The Jason King Series: Books 1-3

by Matt Rogers

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Clint said. ‘That’s just Iquitos.’

  King didn’t respond. It was now dark outside. ‘What time are wheels up?’

  ‘You fly out at 0500.’

  ‘Into the jungle?’

  ‘Do you really know nothing about your operation?’

  ‘Like I said, I haven’t been briefed.’

  ‘I don’t know how the fuck you do it.’

  King looked at him. ‘Do what?’

  ‘You’re a madman. You fly from country to country doing whatever people tell you. You constantly put your life on the line. You don’t stop. I mean, the stories I’ve heard…’

  ‘I’m not a regular guy,’ King said. ‘Far from it. I can’t stay in one place for too long. I get restless. I can’t sleep. I feel useless. I need to be moving.’

  Clint shook his head. ‘Doesn’t all this scare the shit out of you?’

  ‘Of course it does. That’s the point.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Doing what frightens me keeps me going. I never know what I’m walking into. Every time they send me somewhere, I go in expecting to die.’

  ‘You’re insane. I’m an analyst, for Christ’s sake, and all this still scares me.’

  ‘So it should. It’s a dangerous game.’

  ‘Well, you seem to be comfortable in it.’

  ‘Far from it. But I’m one of the rare people who gets a kick out of being uncomfortable.’

  ‘A lot of people embrace being uncomfortable. They take up extreme sports, or push themselves out of their comfort zone. They don’t go charging into a warzone.’

  ‘Maybe that’s how I stay sane. I feel like I’m wasting away if I don’t live on the edge.’

  Clint scoffed. ‘Unbelievable. Well, whatever gets you through the day.’

  He hit the gas and the sedan lurched forward, roaring to the airfield.

  CHAPTER 3

  Slowly, the urban buildings on either side grew further and further apart. Another ten minutes of travel and they were out of the centre of Iquitos. It was quieter out this way. No constant drone of traffic. Just crickets and the buzz of the streetlights, occasionally interspersed with distant yelling.

  ‘Where are you headed after you send me off?’ King said.

  ‘Back to HQ.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Texas.’

  ‘You spend a lot of time there?’

  ‘Most of it. This globe-trotting thing is new to me.’

  ‘It makes you uneasy. I can tell.’

  ‘Like I said, I’m just an analyst. I’m not used to field work.’

  ‘After this, you’re done,’ King said. ‘You’ll watch my plane fly out and then you’ll head back to the airport and get on a plane home. Safe and sound.’

  ‘I can’t even imagine how you feel.’

  ‘Reserved. I’m used to this.’

  ‘I hope they pay well.’

  ‘They do. But that’s not the point.’

  Clint stopped outside a wire fence that seemed to run forever. Overgrown weeds snaked through the gaps down low. There was a gate in front of them, manned by a Peruvian guard in a dishevelled uniform. King noticed the pistol in a holster at his belt. Clint stuck an arm out the open driver’s window and held his palm out, fingers spread. A wave. The guard nodded, much like the airport security officer had, and moved to open the gate for them. Their headlights illuminated the space directly ahead, but the rest was darkness. King saw a field of dead grass stretching out in all directions.

  The guard opened the gate and waved them through. He said nothing as the sedan crawled slowly past.

  Tension ran thick in the air. King recognised it. The guard’s airfield had been rented out by persons unknown, for reasons unknown. The man would not have been told what was happening. He had been kept in the dark, forced to stand around waiting to open the gate for mysterious men in the shadows. King often imagined these scenarios from the perspective of outsiders.

  The sedan tackled the overgrown grass reasonably well. The sky had turned black, and the only light in these parts came from the headlights. Twin beams lit up the path ahead like beacons. They revealed nothing but flat ground as far as King could see.

  ‘You said this was an airfield,’ he said.

  ‘It is. I didn’t say it was well-kept.’

  Eventually they hit a runway, the tarmac cracked and damaged. King wondered how planes took off from its surface.

  He would find out in the morning.

