effect they had, because that was simply the way he handled things.
But he wouldn’t forget what he had been told.
He showered, washing away the blood and dirt and dust covering him from head-to-toe. The previous tw
enty-four hours had been a whirlwind of action that he was only just coming down from. The freezing water lent him a renewed vigour. It recharged him. Revitalised his system. Now clean, he dried himself before dressing in the same clothes and heading back into the living room.
Slater stirred as he moved across the wooden flooring, which creaked and groaned under his weight. King wrenched the MK23 automatic pistol out of his belt and dropped it on the coffee table between them.
‘You well-rested now?’ he said.
Slater nodded. ‘Good as new. Sofa’s a hell of a lot better than what I’ve had to put up with in the past.’
‘Likewise. Is this the only weapon we have?’
‘Afraid so. At the time I thought it would only take one shot.’
‘You seemed to have no trouble getting your hands on a grenade.’
Slater smiled. ‘Like I said, my contact had one lying around. How could I refuse?’
‘And you decided to waste it blowing up a fence?’
‘Can you think of a better use for it?’ Slater said. ‘You want to throw it onto the boat Moreau’s using? He’ll use his goods as human shields and you know it.’
‘How do you expect us to take on an army with a single handgun?’
‘We don’t know how many there are,’ Slater said. ‘For all we know, we took care of the last four at Moreau’s house.’
‘I highly doubt that.’
‘So do I. But it’s possible. Besides, we only need one bullet.’
King raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’
Slater waved a hand dismissively. ‘Kill the first guy. Take his weapon. Now we have two weapons. Rinse and repeat.’
‘You make it sound awfully simple.’
‘I’ve been doing this long enough.’
‘Don’t get cocky.’
Slater rose off the couch and made for the front door. ‘I’m not cocky. I’m determined. I’ll rip Moreau’s head off before I leave. That’s a promise.’
King believed him. ‘It’s not dark yet.’
‘We can do some scouting. I can’t sit around in this house any longer.’
‘We’ll be sitting ducks in that BMW,’ King said. ‘It’s hanging together by a thread.’
Slater looked at him like he were a child throwing a temper tantrum. ‘For fuck’s sakes, King. We’ll just steal another car. It’s not that hard.’
‘I’d prefer not to ruin anyone else’s day.’
Slater threw open the front door and hurried outside. ‘We’ll be ruining several before the morning.’
In the twilight they piled into the BMW and reversed out of the driveway. They left the dead mercenary in the house. Someone would discover him, but by then King planned to be on another continent.
He planned to vanish into thin air after this was done.
‘Slater,’ he said as he turned onto the main road and headed for the Bay of Calvi.
The man looked across. ‘Yeah?’
‘Promise me you’ll make me leave after this is over. I can’t keep getting into this shit.’
Slater took his time to respond. ‘You’re a broken record, King. If you wanted to get away from all this madness, you would have. It’s as simple as that.’
Begrudgingly, King admitted that the man was right. Sooner or later, he had to face the facts.
He feared he would never find peace.
Suddenly, Slater piped up. ‘Stop the car.’
‘What?’
‘Pull over. Now.’
There was urgency in his tone. King wasn’t about to argue. Slater knew what he was doing. There had to be a valid reason for the sudden demand. He drifted to the side of the road.
‘What?’ he said again.
‘You should go.’
‘What do you mean I should go?’
‘You keep talking about getting away from everything. About starting over, and avoiding violence at all costs. That’s what you want, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then go. I’m the one who still works for the government. I’m responsible for eradicating pieces of shit like Moreau. I have everything I need. I’d be happy to carry out what needs to be done. You have no need to involve yourself with this. Hand it over to me, and disappear. If you really are serious about retirement, then you won’t go a single foot further. You’ll get out of the car and let me take over and get yourself to the nearest airport as fast as you can. You’ll forget I ever existed. Now’s your chance.’
They lapsed into silence. King made sure not to rush his response, because he knew he truly needed to think about what Slater had said. The man was completely right. Intentions and actions were two separate things. He found himself desperate to find solace yet perfectly willing to throw himself back into harm’s way at the nearest opportunity.
There was no reason for him to continue on to Moreau.
It had nothing to do with him.
But did it ever?
He took his foot off the brake and pressed onward.
Slater shook his head in disbelief. ‘Your call.’
