by Matt Rogers
They strode down narrow alleys and through cobbled streets sloping down toward the bay. As the last of the daylight disappeared into the horizon, shops began to shut their windows and the various restaurants serving dinner grew busier. The sounds of nightlife sounded from all around them.
Normality.
People going about their day without a worry in the world. They cared about taxes and budgeting and what people in their workplace thought about them and whether they would miss their shuttle bus to the airport.
King seemed to only care about staying alive.
He and Slater moved through the night like they were a different breed to the surrounding civilians. He couldn’t help darting his gaze across everyone in his vision, checking to see whether they were armed. Always vigilant. Always worried about what threat would appear next.
He began to feel like they might make it to the marina without incident when a burly police officer rounded the corner and bumped directly into Slater.
For a moment, the pair of them passed it off as a simple misunderstanding. Slater smiled and murmured an apology in French. The policeman — who sported a thick moustache and the musculature of an aging man keeping himself fit with a healthy dose of HGH and testosterone — nodded back, accepting the statement.
He went to brush past them.
Then he noticed the great purple bruise splotched across King’s face and stopped in his tracks.
He studied them in silence. King could see more details were becoming apparent. Their imposing statures. The cuts and wounds dotting their exposed skin.
‘Where are you two off to?’ he said in perfect English.
King was taken aback by his fluency. ‘The bay. We thought we’d get dinner there.’
‘Seems like you’re not having much fun,’ the officer said, gesturing to their faces.
King smiled. ‘ATV accident. We both ran into each other on a tour. Hurt like a bitch.’
‘Here as tourists?’
Slater nodded. ‘We’re work colleagues. Thought we’d come see the sights. It’s a beautiful island.’
The officer relaxed slightly. ‘Sure is. I’ve lived here my whole life.’
‘Your English is good,’ King remarked.
‘Thank you,’ the officer said. ‘It’s a hobby of mine. Been teaching myself for more than ten years. How’s my accent? I’m working on phasing it out.’
‘Impeccable,’ Slater said. ‘Can’t fault it.’
‘You have a good night, sir,’ King said. He moved to brush past the officer.
The man held out a hand and placed it gently on his chest. ‘Hold on a second, sir.’
King felt his knuckles tingle. He was ready for anything. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m going to need to see some identification,’ he said. ‘From both of you. My apologies.’
Slater raised his eyebrows, feigning mock surprise. ‘What’s this about?’
‘Just precautionary,’ the man said. ‘I’m sure you’re fine, but there’s been some trouble around these parts over the last couple of days. Getting some strange reports out of Saint-Florent, too. Across the coast.’
‘Oh?’ Slater said. ‘What kind of reports?’
‘Strange happenings,’ the officer said, shaking his head. ‘I’m not too sure what’s going on, to be honest. Anyway, they’ve told us to keep a lookout for men of your description. I’m sure—’
One second, the officer was mid-spiel — and the next he careered back across the footpath, rocked by a devastating uppercut from Slater. King jolted on the spot, surprised by the sudden shift in atmosphere. He hadn’t even seen the punch swinging through the air. Slater had thrown it with wild ferocity, letting loose out of nowhere.
Now, he moved in to finish the job and knock the officer unconscious.
King stepped forward and shoved Slater out of the way with both hands. The man had been in the middle of building momentum for a second punch — and hadn’t anticipated the abrupt change of direction. Slater skidded on the concrete and toppled over.
Before Slater could right himself, King charged at the police officer and swung a scything fist directly into the man’s torso. He targeted the right lobe of the officer’s liver. If placed correctly, the liver shot could cause devastating agony — enough to keep anyone preoccupied for enough time to get away. He had landed a pinpoint accurate blow back in Venezuela.
He hoped this strike had a similar effect.
The officer’s legs buckled and he dropped to the pavement. A fierce moan spluttered from his lips and he squeezed his eyes shut.
Perfect.