  The sudden silence was eerie. They’d made the trip to the airfield through the bustling heart of Iquitos, surrounded by the sounds of the city. Now there was nothing. The only noise came from the sedan’s grumbling engine.

  Then he saw a faint source of light in the distance. A yellow glow. Windows, far away.

  ‘Is that us?’ he said.

  Clint nodded. ‘It’s where we’ve set up camp. The airplane hangar. Don’t get excited, it’s nothing interesting.’

  King realised that as they pulled up to the entrance. “Hangar” was a very loose definition of the building that lay ahead. It was a warehouse made of corrugated iron. Its walls were in the process of rusting away. The entire structure looked like it could collapse from a slight gust of wind. The roller doors were up, revealing the inside of the building, illuminated softly by flickering overhead lights. A single space, high ceilings, cracked concrete floor. It seemed like everything was broken around these parts. A dirty single-engine plane sat in the centre, surrounded by vast open space.

  A Cessna, King noted.

  Next to that a cluster of trestle tables had been erected, their surfaces strewn with documents and laptop computers. A man sat in a folding chair at the tables. The hangar’s only occupant.

  As King and Clint pulled inside, he rose off his seat and came over. He seemed a similar age to Clint, with a full head of thick hair and a tanned, weather-beaten face. He wore a loose long-sleeved shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms. He had the soldier look in his eyes. It was a difficult emotion to describe, but King never failed to recognise it. A mixture of determination and constant alertness. The look of a man who never truly switched off.

  ‘Brad,’ Clint said as he climbed out of the car. ’This is Jason King.’

  They shook hands. Brad had a firm grip.

  ‘How are you?’ King said.

  ‘Who gives a fuck?’ Brad said. ‘You don’t care how I am. I’m here to brief you. Then you’re off. That’s it.’

  ‘Good,’ King said. ‘We think alike. I really don’t give a fuck how you are.’

  Brad nodded. Mutual respect. ‘Perfect. Let’s get to work.’

  They moved to the tables. As they walked, Clint took a detour to the side of the hangar and grabbed a remote hanging from the wall. He pressed a single button and the roller doors began descending, accompanied by an almighty screeching noise.

  ‘What do you know about what you’re heading into?’ Brad said.

  ‘Absolutely nothing,’ King said.

  Brad raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve got nerves of steel.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t. Maybe when I find out what I’m facing I’ll hightail it out of here and catch a flight back home.’

  ‘I doubt it. Rumours are you never turn down anything.’

  King said nothing. Simply nodded. Sometimes, rumours proved correct.

  ‘Okay,’ Brad said, staring down at the files in front of him. ‘First things first. The Fantasmas De La Selva.’

  King knew rudimentary Spanish. He translated in his head. ‘Jungle Phantoms?’

  ‘That’s what they call themselves. Sounds spooky. Really they’re just a gang of drug runners operating out of a facility somewhere in the Amazon.’

  ‘You don’t know where?’

  ‘We know roughly where. That’s the crux of this whole operation. These slimy fuckers are responsible for eighty percent of the cocaine in Iquitos. And, quite frankly, they’re very good at what they
do. They have a horde of men in the city distributing. They have runners transporting the drugs from the rainforest to the city. They have who knows how many men in the jungle itself, protecting their warehouse. And the entire thing is so well-oiled that they’ve been doing this for the last three years without detection.’

  ‘What do we have to do with this?’ King said. ‘Sounds like a problem for the police.’

  It was a harsh statement, but a necessary one. There were thousands of drug gangs across the globe, each wreaking havoc in their own respective regions. King was a specialist, and he could not tackle them all. Some situations were a matter for the local authorities.

  ‘It was their problem,’ Brad said. ‘They’ve been doing everything they can to put a stop to the operation. Crime rates have been rising. There’s more and more addicts on the streets. It’s turning into a crisis. The police were sinking all their resources into locating their HQ in the rainforest, and they were close.’

  ‘Were?’

