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

by Matt Rogers

  ‘King,’ Slater said, approaching the bed. ‘This is Riad. He’s a doctor here at this hospital.’

  ‘Where am I?’ King muttered.

  ‘Oman. This is a private hospital.’ Slater spoke slowly, giving King time to comprehend his words. ‘I’ve paid this man well. He’s going to nurse you back to health, and ignore anyone who comes asking about us. Okay?’

  King squinted, fighting off the lucid haze that the painkillers were throwing over him. ‘What about you?’

  Slater paused. He turned slowly to face Klara and Riad. ‘Could you give us a minute?’

  They both nodded and left the room, stepping out softly so as to not disturb King. He watched them go, confused.

  ‘We’re in this together, aren’t we?’ he said to Slater. ‘What are you doing?’

  Slater sighed. ‘I think now is the best time for us to go our separate ways, King.’

  King furrowed his brow. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s best if we decide on this quickly — we can’t spend days thinking about it. We need to do what’s right.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘We’ve always wanted different things.’

  ‘You want to escape all this craziness, right?’

  Slater shrugged. ‘To be honest, I felt more comfortable fighting for my life than sitting poolside at a resort in Antigua.’

  ‘You can’t be serious.’

  ‘It’s in my blood. It was in yours. I can see it fading from you with every day that passes.’

  ‘There’s nowhere to go…’

  ‘There’s a million places to go,’ Slater said. ‘Like I said, we want different things. I can see it in your eyes. You’re done with everything. Either Ramsay’s betrayal or Isla’s death changed something in you. You never want to see combat again, do you?’

  King shook his head. ‘You’re damn right I don’t.’

  ‘I can’t say the same,’ Slater said. ‘Yet.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I feel the same as you during your first attempt at retirement. Trying to convince myself that I want out, but in reality looking for any way to sneak back into that world.’

  ‘You want to go to war?’

  ‘Not exactly. I want to travel. I want to hit the road. I won’t shy away from trouble. I’ll embrace it. I feel like I can put my skills to good use. I feel like you’re on a different path.’

  King rested his head back against the soft white pillow, finally understanding what Slater was getting at. It was true — he wanted nothing more than peace. He had been fighting for as long as he could remember. Slater had been dead-on about his first attempt at retirement. He’d tried to tell himself that he was done, but had jumped at the first sign of confrontation in the backwoods of Australia.

  Now, all the way down to the bottom of his soul, he wanted out.

  ‘You don’t mind that life?’ he said to Slater. ‘What we just went through?’

  ‘I feel young. I feel dangerous. I feel like I’ve finally been let loose. I served a government I didn’t fully believe in for far too long. Now I can do whatever the hell I want to do. If I see someone getting exploited, I can help them.’

  King nodded, relating to him. ‘I know how you feel.’

  ‘I think I’ll go explore,’ Slater said. ‘See the sights. I wasn’t built to sit back and do nothing.’

  ‘I didn’t think I was,’ King said. ‘Until it hit me all at once.’

  Slater shrugged. ‘You’re more mature than me, I guess.’

  ‘Different priorities.’

  ‘I want to help. And I want to experience everything. Everything I couldn’t when I was enlisted.’

  ‘I’m not going to protest that,’ King said. ‘You do you. It’s your life.’

  ‘So you understand?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You think the U.S. will come looking for us?’ Slater said.

  ‘I think they have more serious problems on their mind right now. If I had to guess, they’ll let us fade into obscurity. Pretend we never existed. Easier than acknowledging it. Their lead man is dead, and they have to explain what the hell he was doing in Dubai. And deal with Russia at the same time.’

  Slater’s expression turned dark. ‘So that’s it, you think? Everything we did for them…’

  ‘That’s what we signed up for. Secrecy. Lies. Concealment.’

  ‘I guess it helps us now.’

  ‘I guess so, brother.’

  Slater got to his feet and clamped a hand down on King’s shoulder. ‘Is this it?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘You happy with it?’

  ‘As happy as I can be,’ King said, subconsciously replaying the bullet slicing into Isla’s pale forehead.

  ‘Yeah…’ Slater trailed off, likely imagining the same thing. ‘Was it quick?’

  King nodded. ‘Painless. She wouldn’t have even realised what was coming. Can’t say the same for how Ramsay died.’

  ‘Good. The bastard deserved it.’

  ‘He deserved a lot worse.’

  ‘Take care of yourself, King. Find somewhere quiet. Then never leave.’

  ‘That’s what I plan to do.’

  ‘Where do you think you’ll go?’

  King shrugged. ‘I don’t know, man. One step at a time, as I said. Might visit my dad for a while. But I’m never going back.’

  Slater studied the look on his face. ‘You mean it, don’t you?’

  ‘More than anything.’

  ‘I’m not quite done yet.’

  ‘The itch?’

  ‘The itch,’ Slater said. ‘Took some sitting around to realise I still had it.’

  ‘Don’t go looking for too much trouble,’ King said. ‘We seem to attract it. Let it come to you. If you seek it out, you might get more than you can handle.’

  ‘You don’t know what I can handle.’

