by Matt Rogers
‘You’re a soldier?’ Norton asked, his voice shaking.
‘Kind of.’
‘How do you do this? How do you just sit there and tell me everything’s going to be fine when we’re sitting in a room waiting to be raped or killed.’
‘Like I said, I’ve been in worse situations. Look at me. I’m still here.’
‘Why do you put yourself in situations like these? This is the worst thing I can imagine. How do people like this exist?’
King rested his back on the steel mesh. He took a deep breath. ‘Over time you come to learn that the whole world is fucked. There’s millions of people just like these guys. But I get how it’s hard to process.’
‘I feel like I’m going to throw up.’
‘That’s natural.’
‘Who are these people?’ Burns said, gesturing to the door. ‘We were going about our lives in the embassy. They came in and killed all my friends. Took us. We don’t know anything.’
‘They’re a drug gang. They’ve had this facility for years. No-one knew where it was, but the authorities were getting close to finding it so they did something rash. That’s all.’
‘Why us?’ Norton said from the corner.
‘Because that’s how the world works. Sometimes normal people like yourselves get put in shit situations like this. And that’s why people like me exist. You two might be scared beyond belief but this is normal to me. I’ve lost count of the amount of times my life has been in danger.’
‘You’re a genuine madman,’ Norton said.
‘Maybe.’
‘Why do you put yourself in danger?’ Burns said. ‘You’re a smart guy. I’m sure you could have a normal job.’
‘I could.’
‘Then why?’
‘Someone has to do it.’
‘It doesn’t have to be you.’
King began to explain why it had to be, but was interrupted by the sound of a key turning in a lock behind him. He sprung to his feet as the door swung inward.
Mabaya stepped into the room, brandishing one of the Browning pistols he’d held before. The safety was off.
CHAPTER 25
A palpable tension crept into the room.
Behind him, King heard Norton let out a noise resembling a whimper. The boy shrank further into the corner, like the extra few inches would help him get out of range of Mabaya’s gun. A useless effort. One made out of fear. King silently promised he would try and get Norton free even if it meant his own death. This kid didn’t deserve to die here.
Up close, he studied Mabaya. The man was a similar height to King. Somewhere around six foot three. Muscle packed his tall frame. His skin glistened with sweat. King wasn’t sure if there was a gym in the compound or if the mercenary had excellent genetics. Nevertheless, he was strong. That much was clear. His bald head shone even in the dim lighting. King noted the absence of emotion in his eyes. He was a hard man. A brutal man. Just from the expression in his eyes, King knew he would have no qualms killing the three of them where they stood.
‘Hello, American,’ Mabaya said, his accent thick. His voice resonated in the small space. Norton flinched at the sound. Burns stood beside King, defiant. She was a strong woman.
‘If you let us go, we promise—’ Burns began.
Mabaya levelled the Browning at her head. ‘Did I say you could speak?’
She fell silent.
‘I am talking to this pig,’ he said. ‘If either you or the pussy boy in the back say a single thing, I will put bullets into you.’
King watched in silence. He made sure to stay completely still, hesitant to move a muscle. Any sudden action would result in his death.
‘Now, American,’ Mabaya said. ‘How did you find us?’
‘The police and the government have your location,’ he said. ‘The local Iquitos police were bringing it to our embassy. That’s why you attacked it. You knew they were close.’
‘Well then you three are useless to me. I might as well kill you right now.’
‘You won’t do that.’
‘And why is that?’
‘I can help you. I know what type of forces we are going to send. I can show you how to escape, because I know exactly how they’re going to attack you. You just need to let these two go.’
The barrel of the Browning moved horizontally through the air. It came to a halt aimed directly at King’s forehead. He stared death in the eyes. If Mabaya pulled the trigger the small black hole in the centre of the barrel would spit out a bullet and kill him before he even knew what was happening. There would be nothing but instant darkness.
‘Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?’
‘No.’
‘I would rather die than get your help, American. You killed my men. You will die, but not just yet. It will be slow.’
‘These two have done nothing to you. I’m the one you have hatred for. Not them.’
‘They are Americans. They will die.’
‘Please—’ Burns started to say.
King knew instantly it was the wrong move. Mabaya’s tone had been dead serious when he told her not to speak. He already hated the three of them.
Burns’ voice tipped him over the edge.
He shifted his aim once again and pulled the trigger. In the enclosed room the noise exploded off the walls like a detonating bomb. Norton screamed and flinched behind them. The muzzle flash filled King’s vision. The next thing he saw was Burns doubling over. Clutching her stomach. Blood began to pour from her mid-section.
She hit the concrete floor with an unceremonious thud and came to rest in the fetal position, hands covering her abdomen. Already her face was deathly pale. Pain creased her features.
King did not hesitate to act. He needed to apply pressure to the wound before she bled out. It might be too late to try, but he couldn’t just stand there. He dropped to one knee and hurried to find the exact point of entry of the 9mm bullet.