King turned around and hauled Slater to his feet. ‘Let’s go.’
‘What the fuck was—’
He didn’t get time to finish the sentence. King hurled him past the police officer, who had curled himself into the foetal position, riding out the waves of pain racking his system.
‘What’d you do to him?’ Slater muttered.
They rounded the corner the officer had come from moments before the first scream of a witness echoed through the street. For all they knew, King had just viciously wounded an officer of the law. The civilians who had seen the fight take place would be suitably rattled.
‘He’ll be fine,’ King said. ‘That pain fades. I didn’t want you to knock him out.’
Slater struggled to match King’s pace as he strode away from the scene as fast as possible. ‘Are you insane? What are you talking about?’
‘Unconsciousness is risky,’ King explained. ‘Who knows what could result from that. You were going to shut his lights out, I could see it plain as day. He might have never woken up. It’s a dangerous game to play. Better to hit him in the liver. He didn’t do anything to us.’
‘You’re incredibly preachy sometimes,’ Slater said.
King shrugged. ‘Helps me sleep at night.’
‘Whatever takes the edge off.’
Just like that, Calvi’s claustrophobic centre shrank away. They burst out onto a picturesque path curving around the bay. It passed the marina and ran all the way up to the Citadel of Calvi — an enormous walled-off cluster of buildings atop a rocky outcrop. On a tour through the citadel during his first few weeks on the island, King had discovered it was built in 1492.
He doubted he would ever return there after what lay ahead.
The marina was almost full, dotted with hundreds of pleasure crafts organised into orderly rows. The entire space was largely deserted. Most of the occupants were either staying on dry land or out for dinner at any number of the expensive restaurants around these parts.
‘Any idea which is our target?’ Slater said, perusing the different boats in turn.
King motioned to a craft at the very end of the furthest pier. ‘I’d say it’s that one.’
‘Jesus,’ Slater whispered. ‘That’s a whole new level of wealth.’
The superyacht had clearly been custom-made for whoever commissioned its construction. It towered above all its neighbours, more of a status symbol than for actual function. He couldn’t imagine why anyone needed that much space on a boat. King counted five levels to the craft, each one smaller than the last. It had to be at least three hundred feet in length, painted a dark shade of grey.
‘Not exactly conspicuous, is it?’ Slater commented. ‘You’d think if its owner was up to something illegal he would be a tad more … subtle.’
‘They probably think they’re invincible,’ King said. ‘Can’t wait to show them otherwise.’
Even from this distance, he spotted internal lights shining across the first level of the boat. The deck was illuminated by large floodlights, but its contents were obstructed from view by the tall rim running the length of the boat’s perimeter. It lent privacy to whoever was aboard.
‘We’ll be going in blind,’ Slater said, rubbing his scalp with one hand. ‘I don’t know about this.’
‘I thought you were determined to teach this man a lesson,’ King said.
‘I am. But anger doesn’t make m
e an idiot. We know absolutely nothing about what we’ll find — except that Moreau has guns-for-hire … and live hostages.’
‘This is what I do best,’ King said. ‘Let’s take a closer look. Don’t stare too long. They’ll know what I look like, but they don’t know you. And I don’t think they’ll open fire in a tourist destination like this.’
Slater scanned the bay. ‘It’s too busy.’
‘It’s always like this,’ King said.
‘I doubt it. This is prime dinnertime. I vote we get something to eat and wait till these parts start to empty.’
‘Less potential crossfire?’
‘Exactly. I highly doubt Calvi is the city-that-never-sleeps. We keep an eye on the boat, and if it starts to move out we make a mad dash for it. Sound good?’
‘Good call.’
They moved closer to the marina and selected a restaurant at random. It was a quaint number with an open deck and a lively atmosphere. Waiters floated around the customers, taking orders and refilling drinks.
King led the way. He wandered up to the maître d’ waiting patiently by the entrance and held up two fingers.