  Despite everything, King smirked. ‘Good luck, Will.’

  ‘Jason.’

  King offered his good hand and they shook for what felt like an hour. Neither of them wanted to let go. They both realised what their parting meant.

  King doubted he would ever see the man again.

  ‘Maybe I’ll run into you one day,’ Slater said. ‘On the road.’

  ‘I hope not,’ King said.

  He meant it.

  Slater nodded understandingly. ‘If you want peace — avoid me at all costs.’

  ‘You really don’t want it?’

  Slater shook his head. ‘Life’s too exciting.’

  He made for the door, taking his time to prolong the duration he spent in the room. King noted the slow pace and managed a wry smile.

  ‘Get the fuck out of here, Slater,’ he said. ‘Thanks for everything.’

  Slater pointed a finger at King. ‘If I ever find myself in a bad situation…’

  ‘You won’t know how to get in touch,’ King said. ‘I’m done, Will. Try not to find yourself in a situation where I’m needed.’

  ‘I won’t bother asking how I can find you. I respect you too much for that. You enjoy the rest of your life, brother. Cherish it.’

  ‘This feels awfully brief,’ King said, unnerved by their separation.

  ‘That’s the way it has to be.’

  ‘I know. Doesn’t make it any easier.’

  ‘Don’t get too emotional. I might start thinking you have feelings after all.’

  King smirked. ‘Stay out of trouble.’

  Slater grinned. ‘Never.’

  He ducked out through the open doorway and disappeared from sight, moving fast.

  Slater was right. That was how it needed to be.

  Any longer, and either of them might reconsider.

  Deep down, they knew what they wanted. They hadn’t let it faze them, even if it meant separating for the rest of their lives.

  Life priorities trumped the brotherhood they had formed.

  Especially when that brotherhood spelled nothing but disaster.<
br />
  Klara entered the room after a few minutes of solitude. She shut the door behind her, crossed to his hospital bed, and dropped onto the thin mattress next to him, taking care not to aggravate any of his wounds.

  ‘I spoke to the doctor,’ she murmured. ‘He thinks you’ll be good to go in a few weeks’ time. At least, you’ll be able to walk out of here on your own. He thinks you’re the type not to hang around longer than you need to.’

  King nodded. ‘He’s a good observer.’

  ‘Where will we go?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead.’

  ‘She would have wanted you to live your life,’ Klara said. ‘To do what you really wanted to do.’

  ‘She wanted to do the same. And she never got the opportunity to.’

  ‘Life’s a bitch,’ Klara said. ‘There’s no way around that.’

  ‘We were so close…’ King muttered. ‘If I’d just killed Ramsay on that aircraft carrier, we’d be home free…’

  ‘You didn’t know. You couldn’t have.’

  ‘I knew he’d come for us. I was trying to be merciful by letting him live.’

  ‘So focus on that. Don’t focus on what resulted from it. If you only think about the consequences, you wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself years ago.’

  He nodded, thinking back to the hundreds of operations he’d carried out over his career — and the ramifications that had come as a result of his decisions. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself.’

  ‘I blame Ramsay.’

  ‘And he’s dead. We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us.’

  King looked at her. ‘You really want to stick with me?’

  She scoffed. ‘It’s a bit too late to change my mind now.’

  They kissed, embracing slowly in the empty room, taking their time. When they parted, Klara slipped off the mattress and made for the door.

  ‘I need to go wash all this Dubai filth off,’ she said. ‘We both look like hell.’

  ‘I don’t think I can move,’ he admitted, not wanting to even flash a glance at the gruesome swollen pumpkin on his left wrist.

  She nodded understandingly.

  Klara left the room, leaving King to himself. He imagined that the doctor would be along shortly, ready to administer him with a plethora of drugs.

  In truth, he couldn’t wait.

  He thought of the consequences of Isla’s death. It had destroyed something in him. The thrill that came with a live operation felt tarnished, sickening now, like a soul-destroying drug which had affected him for far too long. That part of him was gone. He vowed to distance himself from the Jason King of years past. He had no interest in fighting, or war, or combat.

  The sunlight outside the hospital window petered out, casting Oman into darkness. King breathed out a lifetime of madness and concentrated on a single entity.

  Recovery.

  Recovery from a lifetime of pandemonium.

  Recovery from two long weeks of hell.

  He focused on starting a new chapter. Embracing a new world. Something about this attempt rang with authenticity.

  His life had changed for the better — he knew it.

  He wondered just where this new phase would take him.

  50

  Koh Tao Island

  Thailand

  Two months later…

  At nine in the morning, Mae Haad Pier was alive with activity.

  The sturdy wooden jetty stretched out into the crystalline waters, occupied by a handful of ferries that had come across from the larger island of Koh Samui and moored to drop off their payloads. The first tourist arrivals of the day created a hive of commotion, with pasty Caucasians and dark bronze Europeans scrambling to gather their luggage and make the sweaty trip down the pier to the cluster of eager taxi drivers looking to make an honest wage.

  The distant trickle of locals bartering their prices with the newcomers floated across to the calm of a seaside bar. Below the open deck, a pair of water-taxi vessels set off for the island resorts on the horizon, transporting holidayers to their end destination.

