The Red Cobra: a James Ryker Thriller

by Rob Sinclair

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  The Red Cobra

  Rob Sinclair

  Copyright © 2017 Rob Sinclair

  The right of Rob Sinclair to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2017 by Bloodhound Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-912175-11-6

  For my sons, my future

  CHAPTER 1

  She wiped clean the bloodied knife, sheathed it, then looked down at the two lifeless bodies. The man lay naked on the bed, his face twisted into an ugly grimace. Thick red blood smeared his flabby body; most of the blood his, some of it his wife’s. Her lithe body lay haphazardly on the floor by her husband’s feet. Her throat was open, the wound deep enough that the white of her spine was visible.

  If only she’d stayed in the bathroom a few moments longer...

  The man had been the target. It had taken just two days to track him down to the remote coastal house. One day later and he would have been smuggled safely out of the country.

  Unfortunately for him, the assassin’s hunting skills had been underestimated.

  Killing the wife had been nothing more than a split-second reaction. It hadn’t been the intention. If she’d simply been sleeping by her husband’s side she may well have lived through the ordeal.

  The killer wouldn’t dwell. She spent a few moments satisfying herself that despite the impromptu second kill, the scene remained clean of her. Then she slipped out of the house, the many bodyguards stationed there to protect the dead man never once suspecting her presence.

  She headed the half mile along the coastal road on foot to where she’d earlier parked her car. A chilling wind blasted off the nearby shore. It was dark outside, the time nearly two a.m. The closest town was over five miles away and there were no streetlights here. With the sky overcast, the road was near black.

  At least it was for the first five minutes of her walk. Then, out of the darkness, came the twin beams of a car’s headlights, reaching out from behind the killer and slicing through the air ahead. She turned. The vehicle was only fifty yards away. She didn’t panic, just kept on walking.

  As the car neared, she held her breath. Her hand grasped the handle of her sheathed knife. The growl of the car’s guzzling engine reverberated around her head, vibrations shooting through her as the vehicle crawled past. It came to a stop ten yards ahead.

  The driver’s door opened. For a brief moment, the car’s dim interior light lit up the face of the man who stepped out.

  She should have known it would be him.

  He stood still, facing her. Now he was upright, away from the thin light seeping out of the car’s windows, she could no longer make out his face.

  ‘Why?’ was all he said as he stood by the open door.

  His hands hung casually by his sides. Was he armed?

  ‘You know why,’ she said.

  ‘I can still protect you.’

  ‘I never asked for protection.’

  ‘No. You didn’t. But you’re going to need it now.’

  She let his words sink in for only a second.

  And then she ran.

  She sprinted through the blackness, arms and legs pumping in a steady rhythm, her breaths deep and fast. Her heart soon pounded from adrenaline and exertion.

  The darkness would help her, she knew, making her nearly invisible as soon as she was away from the faint glow of the car’s rear lights. Still, she was surprised he didn’t open fire on her. Perhaps he wasn’t armed after all.

  She heard nothing of him from behind and didn’t once dare to look. Straining every sinew and muscle, she bounded across the soggy ground, headed directly for the steep cliffs that gave way to the thrashing sea below.

  With each step she took, the roar of the crashing waves grew louder. Soon it filled her ears. On the distant horizon, the clouds began to part. A sliver of bright white light from the moon became visible. For the first time, she could see the endless expanse of inky water below. And the edge of the cliff just a few paces ahead.

  She closed her eyes, preparing for the leap into the unknown...

  The next second, she was shoved from behind. She lost her footing and ended up face down in the mud. Maybe he slipped too. Or maybe he’d simply thrown his whole body at her in order to bring her down. Either way, his big frame thudded onto the ground next to her.

  In an instant, she turned onto her back, moving away from him, then leaped onto her feet. He did the same. She pulled out the long knife and swung it in a narrow arc as he raced toward her. She caught his arm and heard the slicing noise as the blade tore through skin and flesh.

  He didn’t cry out. Didn’t even murmur.

  He smashed into her. The knife flew from her grasp and they tumbled back to the ground, him on top, straddling her, pinning her arms with his knees.

  Within seconds, two thick hands were wrapped around her neck, choking her. She rasped and gasped for breath.

  The open wound on his forearm glistened in the moonlight. She reached out as much as his restrictive hold would allow, and dug her nails in. Dug deep. She squeezed as hard as she could.

  Not so much as a flinch from him. It was like he wasn’t even there. No humanity behind those pearly eyes. Just a... machine.

