The Asset (Alex King Book 10)

by A P Bateman

  Nobody said a word. Nobody taunted their captors. The stark reality of what may yet be their fate, a constant reminder in front of them.

  The Runt and Shrek closed the door behind them as they left. Still nobody said a word. But Rashid slowly opened his hand and looked at the twisted bullet he had picked up as both of his captors had watched Philosopher dying on the floor. His palm was bloody and dirty, but the bullet glinted in the light, the gleaming copper as bright as the opportunity that had just been presented.

  25

  Albania

  Flymo had collected the freight from the port of Vlore using the details King had forwarded to him. The freight was being held in a bonded warehouse and the usual customs checks had been bypassed under the Diplomatic Act. The manifest had simply said: Farm Machinery. The crates were yet to be unpacked, but he had installed two external fuel tanks underneath the fuselage of the helicopter, and a complex bladder system was now under the rear seats that served as an emergency fuel supply. If his calculations were correct, then the craft would now have a range of seven hundred miles. However, the calculations changed when he factored in the use of fuel and the weight difference the burned fuel would make. He was coming up with a figure closer to eight hundred, but he preferred to err on the side of caution. The extra fuel would greatly affect the helicopter’s speed and handling, a factor he would have to consider along with the altitude at which they would be flying. He was now contemplating the crates, and how in god’s name he would fly anywhere without sparking a war footing with Albania’s military forces.

  King had made a brief report and uploaded it into the shared cloud. Ramsay would already be sifting through it. Along with the report, King’s movements were being data logged via his mobile phone. He had risen early and taken a run, showered with the house’s limited hot water supply, and eaten a breakfast of fried eggs and toast, washing it down with several cups of tea. Alaina was showering, but only drank black coffee in the mornings.

  Flymo walked into the kitchen and nodded at the kettle. “Tea?”

  “No, I’m fine,” replied King.

  “Successful trip?”

  King thought about the USBs he had collected from Romanovitch’s safe and nodded. He had couriered them to a safehouse address in Kensington, where they would then be forwarded to Thames House. It never paid to write MI5’s address on anything sensitive. The offshore account information, the details of his empire waiting to be picked apart by MI5’s forensic accountants, the task force that would soon be put in place, possibly with Interpol but perhaps not, as the Russians would then become involved and the waters would become muddied somewhat. Either way, Romanovitch would be lucky to come out of it unscathed, his organisation in tatters. Alaina had taken great solace in this, retribution for her sister, but she wasn’t done just yet. She wanted blood.

  “So, you’ve tackled the fuel problem,” said King. “What about the farm machinery?” he asked.

  “I’m going to start after this,” he said, holding up the mug. He tossed in a teabag and poured on boiling water. “I could do with a hand,” he added.

  “You’ll get it.” King paused. “Alaina can help, too.”

  “Help do what?” She breezed in, her hair damp from the shower, her half-empty cup of coffee in her hand.

  “Some lifting and holding, while I do the welding,” Flymo replied.

  “Oh, alright,” she replied. “I will make another coffee,” she said, looking at King. “Do you want one?”

  King shook his head. He was thinking about St. Petersburg and the deception he had left in place, and he was wondering just how long it would last. After he had stripped the safe of every scrap of information that could be used against Romanovitch, he had tossed the bundles of currency into boxes and stacked them in the Land Rover, along with Vasyli’s body, which he had wrapped in packing sheets and secured with parcel tape.

  Outside, the night had been still, and the drizzle had seemed to envelope the glow of the sporadic streetlamps, encapsulating the industrial estate in an orange hue. Sirens had been audible in the distance. No surprise really, somebody would have heard the gunfire inside the warehouse, but the token security presence must have called a report in and remained in his booth watching his portable TV and sipping on coffee or vodka – or perhaps both – and earning his basic wage without risk.

  King had driven to an area near the docks where he had earlier scoped out a stony beach with a steep drop off. Unbeknown to him, the same beach Rashid and his Penguins had used to launch from to take down Romanovitch’s shipping warehouse months before. King had ditched the Land Rover along with Vasyli’s body inside, watching it sink slowly and pirouette to the bottom, lost to the black waters of the Baltic, a sliver of moonlight glinting on the surface. His Bentley would soon be found, and it would quickly be assumed by the police that there had been a gang takeover attempt, or a carjacking gone wrong. However, King hoped Romanovitch would see Vasyli’s disappearance and the missing contents of his safe as treachery at the hands of his number one enforcer.

