Hunted: A Jason King Thriller (Jason King Series Book 6)

by Matt Rogers

  It answered all Sergei’s questions at once. He knew his employer was not one to part willingly with his money. The man was clinical in his expenses, precise to the cent when it came to business.

  Sergei nodded and lifted the device off the desk, the veins in his forearms pulsating like a living road map from the exertion. It was heavy — at least fifty pounds. The old man watched him wordlessly.

  He recognised that the meeting had come to an end. He tucked the device under his arm, turned on his heel, and exited the office. What needed to be said had been said.

  All that was left was action.

  He headed back to the Tigr, thoughts churning through his head. Taking down a U.S. supercarrier would be his crowning achievement. He would plan this in excruciating detail.

  He would not fail.

  And — in the event that he didn’t make it back from this operation — he would ensure that he and his men went to their graves with their lips sealed. Faceless mercenaries sent from an unknown commander, their true backers never to be discovered. He wouldn’t let the nature of his endeavours be traced back to his employer. The man had gifted him a life of luxury in exchange for his skills, and he did not take that lightly.

  Sergei was a man of honour, above everything else.

  He vaulted into the driver’s seat of the armoured vehicle and dumped the mysterious black device on the passenger’s seat. He slammed the truck into gear and roared away from the mansion. The Tigr kicked up twin geysers of wet gravel in its wake. He activated the wipers and set off back the way he had come.

  Determined.

  Focused.

  Committed to the task at hand.

  4

  North Pacific Ocean

  Seven days later…

  King paced up and down the cramped cell like a caged lion.

  Ramsay hadn’t been bluffing.

  They weren’t headed back to the States, because they would have arrived by now. A Nimitz-class aircraft carrier travelled at roughly thirty knots, which meant they should have arrived yesterday given that they would be crossing the Pacific Ocean from the Russian Far East to the U.S. West Coast. It was hard to tell from the bowels of the ship, sitting in a windowless cell with no concept of day or night, but King was certain that they hadn’t moved.

  In truth, he never would have been able to sense the supercarrier’s motion given the gargantuan scale of the warship — yet there was an ominous feeling in his gut that they weren’t going anywhere.

  He would be kept in the brig until Ramsay or higher authorities struck a deal with the Russians and handed him over on a silver platter.

  That much he was sure of.

  The time had passed in excruciatingly slow fashion. His wounds were nowhere near fully healed, but enough drugs had been pumped into him over the course of a hazy three-day stretch to warrant his release from the infirmary. He had been confined to this cell for the remainder of the time aboard, given nothing to entertain himself with.

  The contents of the room consisted of a hard steel bed frame with no mattress, and a toilet and sink built into the opposite wall. Everything was pristine — King wondered if the cell had ever been used before his arrival — but the boredom now threatened to tear him apart unless someone set him free soon.

  The only human contact had been with the Navy personnel delivering him meals three times a day, but they had been instructed not to speak to him. King assumed they considered him a safety hazard — someone not to be acknowledged under any circumstances.

  Ramsay had them all on a tight leash, no doubt.

  With nothing to keep track of the passing days besides the small clock set high into the wall of the brig’s main corridor, King felt the restlessness threatening to consume him. He thought frequently of pushing himself through gruelling bodyweight workouts as a way to exert some of the energy coursing through him — but always decided against it.

  His injuries were still tentatively healing, and would be for some time. His entire body needed rest while it recuperated.

  On the seventh day, the headache finally faded.

  The incessant throbbing behind his eyeballs that had encapsulated his entire waking life since the moment he’d been extracted from Russia disappeared all at once. He wasn’t certain of the severity of the concussion he’d suffered at the hands of Mikhailov.

  He didn’t know whether it would affect him in the future.

  All he knew was steel and silence.

  He sat on the bed frame with his head resting against the concrete wall, suppressing the urge to glance at the clock every five minutes. The less he focused on the time, the faster it passed. He adjusted his left arm in the tight sling fashioned for his broken wrist back in the infirmary, and exhaled.

  Sometimes he wished for a sense of motion, for the sensation of the supercarrier rocking in the swell of the Pacific Ocean, but he knew it was futile. These warships were behemoths, unaffected by waves or storms — in fact, there were only ten supercarriers in the U.S. Navy arsenal. King didn’t know which one he resided in. No-one had felt the need to enlighten him, and he’d blacked out in the chopper that had rescued him from the stormy coast seven long days ago.

  His next memory had come from within the infirmary’s walls.

  Sudden movement. From the hallway.

  A metal door opening and closing nearby.

  King lurched off the bed frame, his heart kickstarted by the fresh sound. It was three in the afternoon according to the clock on the wall — lunch had been served an hour ago, and dinner wasn’t expected for a while. Which meant this signalled a change in the schedule. Some kind of development. King preferred that over being left to rot in solitude.

  The same two soldiers that delivered him food three times per day strode into view, coming to a halt outside his cell. Both were armed with M4 carbines, the standard service rifle of the United States Navy. It was the first time King had seen them carrying weapons.

  ‘I’m going somewhere?’ he said.