  His strength, his determination, his focus, was too much. Her eyes began to bulge. The shadowy vision of him on top blurred.

  But then she saw it. A faint sparkle in the darkness. Metallic. Not her knife. A gun. On the wet ground next to them.

  He was armed after all. At
least he had been.

  She stretched out her hand, the pressure from his knees on her upper arms giving her little room to manoeuvre. She clawed at the soggy mud. Her fingertips were just an inch from the weapon. Her whole body strained...

  She got it.

  Grabbing the gun’s barrel, she swung the grip toward his head. He never saw it coming. The thick metal handle crashed into his skull. He barely seemed to notice. She hit him again. Then a third time. Finally, the grip round her neck weakened. Slightly.

  It was all she needed.

  She bucked and pushed up with all the strength she could muster. His body gave a couple of inches. Enough for leverage. She swivelled and took him with her. A moment later, she was the one on top, the gun’s barrel pressing against his forehead.

  In the darkness, all she could clearly make out of him were his sparkling eyes. When she’d first met him she’d thought him handsome. Out in the cold, dark night, his penetrating gaze was sinister and unforgiving.

  She stared down and he stared right back.

  ‘If you were going to shoot me, you’d have done it already,’ he said, still eerily calm and composed. A stark contrast to how she was feeling. ‘Do it. Do it now. You won’t get a better chance.’

  Her finger was on the trigger. In fact, despite her hesitation, she was actually pushing down on the trigger as he made his move. He grabbed her wrist and pushed the gun up. She fired. Three times. The bullets sailed away into the night. The noise of the gun so close to her head was deafening. And disorientating.

  The next she knew, he’d taken back the gun and was turning it round on her.

  She was sure there would be no hesitation from him.

  She was on her feet and hurtling to the cliff edge when he opened fire. A bullet caught her in the ankle. Then another in her side. As she leaped over the edge, a third bullet sunk into her shoulder.

  She plummeted into the darkness below.

  CHAPTER 2

  Present day

  ‘Mrs Walker,’ the lady receptionist stated in her thick Spanish accent. She looked up over her computer screen into the waiting area where a handful of young women were sitting expectantly.

  Kim got to her feet. She was alone. All the other women had husbands, boyfriends, or what looked to be their mothers, waiting with them. Kim didn’t have a mother. Not one she’d known anyway. And her husband, Patrick, was as ever too busy to come with her.

  That was fine. She could handle herself. She always had.

  On the outside, Kim Walker was beautiful, radiant, confident and alluring. The type of person who made others feel happier. But then the world only ever sees what it wants to see. What lies underneath? Nobody ever really knows. Kim had always been an expert at masking her true self. That was the way it had to be.

  The truth was she was wracked with nerves. As confident as she appeared, she always felt tense in the presence of someone of authority. They were just doctors and nurses here. They weren't the police, the intelligence services or part of some secret and deadly government-sponsored murder squad. They weren’t going to ask questions she couldn’t or wouldn’t answer.

  They posed no real danger.

  To them, Kim Walker was just another pregnancy, another statistic, and another set of forms to fill out. Albeit at thirty-six, she was certainly the oldest of the expectant mothers in the room.

  Kim approached the receptionist, who indicated over to room number four. Kim headed to the door, opened it to reveal a darkened room, and spotted the young female doctor sitting in front of a bank of brightly lit monitors. The doctor looked up at Kim, an apology on her face.

  ‘Mrs Walker, I’m Dr. Karmala. Please come, sit down.’

  The doctor, as with all the other staff at the expensive private clinic in Marbella, spoke perfect English. Many of them were English, though the doctor’s features and her accent suggested she was from somewhere on the Indian sub-continent.

  ‘You can call me Kim. No need to be so formal.’

  ‘Certainly, Kim.’

  Kim shut the door and headed to the bed and sat, looking over the machines next to her with their myriad of knobs, dials, and lights. She felt a sickly sensation in the pit of her stomach. ‘You have the results?’

  The doctor hesitated, shifting in her seat, then looked down at the papers in front of her.

  ‘Yes.’ She paused, as if gathering her thoughts. Or trying to find the words. ‘Mrs Walker–’

  ‘Kim.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Kim. As you know your pregnancy is considered more high risk because of your, urm, age–’

  ‘Just tell me. Please,’ Kim said, already preparing for the worst.

  Tears rolled down Kim’s face as she drove away from the clinic, back towards her lavish villa high up in the mountains overlooking the cool blue Mediterranean. She made no attempt to wipe at the salty streaks.

