by Matt Rogers
He groaned and went down on one knee, searching blindly with the Makarov. A powerful pair of hands seized the gun from his swollen, broken fingers and hurled it into the far wall. The metal object — a crowbar, he realised, as it speared through the air toward him — hit him in the chest and knocked him flat on his back, lashing the back of his skull against the cold steel floor.
That was enough.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t sit up. His brain kicked into emergency mode and shut down his motor functions in an attempt to protect him from further harm.
No, he thought. There’s more harm coming. I need to move.
But he couldn’t. The crowbar came down on his stomach again, and he let go of the combat knife. All the fight sapped out of him — not that he had much left in the first place. Flat on his back, he reached his good hand into the air, palm out, trying to swat away the resistance. He couldn’t even see who had attacked him.
Magomed?
No.
Too big.
Too powerful.
Through blurry vision he made out another big Russian man with cruel blue eyes and a sociopathic expression on his face. The thug reached down and clamped his meaty fingers around Slater’s throat, pinning him in place.
The man needn’t have bothered.
Slater wasn’t going anywhere.
‘Got him,’ the big man said through clenched teeth.
His voice rang off the steel walls of the passageway.
On cue, Magomed rushed into view, moving as if he was operating on borrowed time. Slater stared at him through half-closed eyes. The old man stormed up to the pair and seized Slater, dragging him against the wall and shaking him by the jacket.
‘You think I’m fucking stupid?’ he snarled.
‘What?’ Slater mumbled.
‘You honestly think you could sneak aboard? Like that was ever going to work? I’ve been trying to contact Ruslan all night. You don’t think I could put two and two together?’
‘Why … are you so angry?’
‘I don’t understand you.’
‘What’s not to understand?’
‘I don’t know how the fuck you did it. You must be brilliant. You were chained to the wall, unarmed, heavily concussed. And you somehow overpowered the most dangerous man I have. Ruslan Mikhailov is brutal. I’ve always known that. So was his brother. That’s why I hired him. I wasn’t fucking serious when I said I wished you managed to escape. So when I can’t get in contact with him, what the hell do you think is running through my head? I spent all night terrified that you’d come and ruin me.’
‘Maybe that’s … what I’m here for.’
‘Yeah,’ Magomed scoffed. ‘You’re on the verge of death. I could punch you in the head right now and your brain would never be the same.’
‘Do it.’
‘Can you put more than a single sentence together?’
‘Probably.’
‘Good. Because I want answers to this mess before I kill you.’
‘Answers to what?’
Magomed slammed Slater against the wall, rage in his eyes. ‘Ruslan was half the reason I was able to pull this off. He was meant to be here. He was meant to see it with his own eyes.’
‘Sorry.’
‘How’d you kill him?’
Slater said nothing. He stared at Magomed through blank, glassy eyes.
The old man snarled and slammed a fist into the wall a few inches above Slater’s head. The steel clang resonated through the passageway.
He shot to his feet and turned to the big Russian mercenary. ‘Get him up. Take him to the state room.’
‘We should kill him,’ the big man mumbled.
Magomed just stared. ‘There’s fifty of us. What the fuck is he going to do? Besides…’
The icebreaker groaned all around them as the supports receded, lowering the enormous ship into the water. A foghorn blared, and far underneath them a massive propellor began to turn. The icebreaker caught momentum and rumbled forward, plunging into the Sea of Japan.
‘The crew proved awfully co-operative, didn’t they?’ Magomed said.
‘You threatened to torture and kill their families?’
‘I’ve found that seems to work.’
‘The state room?’ the big man said, nodding at Slater. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m worried he won’t make it. Put him on the bed. But we only need him alive for an hour or so.’
‘Why?’
‘He almost stopped this. I want him to experience it.’
‘Might be a mistake.’
‘Look at him.’
Slater knew he didn’t paint a pretty picture. At some point he’d been cut — the journey through the icebreaker’s passageways had been such a blur that he couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened. But blood ran freely down his face, over his swollen eyes, over his puffy cheeks. His right hand would take a couple of months to heal, minimum. Until then it would be useless. And his internals were horrifically, painfully broken.
He closed his eyes and accepted his fate.
He always knew it wouldn’t work.
He just had to wait, to hold out, until…
Until what?
Magomed said, ’You really think he’ll put up a fight?’
‘He got the jump on Ruslan.’
‘Yes, and I want to find out how.’
The big mercenary didn’t respond.
Magomed raised a furry eyebrow. ‘Are you scared?’
‘No … I just…’
‘Get him to the state room. And grow up.’
The big man nodded and hauled Slater to his feet.
Slater winced, his eyes still closed, and allowed himself to be dragged deeper and deeper into the abyss.
An abyss from which there was no escape.
52
Through the blood crusted over his eyelids, Slater soaked in the sight of the state room. It was a luxurious first-class cabin, the bed made to perfection and the decorations ornate. Through a broad porthole he stared at the furious ocean outside, the waves stirring and vomiting froth into the swells. They were moving fast. Dejected, stripped of energy, Slater didn’t resist as the mercenary dumped him on the king-sized mattress and pointed Slater’s own Makarov at his head.