  It was the first time he had spoken in a few days, and he found himself pleased with how clear his voice sounded. His nasal passages were slowly clearing as the broken bones in his septum mended back into place. They were far from healed, but any progress was satisfying enough.

  The soldiers merely stared at him. Neither offered a response. King hadn’t been anticipating one, given their mute track record.

  One man gripped his weapon a little tighter while the other moved to unlock the cell door.

  The metal hinges groaned in the quiet of the hallway. The soldier who opened the door made an instinctual movement — a slight reach for the handcuffs dangling off the belt wrapped around his fatigues. Then he noted King’s arm wrapped heavily in a sling — still badly broken — and relaxed.

  ‘This way,’ he said.

  King let them usher him out of the cell and into the main section of the brig. It was his first time out of the small space in just under four days. He hadn’t showered or cleaned his teeth since his time in the infirmary — a move no doubt carried out by Ramsay to make him understand that he was a prisoner.

  ‘Move,’ the second soldier commanded, prompting him down the hallway.

  King set off slowly, his back to the men. He sensed the anticipation in the air, and wondered how much the pair knew about him. Was he the stuff of legend? A mythical warrior who they had to be on their guard against at all times? Or did they know nothing about his history? They certainly seemed too cautious to be treating him like a common prisoner.

  He decided to test it out as he strode through metal corridors starkly illuminated by artificial white light.

  ‘You know I can kill you two whenever I want?’ he said softly.

  He sensed them stiffen. One of the men jabbed him hard between the shoulder blades with the barrel of his M4, sending him stumbling forwards.

  ‘Shut up, man,’ the guy said. ‘Keep walking.’

  ‘Only playing, boys,’ King said. ‘I know you’re under orders. It’s y
our boss I’m not happy with.’

  Another jab. ‘We don’t care. Keep walking.’

  There was too much false bravado in the command. The pair were nervous wrecks under the façade of foolhardiness. King wondered how much Ramsay had told them about him and how much was shrouded in mystery. In a way, he felt bad for them.

  They hadn’t asked to be put in charge of a rogue black-ops prisoner.

  Maybe they’d drawn the short straws.

  And they weren’t in danger. King wouldn’t think of laying a finger on U.S. military personnel.

  Then again, Ramsay might be a different story.

  They led him into a deserted conference room tucked into the bowels of the sub-levels. The space was pleasantly lit, but it felt hollow and empty, like its services hadn’t been used since it was constructed. King pondered how truly massive this ship was.

  The room was furnished with a broad rectangular table taking up the majority of floorspace. Almost a dozen identical office chairs — probably carted onboard in flat-packs and thrown together without much care — surrounded the table. One of them was occupied.

  Ramsay sat informally at one corner of the table, thrumming the fingers on both hands against the wooden surface. His piercing eyes drilled into King as the two soldiers led him over to the adjacent chair and shoved him down into it. They turned abruptly and left the room, slamming the door behind them.

  King flashed a glance over one shoulder, looking out through the polished window built into the door at eye-level. The pair had turned their backs to the door, waiting patiently outside.

  Standing guard.

  King nodded approvingly. They understood his capabilities.

  He turned back to the only other member of the room and met the gaze of the man who had kept him in a holding cell for the better part of a week.

  5

  After a lengthy silence, Ramsay said, ‘You think I’m a piece of shit?’

  King paused while he considered the statement. ‘I think you’re doing your job.’

  ‘That didn’t answer my question.’

  ‘I don’t know enough about you to pass full judgment.’

  ‘You know that I’m keeping you prisoner. Along with your friends. Shouldn’t that be enough?’

  King shrugged. ‘I’ve been in this game a long time. It takes some work to faze me. I know what I did in Russia. I know it wasn’t ordered of me, and even though I entered the country under false pretences it was my choice to continue. So I guess I’ll accept whatever comes as a result of it.’

  ‘Did you think it would come to this?’

  ‘I expected it might.’

  ‘And you continued?’

  ‘Those workers were going to die. Couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try and help them.’

  Ramsay flicked his tongue against the side of his mouth and cocked his head. He smiled wryly.

  ‘Noble,’ he said.

  Then he dropped one palm to the wooden table between them and continued the thrumming of his fingers.

  ‘Look,’ he continued. ‘Unfortunately, there’s little nobility in the upper levels of government. At least, not at the level I operate at. So — yes, I’m doing my job — but I’d prefer if it didn’t have to happen this way.’

  ‘Then make some calls,’ King said. ‘Talk to some people. If you really support what I did, make sure things are right.’

  Ramsay held up a finger. ‘See, that’s where you and I differ. I always do my job correctly. I follow my orders regardless, which is why I am where I am today.’

  ‘Nothing about this feels procedural,’ King said.

  ‘You’re right,’ Ramsay said. ‘Did you forget who you work for? None of this is on the record — or ever has been. I can do whatever I want with you.’

  ‘So make this disappear.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not so simple this time. You left certain political figures in Russia furious. We need someone to take the blame for fishing about where we don’t belong. That said, you’re an incredible asset to our government. That’s why I thought about pinning it on some nobody—’

  ‘No,’ King said, steadfast.

