by Matt Rogers
‘Don’t worry. That was never on the table.’
‘But?’
‘But how am I supposed to ignore this in the future?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re hurt right now. I can understand that. But you’re conscious enough to know if the fire’s still there.’
‘I guess.’
‘Well?’
‘It’s there,’ Slater admitted.
‘Has it ever gone out? Even for a moment?’
‘No.’
‘Are you lying?’
‘Why would I lie?’
‘Do you think it ever will?’
‘I don’t know. Why all the questions?’
‘Because I don’t know what to think about this.’
‘About what?’
‘You called and I came. Because I was never going to stay on the island. Not after what you told me. Not after I understood the consequences. But there’s no spark inside me anymore. I don’t want to do this. I’m tired of killing. I’m tired of all of it. I just want to see life without all this suffering in it.’
‘How was the year off?’ Slater said. ‘Run into any drama?’
‘None.’
‘You enjoyed it?’
‘Of course. But am I supposed to?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why does my comfort mean anything? If something like this happens again, and I get asked to help, how am I supposed to say no?’
‘You aren’t.’
‘Then I’m in limbo. I never know whether I’m going to have to bring the old King back.’
‘Then that’s the best you’re ever going to get,’ Slater said.
Harsh, but necessary.
King nodded. ‘Thought as much.’
‘Are you happy?’
‘As happy as I can be.’
‘It’s been a long time,’ Slater said. ‘We’ve barely had the chance to talk.’
‘We can do that later,’ King said. ‘You were right before. I don’t need a minute. I can take a minute later.’
‘I … can’t process all of this. Where do we go from here? What do we do?’
‘We run,’ King said. ‘We lay low. We think about what we just prevented. And we go our separate ways.’
‘You don’t need to run anymore. You don’t need to hide.’
‘What? We’re still being hunted. Nothing’s changed.’
‘Not anymore.’
‘Who’ve you been speaking to?’
‘The clean up crew. Black Force is done, but we’ve been given the all clear.’
‘By who?’
‘Someone I know. Someone in the government.’
‘Can you trust him?’
Slater remembered the nine-year-old girl he’d rescued in the dark heart of Macau. He remembered the bond he’d formed with her. He remembered handing her over to Russell Williams with the promise of finding her a new life.
A new family.
A new future.
‘Yes,’ Slater said. ‘With my life.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he told you what, exactly?’
‘That we’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing. That no-one’s looking for us. That we can go on with our lives without having to look over our shoulders every five seconds.’
‘He doesn’t want us to come back?’
‘He understands what happened. He knows we’ll never trust them again.’
‘And they’re okay with that? Given what we know.’
‘I don’t think they’re thrilled about it. But they ended up accepting that we have our heads in the right place. And, to be frank, we’re probably not worth the manpower it would take to eliminate us.’
‘True,’ King admitted. ‘That’s bordering on arrogance, though.’
‘Just the truth.’
‘Only takes one bullet.’
‘Oh yeah? How’d that work out for these guys?’
Slater gestured around the room, to the bodies of Magomed and the faceless mercenaries, and he kept sweeping his hand to encompass the entire icebreaker. Including the corpses strewn across the passageways below deck and the walkways above deck and inside the wheelhouse.
‘Guess you have a point,’ King said.
‘Everything’s awfully quiet. Where’s the rest of them?’
‘Probably thinking about what the hell they’re going to do next. I imagine they didn’t have a Plan B.’
‘I doubt they’re that stupid.’
‘There’s dozens of them. And they’d spent months independently contracted to a man who paid them handsomely to stand around and do nothing. So they got complacent. And Magomed knew what he was doing. So he would have exuded authority. And they would have bought into it. They would have thought there was no way they could possibly fail. And they were relying on last-minute orders. There was secrecy around everything. Maybe Magomed had a plan for them after they rammed the warship. But I doubt it. This was always supposed to be his grave. And now they’re all starting to realise that. They thought they were important to the plan but now they’re standing on an out-of-control floating island with no idea where to go next. They started relying too heavily on Magomed.’
‘That’s a lot to extrapolate.’
‘If I was wrong, then they’d be sweeping the passageways below deck in tight clusters. We’d probably already be dead. You hear anything?’
Slater listened.
The ship groaned.
The engine rumbled.
‘There’s no fight,’ King said. ‘If we find any of them on the way out of here, they’ll run and hide. No-one’s going to care enough. They’re not getting paid anymore. It didn’t work out.’
‘And that plays into our hands, doesn’t it?’
King raised an eyebrow.
‘It means they’re sloppy,’ Slater said. ‘It means they’ll get caught trying to flee. At least some of them. And then it’ll all fall apart. No-one will buy that it’s the Russian government behind it. Besides, nothing happened.’
‘You said we’re no longer wanted?’
‘Not anymore.’
‘As of…?’
‘A couple of months ago.’
‘Where were you?’
‘Macau.’
‘How’d that go?’
‘I don’t want to talk about that.’
‘Got it. Well, then, it seems like I can make a few calls. Now that it’s safe.’