‘Don’t try anything,’ the big man snarled.
Slater coughed and did what little he could to improve his position. He squirmed to the headboard, sat up, and sucked in deep lungfuls of cool artificial air.
Magomed entered a few moments later.
‘Did he try anything?’ the old man said.
‘No.’
‘Good.’
Magomed took the Makarov off the mercenary, leant against the dresser on the other side of the state room, and shooed the man away.
‘Go back to your post,’ Magomed said. ‘The patterns we rehearsed. Make sure there’s nothing else that can sabotage us.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I can handle this.’
The big man said nothing.
Again, Magomed said, ‘Look at him.’
‘That’s not what I’m concerned about.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Like you said … there’s fifty of us.’
‘Yes.’
‘For what?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘This was all so easy.’
‘Because I planned it for months. And it’s better to overcompensate than underestimate.’
‘We’re still going through with … you know…?’
Magomed eyed Slater, then turned his attention back to the mercenary with a wry smile. ‘What? Scared to talk about it in front of our guest?’
‘Isn’t it better we keep him in the dark?’
‘He unnerves you, doesn’t he?’
‘Somewhat.’
‘He’s ninety percent dead. You’ve got nothing to worry about.’
‘I know,’ the mercenary said, far too confidently, trying to save face.
The man disappeared.
It was just them. The icebreaker rumbled all around them, but Slater barely noticed. He stared into the cold dead eyes of the old man across from him, and certain pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place.
‘You were a politician?’ he said.
Magomed nodded. ‘Got close to the top. And then they threw me out to restructure the new Russia.’
‘The new Russia?’
‘Can’t teach an old dog new tricks. I was a relic. From the old world. From a world that made room for people like Vadim Mikhailov.’
‘You knew about that? When you were in office?’
‘I fed him most of the contacts that bankrolled it.’
‘Ah. And then?’
‘And then I was nothing. Cast out. They didn’t want to go to war with the U.S., so they rolled over and begged like dogs for peace talks. For tensions to dissipate. I couldn’t believe it. It made me sick. They felt like they were responsible for the rogue attack on the supercarrier, even though they’d successfully distanced themselves from that. Pathetic…’
Slater managed a wry smile. ‘I was on that supercarrier.’
Magomed froze. ‘That’s it…’
‘What?’
‘There was something under the surface. Something that made me want to keep you alive. Even when you killed Ruslan. Even when you made it aboard. It seemed like … you were supposed to be here. And it all led to this.’
Slater let him talk. He shut his mouth and sagged into the bedspread, barely able to lift his arms. He couldn’t put up a fight even if he wanted to.
‘You’re … connected to all of this. That’s why I want you to see it.’
‘Peace talks,’ Slater said. ‘That’s what this maiden voyage is for, isn’t it?’
‘A diplomatic display between our countries. This icebreaker will lead U.S. Navy warships through the Bering Strait. Just … so pathetic…’
‘Does anyone know you’re aboard?’
‘No.’
‘You planned this well.’
‘I’m a politician.’
‘Were.’
Magomed nodded. ‘Were. And soon I won’t be anything.’
‘Going down with the ship?’
‘The ship’s not going anywhere. But I can’t survive.’
‘Because?’
‘Well, I don’t want to live. Not with what I’m about to do to the world.’
‘War?’
‘There’ll be no other option. Things are already unimaginably tense.’
‘And what are you going to do?’
Magomed leant forward, edging closer to Slater. He smiled. ‘How do you think your country will react when I turn this icebreaker around and ram it straight into one of the warships? It’ll kill hundreds.’
‘There won’t be nuclear war. No-one’s that stupid.’
‘There’ll be no choice.’
‘That’s it?’ Slater said. ‘That’s all you’re doing? Using this thing as a battering ram?’
‘What did you expect?’
‘Something more nuanced.’
‘Then I’ll impress you. There’s certain … information I know. From my time in power. I held onto it. I’m leaving it aboard, and then I’m killing myself. The men have been instructed to throw me overboard.’
‘So it looks like the orders came straight from the top.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And no-one knows the details besides yourself. Hence the secrecy. All these men … all this firepower … it’s not to defend the ship. It’s to make it look like a grander conspiracy.’
‘You’re catching on.’
‘They don’t know what they’re here for.’
‘Well, they think they do. They’re standing guard. Making sure no-one sabotages the ship.’
‘There’s not much to do, then.’
‘Most are restless.’
‘Do they know who you are?’
‘No. Most of them don’t even know I’m aboard.’
‘So if shit were to hypothetically hit the fan, that might prove … chaotic?’
‘You trying to scare me? You can’t even get off the bed.’
Magomed levelled the Makarov at Slater’s head. The dark barrel stared him in the face. Slater gulped back apprehension and straightened his posture against the headboard.