  ‘The Phantoms realised the cops were catching up. They got desperate. There’s been a pattern of killings in the last week. Thirty-seven in total, all gunned down in the street. We think they’re people who had information on the Phantoms in one way or the other. Basically, anyone suspected of leaking anything is getting executed. Doesn’t matter if they did it. Doesn’t matter what they knew. They’re covering their tracks ruthlessly.

  ‘Then, the cops thought they had something. They’d compiled enough data and surveillance to conclude the rough whereabouts of the facility. They didn’t know exactly what they were up against, so they brought the files to the US embassy in Lima. A request for help. This was yesterday.’

  ‘Fuck,’ King said. He knew where Brad was heading. ‘Were they followed?’

  Brad nodded. ‘A truck full of armed men opened fire on the embassy as soon as the officers walked through the front door. Then they stormed the place. All the cops from Iquitos are dead. Four of ours are dead. The whole place is trashed. And they took three embassy workers hostage. All ours.’

  No-one spoke. The walls of the hangar creaked, battered by the night wind outside. King couldn’t shake a sinking feeling in his gut that this was unresolvable without massive violence.

  CHAPTER 4

  King took a moment to mull over the information he had just received. It was a volatile situation. Any action involving embassies crossed all kinds of lines. The reaction would be catastrophic.

  He calmly organised his thoughts, until the most pressing question came to mind.

  ‘Who knows?’ he said.

  ‘Not the media,’ Brad said. ‘We’ve managed to keep this under wraps for now. It’ll come out eventually, of course.’

  ‘That’s impossible,’ King said. ‘Armed men shoot up an embassy and no-one knows about it?’

  ‘They know something’s happened. But we cordoned off the scene before any of them got there. It’s a high-walled compound. They can’t see in. They’re running around the exterior, harassing us for details. That’s it so far.’

  ‘Do you know where they took the hostages?’

  ‘We do. These guys are ruthless, but they’re idiots. They’ve uploaded a video on a private site they knew we would find. They think they’re a step ahead. Want to watch?’

  King nodded.

  Brad spun one of the laptops around to face him and tapped the space bar, starting a video. The camera quality was grainy and pixelated, but it wasn’t hard to make out the three Americans tied to chairs, hessian sacks over their heads, all perched on the floor of a grimy, dark warehouse. A long rectangular window in the background showed dense foliage. The vegetation outside was a stark green.

  ‘They took them into the jungle?’ King said.

  ‘They did. Must have taken them all last night to make the journey. Luckily, we still have the documents the cops brought to our embassy. We know roughly where their facility is.’

  A man behind the camera began to talk in stunted English. His voice was deep and heavily accented.

  ‘We have three American,’ the voice said. ‘The authorities will leave us alone. If any of us are arrested, we kill American. If any interference at all, we kill American. Embassy was sending message. You leave us alone, or next time is worse.’

  The image froze, signifying the end of the video.

  King turned to look at Brad. ‘Surely they know that will only create a shitstorm.’

  ‘Like I said, they’re idiots. They think we don’t know their location. But we do. And that’s where you come in.’

  ‘Hang on,’ King said. ‘Have you done any surveillance?’

  ‘We can’t. Their whole compound’s covered by the rainforest canopy. We did some drone scouting and found nothing. But they’re definitely near a set of co-ordinates we have. That much we know.’

  ‘This is one of the worst-researched plans I’ve ever come across.’

  ‘Well we need you, King, or they’ll kill the hostages on video and broadcast it to the world just as the media’s releasing information on what happened at the embassy. We’re trying to prevent a massive overreaction, because if this goes public, you can be damn sure someone is going to.’

  ‘Send in a team.’

  ‘We can’t. They’ll pick up our scent. And you’ve seen that they’re not afraid to kill on the slightest whim.’

  ‘So the main priority is rescuing the hostages?’

  ‘That’s paramount. Retrieve all three of them alive. Anything else is a secondary objective. If you kill hostiles, fine. No-one’s going to prosecute you for that. No-one will even know you were there if this all goes according to plan.’

  ‘I take it this is off the books.’

  ‘Completely.’

  ‘Is there backup?’

  ‘You’re looking at it. Anything goes wrong, the two of us will extract you.’