The man nodded and led them to a table at the front. From here, they had a direct view down the length of the pier where their target lay. King took a seat, being cautious not to draw too much attention to himself, and browsed the menu. Slater sat opposite and did the same.
A few minutes later, he flashed a glance down the pier.
It was heavily guarded. Clearly valuing safety over being inconspicuous, Moreau and whoever he was dealing with had made sure the pier was manned by at least four men at all times. They wore nondescript black suits and patrolled the length of the pier in a pre-constructed pattern, arms behind their backs, looking for any signs of trouble. Behind them, the superyacht loomed.
From this angle, King had a better view of the helipad attached to the rear of the craft. He hadn’t noticed its existence before. The boat’s bulk had blocked it from view. Atop the flat stretch of deck rested a HAL Light Utility Helicopter, painted the same colour as the yacht.
King let out a low whistle as he studied the new sight.
‘What’s up?’ Slater said.
‘Check the back.’
Slater turned his head. ‘Whoa. You think Moreau will try to get away on that?’
King shrugged. ‘I doubt it. He’s a prominent political figure. If he flees, the gig is up. I think he’ll stay as long as it takes. His contact, however…’
‘Who we know nothing about.’
‘He owns the boat. He’s either buying or selling women. That’s all we need to know.’
‘You sure?’
‘It’d be ideal if we knew more, obviously. But at the end of the day, it’s just another man with a gun. I’ve seen a million of them.’
‘You don’t know that he’s just a man with a gun.’
‘They all are, Slater.’
A waitress hovered nearby, looking to take their order but unwilling to interrupt what looked to be a serious conversation. King beckoned her over when he noticed her standing there. He ordered a sirloin steak with Béarnaise sauce and Slater went for the poulet caramel. The woman nodded satisfactorily, collected their menus and disappeared.
Slater leant back in his chair and spent a moment admiring the view. ‘You know, I could get used to this…’
‘Retirement’s growing on you?’
‘It’s still a fantasy,’ Slater said. ‘We talked about this earlier. They need me right now.’
‘Always put yourself before Black Force,’ King said. ‘I learnt that the hard way. Spent far too long in the game. Barely got out alive.’
‘Looks like you’re struggling to stay away, isn’t it?’
‘It seems so,’ King said, taking a long swig of the chilled table water.
Slater noticed something on the menu and beckoned for a waiter. A squat middle-aged man in a suit and matching cravat hurried over. ‘Sant Armettu Myrtus, please. A bottle.’
The waiter nodded his understanding and returned a minute later with two glasses and an unopened bottle of red wine. He and Slater went through the elaborate tasting routine before he scurried away. Slater poured himself a glass and took a mighty gulp.
He saw King watching and raised the glass. ‘Try some. It’s damn good.’
‘We’re about to launch an assault on a boat crawling with security,’ King explained matter-of-factly. ‘Are you insane?’
Slater shrugged and took another mouthful. ‘I work better with a buzz.’
‘I think your addictive personality is shining through,’ King said.
‘Maybe so,’ Slater said. ‘You should see my gambling habits.’
‘You sure it’s a good idea?’
‘I kicked your ass at Sainte-Catherine Airport after four glasses of whiskey on the plane. I think I’ll be fine.’
King briefly considered taking the bottle away, but it would only cause more problems. Slater was a grown man. He knew what he was doing. If he willingly decided to consume alcohol before what would likely be an all-out war, then so be it.
‘I’m serious,’ Slater said. ‘Try some. It might calm the nerves.’
‘Water for me,’ King said.
CHAPTER 35
They spent two hours at the table. The food was good and the weather was perfect. A balmy evening, just the right temperature to make sitting outside a pleasant experience. King found the time passed quicker than he anticipated. He discovered there was much to talk about with Slater. The two of them drew interesting parallels given the nature of their work.