  Ramsay pointed a scornful finger at King’s face. ‘Which is exactly the response I knew you’d give. You’re a better man than I am. Less ruthless. That’s why we’re here.’

  ‘I don’t agree with it,’ King said. ‘I did what was right. You’re bowing to the demands of corrupt politicians who were involved in illegal activity.’

  ‘Where’s the evidence of this illegal activity?’ Ramsay said. ‘I’d need a rock-solid case. Even if there was one — do you think the Russians will care if we try to bring it to the public? They’ll dismiss it as Western propaganda, faked for media attention. They’re very good at diverting blame.’

  ‘I’m sure if we went digging we’d find a truckload of evidence,’ King said.

  ‘Where? In the Kamchatka Peninsula? Directly after one of our operatives was caught red-handed in territory he had no authorisation to be in?’

  ‘You’re throwing me to the wolves to protect your reputation.’

  ‘And I’ll gladly continue to do so if it means we win the long game. That’s the way the world works. Sometimes good men die. That’s just how it goes.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  Ramsay raised an eyebrow. ‘There we go. Frankly, I was expecting this anger a little sooner.’

  ‘I’m only selfless to an extent,’ King said. ‘I’ll risk my life for others, but I’m drawing the line here. I thought if I was going down for my actions it would be for a slightly better reason than to appease the sick bastards in power over there.’

  ‘You think I’m a coward for doing it?’

  ‘You bet.’

  ‘Too bad. Doesn’t matter how right or wrong you think it is. It’s the way things are.’

  ‘What’s to stop me breaking out of here right now?’ King said, pulse pounding. ‘You know I can. I’m not even restrained.’

  Ramsay grinned. ‘Because I know you too well. Everyone on board has orders to keep you detained. You’d have to kill U.S. soldiers to get off this ship — and you’d never do that. You think with your heart and not your brain. That’s why you insisted on continuing in Russia even when you knew your handler was corrupt.’

  ‘She’s not corrupt…’

  ‘Yes, she is. She’s a traitor to her government and she’ll face the consequences of that. In fact, we’ve got the call logs stored in our systems. You didn’t seem too happy with her when you found out…’

  ‘Temporary anger,’ King said. ‘It passed. Now I understand why she did it.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Ramsay said. ‘Because it’s led to the highest tensions between the U.S. and Russia since the Cold War. You’d do that to save a family member?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Noble…’ the man repeated. ‘That was always going to be your downfall.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She’s in a separate brig. Same as Slater — I split you three up. Hers isn’t as nice as yours, though. I was a little angrier at her when I designated where to put each of you.’

  ‘Slater,’ King muttered under his breath.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Ramsay said, almost staring past King. ‘Will Slater. Will fucking Slater.’

  ‘You’re not a fan?’

  ‘I wanted us to execute him ourselves, all things considered. The bastard went AWOL when we needed him the most. You don’t do that at our level. You just don’t.’

  ‘He needed it,’ King said. ‘For personal reasons. Surely you can understand that.’

  ‘You want my honest opinion?,’ Ramsay said, glaring. ‘I don’t understand anything the three of you are doing. This isn’t a game. You can’t just waltz around the globe killing people as you please. There has to be some kind of structure, covert operations or not. Which is why I’m more than happy to hand you over to the Russians. It’s why I gave Slater the order to hunt you down back in Corsica.’

 
‘That was you?’

  ‘Who else would it have been?’ Ramsay said. ‘Isla didn’t have it in her. She’s always been a puppet. She favours our own too much.’

  ‘So your superiors are okay with handing the government’s best operatives over?’ King said, flabbergasted. ‘That’s no issue?’

  ‘You’re not our operatives anymore. Black Force is done. We’ve already received orders from the Oval Office to disband it and integrate the members back into official military positions. You’re a ghost, King. So are your two friends.’

  A thought came to King. He remembered Sarah Grasso’s corpse, bleeding out in a deserted lodge on a mountain outpost. It was the only reason he had been sent into Russia in the first place. ‘Does Isla know about her sister?’

  Ramsay nodded. ‘I told her. She didn’t seem too happy about it.’

  ‘You don’t seem bothered.’

  ‘You’re right, King. I couldn’t care less. I’m a little preoccupied dealing with political tensions like we’ve never seen before. Now, get the fuck out of my sight.’

  The soldiers outside seemed to sense the finality in Ramsay’s tone, because they entered the room almost immediately after he finished his spiel. Each looped a hand under King’s armpits and hauled him to his feet. He offered no resistance.

  There was nothing he could do.

  Ramsay was right.

  King thought with his heart, and not his brain.

  These soldiers didn’t deserve to pay the price for their commander’s actions.

  So he slumped his head and let them lead him out of the sterile conference room, down indistinguishable steel hallways, back to his cramped steel cell for however long it took to organise his surrender to the Russians.

  6

  Sea of Othotsk

  Russian Far East

  Sergei couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous.

  As his GAZ Tigr roared down a twisting mountain trail that descended onto a desolate beachhead, he gripped the wheel with white knuckles and rode out a cold sweat.