  ‘That’s a confidence booster if I’ve ever heard one.’

  ‘Get fucked.’

  ‘Who are the hostages?’

  Brad used the trackpad on the laptop to open a folder of photos. He tapped three times, bringing up three passport photos on the screen, side by side. Two men and a woman.

  The man on the left was bald, with a permanent scowl. He looked like he had previously served. Brad pointed at him: ‘Roman Woodford. Ex-military. He was security for the embassy. They killed all the other guards.’

  ‘He could help if I get him out,’ King noted.

  The woman in the middle looked secretarial. She had shoulder-length blond hair, tied back. She looked to be in her late forties. ‘Jodi Burns,’ Brad said. ‘She co-ordinated diplomatic relations. She’s tough, according to her co-workers. Resilient.’

  ‘What about this kid?’ King said, motioning to the male on the right. *Kid *was the correct choice of word. He had a young, boyish face and slicked back auburn hair. ‘He looks like he should still be in school.’

  ‘He is in school,’ Brad said. ‘Studying international relations at the University of Tennessee. His name’s Ben Norton. He was two months into an internship at the embassy when this happened. He’s the real worry. If the media finds out they have him hostage, this thing will explode.’

  King paused. Pointed at the photo of Ben Norton. ‘It will be disastrous if anything happens to him. Emotions will be high. Reactions will be reckless.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Okay…’ King said, taking a deep breath. ‘I need to go in, get these three out, kill as many of the Phantoms as I can and get extracted. How do I do that?’

  ‘A pilot will meet us at this hangar at 0500,’ Brad said. ‘He’ll fly you to the exact co-ordinates the embassy gave us and you’ll skydive in, with gear.’

  ‘In this?’ King said, slapping the hull of the Cessna.

  ‘Yes. Then you locate the facility, do your thing and call us when you need extraction. There’s a Delta chopper on its way to Iquitos. It’ll be ready by the time you’re done tomorrow. We had limited resources as to how to get you in ther
e.’

  ‘Hang on,’ King said. ‘Limited resources. Are you telling me the pilot’s not one of us?’

  ‘He’s not military. He’s a private contractor, working out of this airfield. It was the best we could do given the circumstances.’

  ‘Why isn’t he running his little business out of the airport?’

  ‘He lost his license three months ago, for flying intoxicated. The customers he sells tourist packages to don’t know that though.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘It’s how we bribed him into helping us.’

  King said nothing.

  ‘Are you in, King?’ Brad said.

  The hangar lapsed into silence. Clearly, they expected him to speak. He stayed quiet. Resting one hand on the Cessna. Thinking hard. The reason for his massive success on the battlefield and ability to avoid death like it was a mere inconvenience was due to years upon years of calculated and efficient assessment. He had to know exactly what to do and when to do it. If this operation went ahead, it would only be after his approval. He had the facts in his head. Now it was time to weigh them.

  The two men watched him intently. They knew not to interrupt. They recognised the look. The absolute concentration.

  Finally, he spoke.

  ‘Okay.’

  Brad nodded. ‘Get some rest, King. It’s going to be a tough day tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. Where do I sleep?’

  They showed him through to a small room built into the rear wall of the hangar. It contained nothing but a bare mattress, devoid of sheets or bedding, and a small sink for washing up. King remained unperturbed. He had slept in infinitely worse conditions before. A mattress would do fine, no matter how thin or unkempt.

  ‘We’ll wake you at 0400,’ Brad said.

  ‘I’ll be awake,’ King said.

  He heard them leave and shut the door behind them. After all this time, he was alone. He would use these hours to recharge his batteries and calm himself for the operation ahead. Despite what many thought, he was an introvert. He had no trouble conversing with people, but when left to his own devices he could take some time to wind down and zone in. Being alone energised him. It was why he had operated by himself for all these years. He was not suited for a team environment. His success came from making decisions himself, instantaneously, without having to debate their merits with others. In combat his judgments were always precise, and not having to relay that to fellow soldiers was a key component of his ability to survive.