The wound was significant. Her tattered clothing was already soaked through with blood. King knew he had turned his back to Mabaya. He wouldn’t see a bullet coming if the mercenary decided to end his life. But it was his duty to try and save Burns.
‘Don’t bother,’ a voice behind him said.
Another deafening report. King’s flinch was involuntary. He’d expected Mabaya to shoot, but he didn’t think he would still be alive to hear it. But he hadn’t been the target.
Burns’ head jerked backward, now sporting a bullet hole in the centre of her forehead. Instantly the life disappeared from her eyes. She was a corpse by the time she came to rest, rolled onto her back by the force of the impact.
It was the final straw. King saw nothing but red. His head filled with blinding, seething rage.
Running off instinct, he turned and charged at the steel mesh. He felt an enormous surge of adrenalin coursing through his veins, lending him speed. His actions were fast. Too fast for Mabaya to get a good aim.
He lashed out with a steel-toed boot, throwing a front kick. A move practiced thousands of times on heavy bags in gyms across the world. Coupled with the burst of primal energy, King struck the flimsy lock in exactly the right spot. The rusting metal bent under the force of the kick, denting beyond repair. As his foot touched the floor he kicked with the other leg. A fluid motion. The movement took no less than a second. This foot struck the centre of the cage door with equal power. It was enough to have its intended effect.
The door tore off its weak hinges. King had guessed correctly when he assumed that the steel mesh had been in place for years. There was limited access to supplies in these parts. It hadn’t been designed well enough to withstand such a precise blow. He had expected it to swing open but the material was poorer than even he had anticipated. The entire door flew out of its slot and struck Mabaya. Not enough force to do damage. But he hadn’t seen it coming. The impact sent him staggering. One of his boots skidded on the concrete floor and he careered to the floor. The steel mesh landed on him, pinning him awkwardly.<
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King surged out of the caged area and threw the flimsy door to the side, exposing Mabaya. The incident had taken him by surprise and as a result he had lost his grip on the Browning. It lay by his side, no use to him now.
King thundered an elbow into his throat, once again timing it perfectly. He felt the man’s windpipe take a significant impact. He was winded. It was time to finish it. If he had learnt one thing over his career it was that no nobility or honour existed in hand-to-hand combat. In a life or death fight, one must do whatever necessary to ensure their own survival. With that knowledge in his mind he took the opportunity to swing a boot into Mabaya’s chin.
He had no idea how much damage the kick had done. It scrambled Mabaya’s brain and knocked him senseless. If there was lasting damage, King couldn’t care less. The consequences of the kick barely scraped the forefront of his mind. The only thing that mattered was that the man was unconscious.
For a moment he considered the recklessness of his plan. If the door hadn’t budged, he would have been shot to pieces. Rage had taken over. Even though he’d come out victorious, he should not have been so careless. Blind luck had been the difference between life and death.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he heard Norton say from the corner of the room.
The kid would be in shock. Burns — his only companion — was dead. King wasn’t sure if Norton had ever seen a corpse before. Coupled with the massive instantaneous violence of the last ten seconds, King didn’t blame him for being scared senseless.
‘I know this is all too much to process,’ he said. ‘But you can worry about that later. If you want to live, ignore it and just follow what I do.’
Norton nodded, his eyes wet.
The unconscious body beneath King had a satellite phone attached to its belt. He couldn’t help but smile. Now he had exactly what he needed.
‘Thank you, Mabaya,’ he whispered.
He bent down and snatched the phone out of its holster, scooping up the Browning with his other hand. Ten round magazine. Two rounds were buried in Burns. He had eight bullets.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
As soon as he spoke, he heard commotion in the hallway. Mabaya had left the door open, revealing a narrow corridor with walls made of aluminium sheeting. The whole place felt shoddily constructed. This area must be a haphazard prison in one corner of the building.
A man rounded the corner. Norton jolted violently, surprised at the sudden encounter. King was ready. He knew the gunshots would have drawn attention. Anticipation was everything in this game. It meant that King took only a fraction of a second to lock his aim onto the bulky figure in the doorway and tap the trigger twice in quick succession.
One in the head, one in the throat. The Phantom was dead before he hit the floor.
‘What the fuck is going on?!’ Norton screamed.
King didn’t blame him after witnessing so much death and violence for the first time, but the noise sure was inconvenient. Every mercenary in the compound would be on them in no time. He couldn’t hesitate.
‘Let’s go,’ he said again to Norton.
The boy didn’t move for a split second. There was no time.
‘Norton, move!’ King roared at the top of his lungs.
It terrified him into action. He scrambled to his feet and followed King into the hallway.
King’s eyes darted over his surroundings. He took a quick glance to the left and right. If they went left they would head into the main area of the compound. A large warehouse, King guessed. Most of the Phantoms would be scattered around the room. If he was alone, it would be his path of choice. He wasn’t one to run from a fight, and right now he had the biggest advantage of them all. Surprise. If he didn’t have Norton in his company, he would hunt down and kill every last remaining Phantom. That was his nature.