  “Are you alright?” Alaina asked, snapping King back. “You looked a little zoned-out there.”

  King nodded. Since she had recovered from seeing the eyes of the dead man with the Uzi, lifeless, accepting and final, Alaina had not baulked at preparing Vasyli’s corpse for transportation, nor at sending it to the bottom of the Baltic Sea. In fact, King could swear she had looked gleeful, but had later denied it when he had mentioned it on the plane. They had flown out before dawn, slept little and she had not once seemed troubled by the events. “Just wondering whether what we did in St. Petersburg will work for us,” he replied. “Or whether I’ve wasted time that could have been better spent looking for my friend.”

  “But you’ve continued with the brief,” Flymo commented. “It’s a game of chess, not snap. If Romanovitch is unsettled, then he may make a mistake. And now you’ve taken measures to see him put out of business.” He shrugged. “And we don’t know if the team are being held at that mountain fortress, whether they’ve been moved or even if they’re still alive. Either way, you’ve greatly weakened Romanovitch’s organisation.”

  King nodded. “I suppose,” he said, then drained his cup of tea and stood up. “Better get to it, then.”

  26

  They had come for Philosopher’s body the next morning. The blood had congealed, smelling both sweet and pungent. Rashid had watched his friend’s body move throughout the night. The gasses building within him. Rigor mortis had set in and both The Runt and Shrek had given the body a kick, decided it would be too awkward to move and returned later that afternoon after the chemical process had worn off and the body had turned flaccid once more. The men watched, subdued. Shrek had returned with a hose and sluiced the blood away, then tossed three bottles of water and a whole loaf on the wet floor.

  “See you next Tuesday…” said Mac, just before the door closed. Shrek turned and looked at him, then slammed the door and bolted it behind him. Mac blew out a deep sigh.

  “What?” asked Goldie, reaching for the bread. He tore it into three pieces and tossed them towards the other two.

  “You spell it out, using the first letter,” Mac replied, kicking one of the bottles towards Rashid. “So, C U Next Tuesday…”

  Goldie laughed. “Daft bugger.” He glanced at the space Philosopher had once taken up, then looked at Rashid. “What the hell are we going to do, boss? We’re fucked…”

  Rashid put the damaged bullet down on the ground beside him. He had worked his nails into it, had managed to peel some of the copper coating away from the lead core. His nails were broken, and his fingers were bleeding. They turned the bread pink as he picked it up and tore off a piece. He found it difficult to chew, his broken tooth sore and jagged. His gums and lips were raw. He swallowed as best he could, the bread going down like glass. “We hang in there,” he said. He had not told them about the bullet. He did not want to give them false hope. He drank the whole bottle of water down, the c
uts inside his mouth stinging as if he had chewed upon nettles. He picked up the bullet and slipped what was left of his thumbnail between the copper and lead and continued to worry it. “They won’t turn their backs on us.”

  “MI5?” Mac scoffed. “We’re as good as done for!”

  Rashid shook his head. “Not everyone will sit back and do nothing,” he said. “Just hang in there…”

  27

  King looked at the mountainside. It was rocky and wooded, but also with vast clear areas of scree and cactus, with tufts of grasses growing from the crevices. It was a harsh environment and although it was late summer, the temperature was still around thirty degrees centigrade.

  “It’s quite a hike,” said Alaina.

  King shut the boot down on the Suzuki Vitara and locked the vehicle with the fob. He held the key up for her to see, then knelt and placed it in the springs of the front suspension. “Just so we don’t lose them,” he said, but he really meant, just in case something happens to me you can still get away… “It is a hike, but I don’t want to give ourselves away with the helicopter.”

