by Matt Rogers
Slater shook out his limbs as they left the boardroom. Veins protruded from his exposed forearms, his energy depleted after the exertion of choking a resisting grown man to death.
It was undeniably a slow, brutal way to kill someone. The victim knew what was coming and — when faced with someone as skilled as Slater — were powerless to stop it. It would have been soul-crushing to be in Moreau’s position.
Good, King thought. He deserved nothing less.
He thought of the hundreds — if not thousands — of women Moreau must have shipped off to third-world countries before this. How many were still alive? Slaves to the highest bidder. The thought sent chills down his spine.
How can you sit back and put your feet up when problems like this are just as prevalent as ever?
The thought had been nagging away at him for the entire length of his retirement. He wasn’t sure he could keep it at bay any longer.
They reached the hole in the side of the superyacht, passing the destroyed BMW now resting on its side, halfway inside the boat. King peered out first, staring down the length of the pier, wondering if the onslaught had attracted much attention.
It had.
He saw blue and red flashing lights from the end of the pier. A single police sedan, parked horizontally, preventing anyone from escaping via land. A smart tactic. Two officers with their guns drawn were hurrying down the wooden jetty, heading for the boat. Even from this distance King could see the fear on their faces. It must have sounded like a war zone from their position.
And they were running into the thick of it.
King stepped out onto the deck, dodging twisted fibreglass. He kept his hands pointed skyward, palms open, clearly demonstrating that he posed no threat.
‘You sure about this?’ Slater said as he followed King out of the boat. ‘This looks bad.’
‘Of course it does. But those women up top need to be taken care of. We can’t just abandon them and disappear.’
‘Fair enough.’
The officers noted their presence and jerked in surprise. The man on the left screamed, pouring out rapid commands in French. He shook his pistol in their direction, wondering if the breath he was taking might be his last.
My God, King thought. They’re seriously on edge.
The pair of them kept their hands raised.
‘We’re unarmed!’ King yelled. ‘Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!’
Slater yelled similar statements in French. For a long, drawn-out moment, nothing happened. The tension ran thick in the air. King stared down the barrel of the officers’ guns and silently prayed that they weren’t overly trigger-happy.
‘We are Americans,’ King said, very slowly. ‘Special Forces. We work for the government.’
‘We speak English,’ the officer on the right said. ‘You don’t have to talk like that.’
The pressure eased off a little. The first exchange between the two parties had taken place — and no-one was dead.
Slater stepped forward. ‘Myself and my partner work for a division of the United States Special Forces. We’re not here for business. But we came across this scene and were forced to retaliate. I’m sure that this can be solved diplomatically. It’ll be a lengthy process, but we need to co-operate here.’
The man on the right had short grey hair and a muscular frame that made him look younger than he actually was. King guessed he was in his fifties. His badge read ROUX.
The other guy was youthful. He appeared to be in his late twenties. Probably green. He wasn’t able to still his shaking hands. He had mid-length brown hair tied back in a ponytail and deeply tanned brown skin. His last name was MERCIER.
King assessed the pair and guessed the likelihood that he and Slater would end up dead.
Quite slim, probably.
Roux seemed experienced. His hazelnut eyes flicked over the scene with a calculated efficiency. He took everything in at a glance, and made on-the-fly decisions based on what he saw. He listened closely for signs of commotion within the boat and — after a moment of contemplation — decided to proceed.
‘Show us,’ he said, refusing to stow away his weapon.
King didn’t blame him. ‘Through here.’
They ushered the two officers through the same hole they’d come from and stepped back into the intricate maze of the boat’s interior. He and Slater made sure to go first, taking the utmost precaution to appear non-threatening. The last thing they wanted was a bullet in the back after making a wrong move.
As he walked, he considered what the next move would be. Would it be best for he and Slater to slip away at the next available opportunity, now that the boat was secured by the police? He wasn’t sure whether they would be thrown in jail for the rest of their lives. After all, they were operating in no official capacity.
Would Black Force come to the rescue?
He hoped so. He had done great work for them. He hoped they wouldn’t throw their two best operatives to the wolves.
Well, one best operative — Slater. And an ex-employee.
King led the small party to the boardroom. They threw the doors open and gestured to Moreau’s corpse.
‘You know who that is?’ he said.
Roux pushed past Slater so he could get a good look at the body. He processed the scene with a steely expression. ‘I do.’
Something inside of King twitched. Some kind of primal nerve that signified danger. He wasn’t sure exactly what had triggered it, but he knew never to doubt the sensation when it reared its ugly head. It had saved his life more times than he could count. He observed the utter nonchalance with which Roux studied the body, the lack of reaction.
That didn’t phase him as much as the younger officer, Mercier.
The man had stumbled upon a bloodbath not long into his career as a police officer, and he was casting his gaze over the surroundings with a cold detachment. Not exactly standard operating procedure for officers of the law. He wasn’t shocked by what he was seeing. Rather, he was nervous. King saw a bead of sweat flow from his hairline to the bottom of his chin. The man subtly shifted his trigger finger. Previously he had employed impeccable trigger discipline, keeping his index finger on the outside of the guard.