  Perhaps this was nature’s way of punishing her for what she was. She didn’t believe in a god, about praying for a better life or for forgiveness for the bad things she’d done. Good and evil weren’t concepts designed to test one’s faith in a higher being, they were simply human nature.

  Yet throughout her life, Kim had seen an element of karma; that she did firmly believe in. What goes around comes around. Or maybe it was just pure shitty luck.

  Either way, deep down, Kim felt she deserved it. But how the hell was she going to break the news to Patrick?

  They’d been together for over five years, married for four. He’d long wanted children. She’d always been more hesitant. Because of her own painful childhood, she was fearful of the world she would be bringing a child into. What if it suffered as she had? Even worse, what if it turned out to be just like her?

  But slowly, as the years wore on, her natural mothering instincts had won out. Patrick had never pressurised her. She’d loved him even more for that. Of course, like everyone else, they’d had difficulties in their relationship, but the lack of children had never driven a wedge between them.

  Patrick would be as devastated as she was about the news. And it wasn’t like she was getting any younger. Even if she could get pregnant again in the future, the risks would only increase further with each attempt they made.

  Kim let out a long, pained shout. Not a scream, but an angry, fearsome roar. She was angry with herself more than anything. How fucking selfish could you get? There she was, full of devastation and self-pity that the child she was carrying was less than perfect, but it was still a living child. It was still her child. She would love it unconditionally.

  The tears stopped. A hard-edged resolve broke onto Kim’s face as she battled against the turmoil in her mind.

  It was five p.m. when she wound the car along the long driveway and rolled to a stop outside the grand double doors of her home. Patrick’s car, his beloved Maserati, wasn’t there. She had no idea what time he’d be back from work. She’d left a voice mail asking him to call. She hadn’t given the details but had hoped from her tone of voice – and given he knew where she was going that afternoon – that he’d have understood what the problem might be.

  She’d had nothing in response from him. She loved him dearly but he really could be a self-centred prick sometimes. A lot of the time actually.

  Kim stepped out of her car and walked to the entrance, first unlocking the metal security grate and then the left of the double doors. She swung the door open and stepped into the marble-floored atrium, feeling a waft of pleasantly cool air on her face. She let out a long sigh, pleased to be back in her own space where she could shut herself off from the outside world once more.

  She turned to push the door closed. Caught sight of the dark figure, off to her right, a split second too late.

  Her old instincts were still there, but they weren’t as sharp as they used to be. And she was pre-occupied. Maybe if it had been any other day, maybe if the news she’d just received had been positive, she’d have been more alert and it would have made the difference. A fraction of a second ex
tra was probably all she needed to turn the tables on her would-be attacker.

  And yet it was by such small margins that people regularly lived and died in all sorts of circumstances; accidents, close shaves.

  But this was no accident, Kim knew. Far from it. And she realised as soon as the almond-scented rag was forced over her face that there was nothing she could do.

  Seconds later, her body went limp.

  And during the grave violence that soon followed, her unconsciousness was one thing Kim Walker would surely have been thankful for.

  CHAPTER 3

  James Ryker thanked the shop assistant and picked up the bag of groceries. He’d been going to the same store every other day for nearly twelve months but the assistant – always the same young man, barely out of his teens with an acne-scarred face – never once acknowledged Ryker for the local he was trying to be. Even in this far-flung place, thousands of miles of land and ocean between him and his old life, and where he’d never once caused any trouble, there was still something about Ryker that led others to be wary. At six feet three and with a beefy frame, he could to some extent understand why.

  Or perhaps it was all in his mind.

  Ryker headed on foot back toward his home, his senses high – as always. He doubted he would ever allow himself to feel truly safe. The one time he dropped his guard would be the one time he was caught out.

  As he strode along the road, Ryker’s slate-green eyes swept from left to right and back again, taking in everything and everybody around him. There was no pavement, not in this town, just a single strip of tarmac that ran through the main street, filled with mopeds, cars and pedestrians alike.

  The tarmac was a recent addition. It was only present for a couple of miles either side of the town. Beyond that was a simple dirt track that snaked around the coastline and surrounding farmers’ fields. The track was dry most months of the year and would send up plumes of blood-red dust every time a vehicle passed.

  The place Ryker now called home was certainly remote, but it wasn’t cut off. The area had running water, gas, and electricity, even a sporadic mobile phone signal. It was about as isolated as Ryker could bare – heading off into the wilds to live a life of solitude would probably drive him insane.