  Jason King sat alone on the bar’s deck, watching the scene before him and sipping at a tall-necked bottle of ice-cold beer.

  It was never too early for a drink these days.

  The retired life.

  Both the humidity and the temperature were near-unbearable, affecting even the most weather-hardened tourists. King was no longer a tourist. He had grown used to the climate weeks ago. It no longer registered in his mind.

  He touched the cool neck of the bottle to his lips and took another sip. He had nothing to do. No-one to answer to. No place to be. Already, his past life was beginning to feel like a bad dream.

  It had taken over ten years.

  But, finally, he had woken up from it.

  Something was different this time. His equilibrium had changed — his identity had shifted. He no longer thought of himself as a nomadic warrior, simply passing the time before some new event would thrust him back into war.

  Now, he recognised what he was.

  He was done.

  It hadn’t taken long to make his way to the tiny island of Koh Tao.

  After two restless weeks of healing and mending, he and Klara had made for Corsica. They had spent the best fortnight of his life with Ray King, staying at his father’s small villa in Aregno. Ray had commented several times that he had never seen his son so happy.

  Nothing of note had occurred, but even the monotonous normalcy of daily life was a foreign concept to King. He’d cooked hearty dinners for the three of them and spent many sleepless nights talking with Ray in the living room. The hours had blurred together, just like they had when he had first rekindled his bond with the man a month previously.

  King and Klara had moved on after two weeks — promising to return frequently. After a week-long period of laying low in Phuket, the hordes of seedy tourists and grimy neon-drenched nightlife had quickly put them on edge. King felt exposed amidst the crowds, like an old enemy would chance upon the sight of him and send him straight back into what he was determined to forget.

  He’d booked a flight across to the main hub of the coastal islands — Koh Samui. Population: sixty thousand.

  Too busy, still.

  Koh Tao was perfect. It held a permanent population of a little over a thousand, tucked away in the coastal islands of the Surat Thani Province. Sun-drenched beaches, crystal blue waters, seaside bars and cafés bustling softly with tourists and locals alike.

  And the quiet…

  King had recognised the finality of the journey when he’d first stepped off the ferry three weeks ago. The single footprint on the scorched wooden jetty had symbolised a resting place. The realisation had struck him that he would be perfectly content with never leaving the island for the rest of his days.

  He’d welcomed that decision with open arms, vowing to fly Ray King over to live with them as soon as the man was ready.

  Now, King drained the final dregs in the bottom of the long-necked bottle and rose off the stool. His skin was a deep shade of brown from spending much of his days acclimatising to the Thai heat. He preferred to be outside at all times. The warm air cleansed him. It washed away the past.

  It washed away the demons.

  He’d kept in impeccable shape. It hadn’t taken long to come across one of the only Muay Thai gyms on the island, buried along one of the densely forested mountain trails. They had welcomed him with warm smiles and gut-wrenching workouts. He spent his early mornings pouring with sweat.

  He couldn’t see himself changing that routine anytime soon.

  Exercise had always provided him with a release — an escape from the madness of his day-to-day life by punishing whatever lay in front of him, whether that be heavy iron, a cardio machine, or a faded Muay Thai bag. Even though his prior escapades were over with, he found himself still addicted to the sweat, the exertion, the satisfaction of pushing his limits.

  H
e’d concluded that it was a healthy obsession, and willingly accepted his drive to remain in peak physical condition.

  Klara certainly approved.

  King paid for the beer with a couple of faded Thai baht notes and exchanged a nod of farewell with the seaside bar’s elderly owner. He stepped out into the scorching cobblestone streets, narrow and jam-packed with arriving foreigners. He walked leisurely through the cluster of small businesses based around the pier — it was by far the most populated section of the island.

  He didn’t care much for the bustle.

  The roads banked sharply up away from the pier, climbing into the lush mountains that adorned every postcard throughout the small merchandise shops dotting the island. He set off up the trail, barely noticing the perspiration dripping from his forehead.

  It was just part of life around here.

  Given his past experiences, he was grateful that excess sweating was the worst of his troubles now.

  Motorised scooters rumbled past, draped with either singlet-clad locals or helmeted tourists. King waved to Somchai, the owner of the Muay Thai gym he visited daily. The man was close to fifty but he looked decades younger, his skin almost unblemished by the years of exposure to the scorching Thai sun. Somchai shot past on his scooter, head hunched low, heading into the mountains. He returned the wave without hesitation, ignoring the potholed dirt road that his scooter thumped over.

  King pressed on, letting the pleasant warmth seep into his exposed shoulders. He’d made this journey enough times to know it off by heart, which gave him time to think.

  Something felt off — and it took him some time to figure out what it was.

  For the first time since childhood, he was happy.

  Not the kind of temporary relief that came in the breaks between operations, or the uneasy semi-retirement that he’d struggled to get used to all those months ago. Australia, Venezuela and Corsica were distant memories. Egypt, Russia and Dubai were fresher in his mind, but he was doing well not to focus on those memories.

  No … this time, he felt truly content.