‘I wouldn’t push it if I were you,’ Slater said. ‘We’re not on good terms. They just don’t want us dead anymore.’
‘I don’t need to be on good terms. I just need to tell them what happened.’
‘And?’
‘And then they can digest it. Now that there’s no need to overreact. Now that there’s no dead sailors. They can understand, instead of reacting impulsively. And they can begin to accept that it wasn’t the Russian government.’
‘You think it’ll work?’
King shrugged. ‘Honestly … we’ve done enough.’
‘We’ve done enough,’ Slater said, and for a moment he dropped his guard, letting relief flood over him.
But only for a moment.
Because footsteps sounded in the passageway outside, sauntering across the floor.
Echoing off the walls.
King sighed, stood up, and picked up the HK433.
68
The man who stepped into the doorway was almost lackadaisical in his movements. He seemed like he would rather be anywhere else. But even the most unmotivated soldier of fortune had a mean streak a mile long, so Slater didn’t underestimate the coldness in the guy’s eyes.
He was short. Five-eight, five-nine maybe. And thin. There wasn’t much of him to aim at. His features were unimpressive — in a crowd, he would be unnoticeable. He had a soft jawline and shockingly styled straight brown hair that fell over his forehead in a bowl cut. But there was that certain level of detachment in his eyes that separated him from
ordinary folk. He had a crude Kalashnikov assault rifle in his hands, and he aimed it at King and Slater as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary. As if this was just another day at the office.
King aimed his Heckler & Koch rifle back at the guy.
Slater pointed his FNP-45 at the man’s head.
‘English?’ King said when it became clear they were trapped in a stalemate.
‘Of course, mate,’ the guy said. He spoke softly. ‘I’m British.’
‘What are you doing out here?’
‘Could ask you the same question.’
‘You’re the one who bothered us.’
‘You two did all this?’ he said, flashing a glance down the passageway.
Eyeing the bodies.
‘Mostly my friend here,’ Slater said.
‘You’re something else, then. Impressive.’
‘How’s this going to play out?’ King said, wary of the AK-47 barrel aimed at his face. ‘I don’t like having a weapon pointed at me.’
‘And I don’t like not getting paid. So it seems we’re both pretty pissed off, doesn’t it?’
‘None of my concern.’
‘That’s my boss, right there. Isn’t it?’
Slater glanced at Magomed’s corpse. ‘That’s your boss.’
‘Didn’t work out too well for him,’ King said.
‘And now what am I supposed to do?’
‘Want the honest answer?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I couldn’t give a shit.’
‘We’ve got ourselves in a tricky situation, haven’t we?’
‘Only as tricky as it needs to be.’
‘I know what the obvious next step is,’ the mercenary said. ‘But I don’t know if I can trust you.’
‘Then it’s mutual.’
‘I’ll put it down if you do.’
‘You’ll shoot us. We killed your boss.’
‘Yeah, well, how is killing you going to change anything? I just want off this fucking ship, mate. Then I can go try and find some other work. Christ, I thought this would be the retirement package.’
‘Retirement from what?’
‘Same thing you do.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Slater watched King’s face. He noted some kind of dark recognition there. Some kind of realisation. But the British mercenary in the doorway didn’t notice.
Slater certainly did.
His tone changing, King said, ‘Damn. You came here after Vadim’s gig?’
The mercenary eyed him warily. ‘No idea what you’re talking about.’
King waved a hand, almost friendly in nature. ‘Of course you do. We go way back, then.’
‘What?’
‘Vadim Mikhailov,’ King said. ‘Do I need to spell it out?’
‘What did you have to do with him?’
‘I was one of the crew that rotated. Snatched idiots out of their beds. Dragged them to Vadim’s doorstep. Paid well, didn’t it?’
‘I never saw you.’
‘And I never saw you either. You know how many men he had on the payroll?’
‘So why all this? What the hell are you doing now?’
‘Working for the Man. Same old news.’
‘Which man?’
‘Any man. If they pay.’
‘You’re getting paid for this?’
King shrugged. ‘Honest work. Got to put food on the table, don’t I?’
‘Some of these guys were my friends.’
‘I doubt that, buddy. Maybe at surface level. But none of you are stupid enough to form a brotherhood in a field like this. Tomorrow you could take your last breath. Better not to get attached. At least that’s what I’ve found.’
King’s tone was conversational, and even though the two men still had their aims locked onto each other’s heads, the threat seemed to have dissipated. It wasn’t something easily faked. Slater could sense it in the underlying atmosphere.
You couldn’t get rid of it in a hurry.
Unless you were Jason King.
Slater masked a smile.
‘How are you getting out of here?’ King said, and lowered his gun half an inch.
Barely noticeable.
But the mercenary noticed.
And he bought it.
The British guy lowered his AK-47, his lips starting to form a response.
Then they froze mid-sentence, because the guy recognised that King hadn’t lowered his aim any lower than the initial movement. He was now pointing the HK433 at the British guy’s throat.
‘Well, that was easy,’ King noted.