Now, as he saw Moreau’s body, he slipped his finger onto the trigger.
A tiny action — he probably thought he could get away with such a manoeuvre.
Slater saw it too.
What felt like an eternity elapsed before anyone made a move. King entered a state of hyper-awareness, his vision flicking between each officer’s weapon, wondering when the inevitable would come.
Moreau’s words rang in his ears.
I own this island.
Roux made the first move. He probably thought he had all the time in the world to blow their brains out, eliminating the last pair of witnesses from the scene. After all, he was probably still on Moreau’s payroll. It’s what the man would have wanted.
To protect his reputation.
King assumed that Roux and Mercier had paid little attention to the fact that they had classed themselves as Special Forces. A certain confidence came with wielding a loaded gun against an unarmed adversary. They would have thought everything would go swimmingly.
How wrong they were.
King darted forward as soon as he saw Roux bring his weapon hand up. He intercepted the swing at a fifty-degree angle, clamping his hands around the man’s wrist while the barrel of the standard-issue French MAC 50 handgun stayed pointed at the floor. Roux fired a shot, deafeningly loud in the confined space. It startled Mercier into action. He raised his own identical weapon, following the lead of his superior with nervous energy crackling all around him.
Slater was on him in milliseconds.
The inexperienced officer didn’t stand a chance. He let out a gasp of shock as Slater crashed into him from behind, knocking him across the room in a shocking display of violence. He flew off-balance, MAC 50 tumbling away.
King felt Roux’s strength, but h
e knew he could handle it. He kept a firm grip on the man’s wrist with one hand, and punched him in the exposed throat with the other. His accuracy rang true. Knuckles crashed against flesh and Roux spluttered from the impact.
King wondered if the man had ever taken a blow quite like that.
The man’s grip loosened instantly. From there it was as simple as plucking the handgun from his palm and spinning it by its handle.
In a second, King had the barrel aimed firmly between the older officer’s eyes.
He had learnt many lessons over his long career, but none quite as important as the one he was about to employ.
No mercy.
There were two live enemies in front of him, both corrupt, both determined to kill the only men left in the slaughterhouse that the superyacht had become. They had to protect their boss’s dignity. If the truth about his side business came out, his name would be forever tarnished.
King would not let them try again.
He killed Roux with a single 9mm round to the temple that penetrated his skull and sunk into his brain. Death was instantaneous. Moving like a robot, he effortlessly switched his aim to Mercier and shot the officer in the throat before he could snatch up the AR-15 assault rifle he had come to rest by.
He felt nothing. No sympathy. No discomfort. After hearing Moreau’s words about the number of women he had already sent off to slavery and death, King wasn’t perturbed in the slightest with killing those who had kept him in power.
Just as quickly as the encounter with the officers had begun, it came to a brutal end.
‘This is fucked,’ Slater whispered, scratching his head at just how deep the corruption ran.
CHAPTER 40
‘You heard what Moreau said, right?’ King said. ‘He was confident that we wouldn’t make it off the island alive. I’m starting to believe him.’
‘How many more people can he throw at us?’ Slater said.
‘As many as he wants, I’d say.’
‘Not anymore. He’s no longer with us. No longer there to give orders. Surely, his employees would take some time to gather themselves. Find a new leader.’
‘We don’t know that,’ King said. ‘We don’t know anything. He could have an entire system in place in the event of his death. I say we get out of here before shit hits the fan.’
‘What about the girls?’
‘We bring them. I can’t imagine anything going their way if they were taken into custody as witnesses. I don’t trust anyone on this island after what we uncovered.’
‘How do you propose we do that?’ Slater said.
‘Do what?’
‘Bring them with us.’
‘We get them off the boat. Give them cash. Tell them to lay low. I don’t know…’
King dropped to the carpet of the boardroom and rested his head against the wall behind him. He sucked in air, almost at the point of hyper-ventilating. ‘What do you do when the entire island is on this man’s payroll?’
‘We don’t know that,’ Slater said. ‘Those could have just been two bad eggs. Paid to keep an eye on the marina while the deal goes down and ensure all goes according to plan.’
‘You really believe that?’
‘Not one bit.’
Slater paused, like he wanted to say something yet was hesitant to come out with the information. King noticed. ‘What?’
‘I need to show you something,’ he said. ‘Found it on the boat.’
Slater led him down a trio of identical corridors until they came across a luxurious waiting room. They entered the space, which was outfitted with a pair of leather sofas facing one another and an ornate cigar chest propped on a small oak table.
‘Looks like some serious business goes down in here,’ King noted.
‘I’d say so,’ Slater said, gesturing to a duffel bag wedged underneath the table. ‘Found this when I was clearing the rooms.’
King crossed to the bag and zipped it open. He gazed down at a sea of green notes. All American dollars. At least a million. Maybe more. Dirty, laundered blood money. He didn’t care who it belonged to. Every possible owner of the bag was dead.
‘That’s a lot of money,’ he said matter-of-factly.
‘I think I’m going to need it,’ Slater said.