‘How do you handle the isolation?’ King said as the last of the patrons filtered out of the restaurant’s open deck, late into the evening, after the Bay of Calvi had almost entirely emptied of tourists and locals.
Slater drained his second glass of wine and discarded it onto the tabletop. ‘Well enough.’
‘You’re used to it? Spending days and weeks at a time in remote corners of the globe?’
The man raised his hands in an I-guess-so gesture. ‘Just what I’ve always done. It stopped driving me mad after a few months.’
‘Ever feel like you’re missing out on a normal life? We don’t get to do what ordinary members of society do. We don’t worry about anything other than staying alive.’
‘All the time,’ Slater admitted. ‘It’s been on my mind since I started this whole insane journey. Will I look back on Black Force and regret ever accepting a position in its ranks? I really don’t know. Have you?’
King shook his head. ‘I thought I would. But we do good things.’
‘Good?’
‘Necessary things.’
‘I’m not so sure anymore,’ Slater said. ‘They asked me to kill you, after all.’
Someone rested a hand on King’s shoulder. He turned, expecting to have to drive one of his pieces of cutlery into the throat of a would-be attacker. Instead, the maître d’ looked at them apologetically.
‘I’m sorry, messieurs,’ he said, his accent thick. He must have recognised English as their primary language throughout the evening and done his best to converse in their natural tongue. ‘We are now closed. May I get the bill?’
Slater reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a wad of euros. It looked to be well over a thousand. He handed it over to the man, who bore a look of restrained surprise. ‘Monsieur…’
‘Keep it,’ Slater said. ‘I don’t need it. I’m out of here in the morning.’
King laughed at the shocked expression on the man’s face. He rose out of his chair and slapped the man on the shoulder in turn. ‘Enjoy it. My friend isn’t always so generous.’
They shuffled off the deck and stepped down onto the promenade. By now it was pitch black. The streetlights stayed on, but they revealed that the Bay of Calvi had largely become a ghost town. Slater glanced around at the absence of pedestrians. He smiled.
‘This is perfect,’ he said. ‘You ready?’
King sighed. ‘S
eems I always am. Let’s go.’
They strolled slowly away from the pier so as not to attract the attention of the security detail. If they loitered too long around the area, King knew they would be seen as suspicious and confronted. As of now, they only had a single firearm.
They reached a wooden bench facing the water and came to a halt.
‘Stealth isn’t going to work,’ Slater said as they sat down.
‘Sneaking aboard, you mean?’
‘You know it just as well as I do.’
‘Yeah. I figured as much. There isn’t any way we’re doing this quietly.’
‘So we’re doing it? We’ve committed?’
King looked at him. ‘I’m ready. Are you?’
‘There’s nothing I want more. Just needed the go-ahead.’
‘Anyone on board that boat would be better off six feet under.’
‘I whole-heartedly agree.’
‘What are you thinking?’ King said, scratching his head. ‘How do we do this? An all-out assault?’
Slater clasped his hands behind his back as he walked. ‘I have an idea.’
‘You don’t sound too sure of it.’
‘I’m not. It’s reckless as all hell.’
‘I tend to specialise in that sort of thing,’ King said. ‘You saw what I did back in Saint-Florent.’
‘I think I can match that. It’s the only way we’re getting onto the boat without being torn to pieces.’
King paused. ‘What do you have in mind?’
Slater made sure there was no-one in their general vicinity before responding. ‘You’ve got the gun?’
King nodded, tapping his belt.
‘Good,’ Slater said. ‘Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment. When I finish, start shooting.’
‘What the hell are you—’ King began.
Before he could finish the sentence, Slater shrank into the shadows. The man darted into a nearby alley and disappeared from sight.
King let the silence descend over his surroundings and felt the familiar tremors of imminent combat. His heart rate skyrocketed involuntarily. He could never help it. He kept himself calm in the midst of battle, but the adrenalin was always there.
Why the fuck had he been so vague? King thought. Probably because he thinks I’ll try to stop him.