But it carried a level of risk that he was not willing to expose the boy to. Norton deserved safety. He deserved every ounce of help King could give. And that meant escape.
The other end of the corridor ran into the edge of the building. A window sat at chest-height, built into the smooth concrete wall. Just large enough to fit through. It led onto the rear of the compound, which consisted of a small open clearing surrounded by dense jungle. That was where they would head.
‘Out that window, okay?’ King said. ‘Go smash it.’
‘What?’
‘Go break the glass. I’ll keep you covered.’
‘Uh…’
‘Norton, for fuck’s sakes, go. I’m going to make sure you don’t die. Hurry up.’
The boy made for the end of the hallway. King dropped to one knee and aimed the Browning in the other direction, ready for anyone who dared to come through.
He heard shouting out in the main area. It echoed off the walls and the high ceiling. They knew there was trouble. They would come charging in any second.
He heard Norton smash the window, but he kept his gaze locked. Any second…
He saw a flash of movement. He spammed the trigger three times, more reflex than measured accuracy. Nevertheless, it was enough. Two bullets hit the Phantom who came charging into the hallway and he skidded face-first across the floor, carried by his own momentum. The gun in his hands came free and clattered along the concrete, coming to rest near King.
A Taurus PT92 pistol. Probably fully loaded. They had a fifteen round magazine.
He’d take it.
With his free hand he switched the Browning for the Taurus and bolted for the window. Norton was halfway out. He knew the other Phantoms would hesitate to enter as brazenly as their friend, who had died for his brashness. He had maybe a few seconds.
He was a foot away from the window when he heard the cock of an automatic weapon from far behind.
Wrong. They weren’t hesitating.
He threw himself at the window with everything he had. Pure nerves lent him another much-needed burst of energy. His torso exited the window first, followed by his legs. One thigh scraped along the broken glass, drawing blood. It was the least of his concerns. As he crash-landed in the mud, several rounds flew over his head, chasing him out the window. They’d missed by inches.
Norton lay prone on the clearing floor. His legs shook uncontrollably. He was a nervous wreck.
King sprung to his knees, raised the hand with the Taurus in it and fired three rounds blindly through the broken window.
The gunfire stopped. The Phantoms had ducked for cover inside. Now was their one and only chance to get clear of the compound.
He made a beeline for the jungle. On the way, he reached down and scooped Norton up with one hand, throwing him to his feet. It spurred the boy into action. Together they flew across the clearing and crashed into the foliage, disappearing into the trees before the remaining Phantoms had a chance to shoot them down.
CHAPTER 26
For a minute straight, they ran in silence. Norton had lost all disregard for injury. Every atom of his being was focused on survival. King had seen it before in newcomers to a warzone. Every type of injury lost all meaning. Staying alive was the only priority. The boy powered through the rainforest, almost turning his ankle over several times.
King reached out a hand and grabbed Norton’s shoulder. He jumped.
‘That’s it, kid,’ he said. ‘We’re far enough away. Take your time.’
Even with a loose grip, King felt the boy shaking.
‘Let’s go!’ Norton said. ‘Let’s go, come on, let’s go!’
‘Don’t rush. You’ll break your ankle and then I’ll have to carry you. And then they might catch us.’
‘Okay.’
He slowed significantly after that. They jogged for another hundred feet, putting distance between themselves and the compound. Then King stopped Norton again.
‘That’s far enough.’
‘What do you mean that’s far enough?! Let’s get the fuck out of here!’
‘No, because then we’ll get lost. And then all the running in the world won’t mean sh
it. We’ll die of thirst or starvation. I’d almost rather take a bullet.’
Norton saw the satellite phone in his hand.
‘Do you know how to use that?’
‘It’s a satellite phone,’ King said. ‘Pretty basic military appliance. I think I’m good.’
‘So you can call for backup?’
‘I can.’
Then Norton did something that took King by surprise. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and hugged him.
‘Thank you for saving my life,’ he muttered.
King took a moment to process it. He lived his life on the battlefield. Gestures such as these were few and far between. He paused for a second, then reached up and ruffled the kid’s hair.
‘No problem, buddy. It’s what I do.’
They parted.
‘Time to get out of here?’
‘You bet.’
They found a small alcove in between two trees and hunched down into it, away from prying eyes. King fiddled with the satellite phone, thumbing its buttons until he found what he needed. He dialled in a memorised number and let it ring.
It was answered on the second.
‘Name?’ a female voice said.
‘Jason King.’
‘Confirm, please.’
‘Arctic two chopper, zero three warthog.’ The people on the other end of the line were the only others who knew his identification code. It protected them from falling for any kind of impersonation.
‘Putting you through now.’
A few moments of static, then another voice came on, this one male.
‘This is Lars.’
‘Lars, it’s King.’
Lars Crawford held more power than any of the other Joint Chiefs of Staff, yet he technically did not exist. No records were kept of his dealings. He held no official government title. He worked from deep inside the Pentagon, often advising the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the man considered the most senior military official in the country.