King wheeled around. ‘I can’t say I like where you’re headed with this.’
‘I want out.’
‘Of Black Force?’
Slater nodded. ‘It’s something I’ve been considering for a while.’
‘I know. I can tell.’
‘I can’t do it the way you did.’
‘Why not?’
‘They’ll kill me.’
‘You sure?’
‘I don’t want to risk it.’
King tossed the duffel bag over. ‘I don’t have any need for it. I’ve got enough. But I’d say you do too.’
Slater shook his head. ‘If I disappear, they’ll freeze my accounts.’
‘You’ll start a new life?’
Another nod. ‘You know as well as I do the amount of contacts you form over a career like ours. I know people. All over the globe. I’ll be okay.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ King said. ‘Will Black Force?’
‘I couldn’t care less.’
‘You should,’ King said. ‘Without them the world would be a worse place.’
‘I’ve grown a little skeptical of believing in that.’
King said, ‘I’m not going to stop you. Frankly, I’m not sure if I could. But think long and hard about what you’re doing.’
‘I have.’
‘And?’
‘And now’s the perfect opportunity to flee. I’ve killed my avenues of communication. I won’t switch them back on.’ He turned his gaze toward the ceiling. ‘And I know how to fly a chopper.’
King raised his eyebrows, realising how Slater intended to disappear. ‘Oh.’
‘Yeah,’ Slater said, picking up the duffel bag. ‘This should get me through until I start a new career.’
‘What will you do? I can’t see you working as a bartender.’
Slater shrugged. ‘I don’t care. At this point, I just want to start fresh.’
‘Black Force takes its toll on everyone, doesn’t it?’
Slater nodded solemnly and stared at the floor. ‘Sure does.’
They walked side-by-side in silence to the stairwell. King didn’t bother to try and convince Slater to stay. He had a rare insight into what was churning through the man’s brain. He had experienced many of the same feelings during the tail end of his career. The constant stress and unease and danger. It took its toll, no matter how much they enjoyed it. No matter how much it fuelled them with energy.
In the end, everyone burnt out.
They ascended to the far end of the top deck, stepping out onto the vast helipad constructed on the superyacht’s tail. The HAL Light Utility Helicopter rested in the centre, gleaming in the moonlight.
‘Didn’t even think these things were in production yet,’ Slater said. ‘Weren’t they in development for the Indian Air Force?’
‘I think when you’re a multibillionaire, you get whatever the hell you want,’ King said.
‘It seems so,’ Slater said. He turned around, grinning. ‘Maybe you’ll see me on the cover of Forbes one day. I’ll shoot for the stars.’
King laughed. ‘I hope not. I’d advise you to keep your head down for the rest of your life.’
‘I concur.’
‘So this is it?’
They faced each other on the open deck of the boat, with the warm breeze coming off the ocean lashing at their clothes. King felt a sudden, uncharacteristic pang of sadness. He hadn’t even spent a single full day with the man standing across from him, yet it felt like they had shared a decade’s worth of memories. Maybe that was due to the shared experiences that almost no-one else on the planet could relate to, or perhaps it was simply the bond of battle that King had experienced with so many fellow soldiers in his pre-Black F
orce days.
Slater offered a hand. King shook it. The man’s grip was firm.
‘I know we spent half the day trying to kill each other,’ Slater said. ‘But you’re a good man, King.’
‘I don’t think either of us ever intended to do that,’ King said. ‘Whatever our “instructions” were.’
Slater nodded. ‘I’m not sure why. But I was never close.’
King tapped the side of his head. ‘We’re the same, Slater. Killers with a burning desire to help.’
Slater nodded, then his eyes turned vacant. ‘My desire’s gone. I can’t mask it.’
‘I know. I can see.’
‘What will you do with yourself now?’ Slater said. ‘Continue your vacation?’
The question caught King off-guard. He took his time to reply. ‘I don’t know. I’ll figure it out tomorrow. Right now, I need some sleep.’
‘And I need a fresh start.’
‘I hope it’s everything you want it to be,’ King said, then smiled. ‘I hope it’s nothing like mine.’
Slater smiled back, then swung the door of the chopper open. He threw the duffel bag loaded with cash into the co-pilot’s seat and clambered inside. ‘You take care of yourself. There’s not many people like us. We’re a rare breed.’
‘Will,’ King said, causing the man to pause. They looked at each other from across the helipad. ‘Don’t get caught.’
Slater raised two fingers to his brow, then brought them down in a mock salute. ‘Roger that, sir. Guess it’s lucky that being a ghost is my specialty.’
He slammed the door closed and fired up the HAL. King watched with his hands in his pockets. The rotor blades whirred and the downdraft threatened to knock him off his feet. He backtracked a few steps, avoiding most of the wind’s power. Slater lifted off the helipad and worked the controls. The chopper banked in the air and soared away.
In the space of ten seconds, Will Slater was gone.
King stood alone on the helipad, listening to the sudden calm in the aftermath of the chopper’s deafening flight. He saw its grey chassis melt into the night. It disappeared less than a minute after takeoff. He felt something again. Like the only person who could understand his pain had vanished.