‘I wouldn’t do that just yet,’ Slater said.
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re going to need me to make sense of what’s about to happen.’
Under the harsh artificial lighting, Magomed’s left eyelid twitched. An imperceptible gesture, but it rested at odds with the skeptical expression on his face. He couldn’t maintain his uncaring aura.
Because, deep down, he knew Slater wasn’t displaying everything he knew on the surface. There was something underneath. A subtle understanding of…
Of what?
‘You trying to intimidate me?’ he said.
But he didn’t pull the trigger.
‘I know how you got in this position,’ Slater said. ‘You pirated the largest nuclear-powered icebreaker in the world without anyone understanding what was happening. Because of your political expertise. Because you understand the nuances of human behaviour. Because you know how to manipulate and control and find what motivates people. And you’re relentless. You don’t stop. You set your mind on something and then barrel toward it. Something that no-one thought would be possible. You’re about to try and cause global nuclear conflict, and you’re close to doing it. Because no-one told you the odds.’
‘You’d better get to the point.’
‘I have a friend. He’s also relentless.’
‘You don’t have any friends here.’
‘I didn’t think I did, either.’
Magomed said nothing. Scrutinised Slater’s features. Searched for any hint of deception.
‘You were right to question how I overpowered Ruslan,’ Slater said. ‘Because I didn’t.’
Under the lights, Magomed started to pale. ‘Your friend?’
‘You said this was all connected,’ Slater said. ‘It is. It’s why I came back to the Russian Far East. Because we left a web of monsters behind on the Kamchatka Peninsula. Cut the head off the snake, and two more take its place. So I figured I’d come back here and kill the snake. It didn’t take me long to sniff them all out. All the independent contractors who took the hostages, who made sure the mine operation ran fluidly, who offered their services to the highest bidder. I wanted all of them dead. Because I knew they were still here. We killed Vadim Mikhailov, but we didn’t kill the rest. And then it turns out you brought them all together. Every piece of shit in the Far East. You brought them to Vladivostok to protect the icebreaker. So I have to thank you. Because you rounded them up for him.’
‘Who?’
The lights went out.
All at once.
Darkness plunged over the state room.
From the passageways below deck, gunfire and screams echoed through the ship.
Slater muttered, ‘Hello, old friend.’
53
He thought the fight had left him.
He thought he’d left the past in the past.
He thought he was done with this life forever.
And then Will Slater called from a pay phone in Khabarovsk.
Clad in jet black combat gear, Jason King moved through the darkened passageways below deck, having demolished the main generator seconds earlier. He’d left the prime mover and alternator in ruins. The emergency power system would kick in without much of a delay, but that delay was all he needed.
He sensed unrest in the next passageway. Six or seven men clustered tightly together, caught in an awkward log jam as their visibility disappeared and claustrophobia set in, the icebreaker groaning all around them as it headed further out to sea on its predetermined path. King didn’t know when it would intercept the convoy of U.S. Navy warships, but he’d hear
d every word that Magomed said thanks to an earpiece sitting deep inside Slater’s ear canal.
He barrelled into the lip of the passageway and raised his Heckler & Koch HK433 assault rifle, painted black, its shoulder stock folded. He fired a tight cluster of rounds into the unprotected face of the shocked mercenary standing frozen in the centre of the corridor. The guy’s facial features disappeared in an explosion of gore and his lifeless body dropped to the metal floor. King vaulted over him on the way down and emptied the rest of the clip into the rest of the bodies, dropping mercenaries left and right, the unsuppressed roar of gunfire resonating off the walls.
When the rifle clicked dry he shouldered aside a bullet-riddled corpse still in the process of falling to the floor and swung the gun like a baseball bat into the throat of the nearest man. The guy was slow to react, inhibited by the darkness and the muzzle flares and the deafening scream of gunfire. King’s ungodly power caved in the soft tissue of his throat and he collapsed against the closest wall, suffocating, succumbing to a grisly death.
King snatched hold of the corpse he’d thrown aside and hurled it into the last remaining guy, sending two hundred pounds of deadweight into the centre of his chest. Knocked off his feet by the staggering impact, the guy went down in a tangle of limbs and King leapt on top of him, heaving the corpse aside, its purpose utilised.
He ripped a combat knife from his appendix holster and plunged it into the guy’s throat.
He gave a pathetic wheeze, and died horribly.
King reloaded the HK433, slotting a fresh magazine home. He surveyed the devastation behind him as the emergency power system kicked in, illuminating the six corpses, showing the stark reality of what had happened in the dark.
A shudder tore through him.
The Jason King of old was returning.
Piece by piece.
He sensed the anger building, the rage that was necessary to do the things he was capable of. He channelled it toward the men aboard the icebreaker, the remnants of an operation in an abandoned gold mine that had pushed him further than he ever thought he could go. It had tested his limits, showing what a human being was capable of. And he knew the worst of them remained behind, swaying to the highest bidder, which in that case involved an ex-politician with enough smarts to potentially pull it off.