‘Fuck you,’ the mercenary spat. ‘I thought there was honour between us. We’re the only two left, in any case.’
‘What does that mean?’ King said.
The mercenary scoffed, still wrapped up in his fantasy, and waved a hand at the bodies. ‘Recognise these guys? I’m sure you worked with them. They’re the best, because they came straight from the Kamchatka Peninsula like us. The only troops you left alive on board this fuckin’ ship are the ones that panicked and hid. Notice how no-one’s around, mate? They’re the amateurs. The ragtag group. We’re the professionals. From the mine. And you killed all of us.’
King smiled. ‘Good.’
‘Had a change of heart? Trying to preserve your moral compass? Bit late for that.’
‘You’re assuming I’m from the Kamchatka Peninsula crew.’
The mercenary froze in place, then a sly smile spread across his lips. He chuckled, his manic scoffing ringing off the walls. He held up a finger and wagged it in King’s direction. Then he licked his lips. ‘You’re good, mate.’
‘And why’s that?’
‘I bought it.’
‘I was there, though.’
‘You just said you weren’t.’
‘No, I didn’t. I said I wasn’t part of the crew. Big difference.’
‘Then what were you doing out there?’
‘Cleaning up.’
The mercenary cocked his head. Scuffed one boot against the ground. Ran a hand through his hair. Jovial in the face of death. A true madman. His lips twisted into a sneer. There was crazed light behind his eyes.
‘That was you? The mine?’
‘And me,’ Slater mumbled, still seated against the wall, his gun still trained on the mercenary.
‘You’re it,’ King said under his breath. ‘You’re the last one.’
But Slater heard it.
He said, ‘Yeah. Last one.’
‘I’ve got cash,’ the mercenary said. ‘Shitloads of it. Looks like you boys are in need of some. Let me help you out. Just get me the fuck off this ship.’
King pursed his lips. ‘I don’t know, friend. I’m pretty much set. Made the most of my day job while it lasted. What about you, Slater? You hurting for cash?’
Slater furrowed his brow. ‘You know what, King … I’m pretty much set, too. Isn’t that a shame for our friend here?’
‘That’s a real downer,’ King said. ‘Shame you told us you were the only one left, too. Otherwise we might have kept you alive to sniff out the rest.’
‘You’re the fucking government, aren’t you?’ the mercenary spat. ‘Okay. Arrest me then. Good luck proving anything that happened in international waters.’
‘Don’t need to prove it,’ King said. ‘I saw it.’
‘Well, then, aren’t you an honourable guy? If you’re doing all this in the name of justice, or whatever. So give me a fair trial.’
‘No,’ King said, and tore his forehead apart with three consecutive rounds to the dome.
Slater added one shot from the FNP-45 to the chest. Well after the guy had died. Before he went down in a heap. The added force took him off his feet and he collapsed in a pile on the passageway floor over the threshold.
More symbolic than anything else.
Putting the final nail in the coffin.
Their ears ringing in the confined space, Slater and King turned to each other and exchanged a subtle nod of un
derstanding.
Job finished.
Peninsula cleared.
Game over.
69
Slater couldn’t stand on his own, so King looped an arm around his mid-section and hurried him through the dark bowels of the icebreaker. The giant ship continued to trundle through the Sea of Japan, heading nowhere in particular, maintaining the same course that the crew had been forced to set it on before they succumbed to grisly deaths.
Slater didn’t think about any of that. If he wanted to, it wouldn’t take much effort for his mind to drift to all the horrors he’d seen here. And then he would dwell on them, even though there was nothing he could do to change what had happened, and that would send him down a path he’d taken many times before but had no intention of revisiting.
In truth, nothing on this icebreaker fazed him as much as the lingering memory of Natasha’s body hanging from the ceiling.
Thankfully, the concussion had kept the clarity of that sight at bay.
But it wouldn’t for much longer.
Because Slater was safe.
He found his mind was no longer occupied by the oppressive thoughts of nuclear war. He wasn’t battling for his life at every turn. The threats had dissipated. So more of his brain lay dormant, and that gave him all kinds of room for his mind to descend into madness. He’d always found the most dangerous period was the time directly after an operation. The memories were fresh, and raw, and if he formed negative habits spiralling down into the sadness and pity of his traumatic experiences, he knew he would never be able to crawl out of them. It had been at its worst in Yemen, sending him into cold sweats and feverish nightmares from which he never thought he’d surface.
Then he’d put it behind him.
Finally.
Step by step.
Battling through the darkness in his mind had been one of the hardest challenges of his career. And he thought he’d emerged victorious. But even through the haze of the concussion he could recognise horrific images when he saw them. They floated through the recesses of his consciousness. He glimpsed Natasha’s brutalised body. He glimpsed a mental image of the icebreaker’s crew strewn across the wheelhouse, shot down where they stood like dogs in the street.
He hadn’t even seen it in the flesh.
But he could imagine it all the same.
He sensed King in a similarly silent trance as the pair hobbled down passageway after passageway under the flickering lights.