‘I’ve been lying to myself this entire time,’ King said. ‘I keep saying I want to get away from this — but for what? I’ll just find trouble somewhere else in the world. And the whole time I’ll wonder if you succeeded in doing away with Moreau.’
‘Trust me,’ Slater said. ‘I’ll succeed.’
‘And I’ll help you do so. That’s my choice.’
‘So be it.’
King let his resolve grow steely. He continued down the road until they ducked in between traditional cottages and multi-storey buildings.
They entered Calvi, and pressed on toward the marina.
—
Night fell over the Quai Adolphe Landry. Streetlights flickered on across the promenade, lighting the way for the small clusters of tourists drifting from the beach to the restaurants, then back to their hotels. Tropical birds shrieked as the sun dipped below the horizon.
A pleasant setting, soothing for all but the white-haired man hurrying along the largest pier in the marina, headed for a gargantuan luxury yacht bobbing in the shallows of the bay, moored to the jetty.
Yves Moreau strode with intense purpose.
His brow had been furrowed for hours, a clear indication of the stress he was experiencing. He had received grave news regarding four of the members of the task force protecting his operation. The ease with which they were being dispatched troubled him endlessly.
Moreau was careful with his money. He always had been. He rarely spent it on unnecessary luxuries — with the exception of the decadent house he owned in the hills. A house which had been effortlessly ransacked by Jason King and his mysterious friend not two hours ago.
They had eluded police capture. They had killed two of his men, knocked one senseless, and made off with the fourth. That mercenary’s location had yet to be determined. He had his people scouring the island.
What the fuck am I paying all these idiots for? he thought.
What had begun as a proposition full of potential and financial gain had morphed into an operation of the highest magnitude. His side profession made him hundreds of thousands of dollars a week, which he expertly funnelled into tax havens all across the globe. He was a smart and cautious man. He wanted to spend the rest of his term in office, then disappear into a life of unparalleled luxury. He was saving everything he owned for such an occasion.
He couldn’t give a shit who he had to exploit to get there.
Soon, he would be free. The largest deal in his illegal operation’s short-lived history was about to unfold. He’d be damned if he let a pair of nobodies throw it all away.
He exchanged a nod with two burly security guards manning the drawbridge connecting the enormous yacht to the dock. They recognised him, and allowed him to pass without a word. He was the reason they were in Corsica. They would not mistake him for anyone else.
He walked through corridors with plush carpet and ornate artwork hanging on the walls. Finally he entered
a large boardroom in the centre of the yacht, containing a massive oak table surrounded by more than fifteen antique chairs.
A dark-skinned man sat at the end of the table.
He was of Arabic descent, with a clean-shaven face and a pronounced jawline. He kept his hair short. He didn’t look a day over thirty, yet Moreau knew he was in his late forties. He was the owner of the yacht — and the reason for Moreau’s recent successes.
Where he came from, Moreau’s services were in high demand.
He would shortly provide Moreau with more money than he had ever seen in his life.
In exchange for the goods, of course.
‘Are we ready to proceed?’ he said, his tone calm and even. He spoke as if he were on the verge of falling asleep. Yet Moreau knew that he chose his words with precision. He never spoke an unnecessary syllable. He was a calculated and cunning man — much like Moreau.
‘Yes,’ Moreau said. ‘I have what was promised.’
‘Wonderful,’ the man said. ‘Bring them aboard.’
CHAPTER 34
King parked the BMW in a secluded lot between two residential apartment buildings. It coughed and spluttered into its parking space and came to rest for a final time with a pathetic wheeze.
King patted the wheel. ‘You’ve been good to us.’
Slater gave him an odd expression before he got out. ‘You’re talking to a fucking car.’
They exited the four-wheel-drive and King tossed the keys into the gravel. They would no longer be needing it. If they ventured any closer to the marina in it, they would surely be spotted. King didn’t want to risk it, and Slater didn’t protest as he decided to abandon the vehicle.
They would proceed on foot.
‘What if we get arrested?’ King said. ‘I’m not willing to kill police officers to escape.’
‘I’ll get us out,’ Slater said. ‘Black Force has influence.’
‘You sure? They also want to kill me.’
Slater winced. ‘Noted.’
‘I guess the answer is to try not to cause too much of a scene.’
‘Yeah,’ Slater said. ‘Like that ever happens.’