  King and Alaina had set off hours before in the car. King had texted Flymo the coordinates of where they had parked and given an approximate time that he expected to reach the property. He now knew that the Albanian Brotherhood’s safehouse was called The Eagle’s Nest and was high on a peak five miles beyond where they had parked. It was accessible by road, however, the road in question was ten miles further north of their position. King was relying on both stealth and guile to get himself close enough for a reconnaissance. Or hard reconnaissance, he called it. Whether he made a strike or not depended upon the intel he gleaned from the recce. As a result, he carried all he would need, including some items shipped over by his weapons contractor contact who fulfilled contracts for MI6 via bonded delivery and warehouse through diplomatic channels. King’s primary weapon was a Heckler and Koch G36 with a x4 scope. He also carried one of two Walther P99 pistols. He had given Alaina the other and had shown her how to use the hefty little 9mm pistol back at the farmhouse. She had been a quick learner and had pulled on the experience using her father’s Makarov. King was confident she could hold her own. His worry now, was whether he should have brought her along at all.

  Flymo would now have reached his LUP - or laying up point. He had scouted out a decent landing site using Google Earth. It was an area of rough ground at the base of a peak five miles to the west. The nearest road to it was a few miles to the northeast. There was no guarantee that the helicopter would not be seen, but the area was off the beaten track and as quiet as they could have hoped for.

  King had been adamant that the helicopter had worked for the team but had also been its downfall. This time, the chopper would be used as a fast extraction method only. If the recon was negative, then they would return to the car and make their way back, while Flymo flew hell for leather to avoid being seen. If the recon was positive, and King could find a way, then the helicopter would swoop in and pick them up. It wasn’t the greatest of plans, but considering they were so few in number and had no support, it was fluid and all they had. Alaina would use the powerful field glasses she carried around her neck, and together with a dedicated frequency two-way radio which was encoded with the radio in the helicopter and the one King carried, she would keep watch and call in what she saw. King needed to have an extra pair of eyes to alert him of threats, and if things went south, she could make the call for Flymo to come and do his thing.

  They set off, the incline deceptively steep, the terrain hard and unforgiving. The heat reflected off the ground and the sun bore down on them from directly above. King had planned it so they would arrive early in the afternoon. The sun would be behind them and dusk would give King the opportunity to get close to the building. With Alaina holed up and watching through the field glasses, there would be no sun against her lenses to give her away. The dimming light would also hide her more effectively in the cover, although it looked as if a recent fire had thinned the undergrowth and the trees were sparser on the approach.

  King’s legs ached as he neared the summit, and he drained his first water bottle when he reached the top. The climb had taken forty minutes. Alaina still had a hundred metres to go. King used the time to survey the next peak. They had a welcome traverse and descent of around five hundred metres, although this could often put strain on the thighs.

  “Drink the whole bottle,” King said as Alaina joined him, breathing hard. “It will help stave off cramp.”

  She nodded, wiping her brow with the back of her hand, and taking out her bottle. She drank thirstily, drained the bottle after a minute.

  “We take the empty bottles with us, don’t leave a thing behind.” She nodded, wincing as she adjusted the straps to her backpack. “Here,” he said, taking the weight of the pack. “Tighten them, get the weight further up your back.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You still want to do this?”

  “You don’t need my help?” she asked, her expression not best hiding her annoyance.

  King nodded, then turned and started over the ridge. “Sure,” he said behind him. In truth, he was pleased she could act as a second pair of eyes, pleased she could act as a relay to Flymo and his heavily converted helicopter. But he had felt since he started the climb, that just because she could help, it didn’t necessarily mean she should. He longed to have that feeling of trust, of complete and utter reliance that he could place in Caroline, and Big Dave, for that matter. Rashid always had his back, and he had failed him. Failed to see the bigger picture, failed to keep one of their team safe. He had rolled the dice, and somebody had paid the price. And things had never been the same between himself and Rashid ever since. And yet, when he had needed it, on a mission of vengeance in the US, Rashid had been there providing support from afar with his sniper rifle.

  “You don’t seem all that convinced.”

  King stopped and turned around. She was beautiful, and she was determined. The burning within ignited a beauty that was almost animalistic, and it had burned more fiercely and with more striking allure the closer they had become to rocking Romanovitch’s world. She was young, but King was quite sure had he not been with Caroline, then he could easily have made a fool of himself with her. There were not many women to have caught his eye since the death of his wife, and Alaina would have sat firmly in the running. The thought filled him with guilt, but to his dismay, not as much as it should have.

  “This is dangerous,” he said. “I shouldn’t have allowed you to convince me to bring you along.”

  “You didn’t take much convincing.”

  King shrugged. “Meaning?”

  She brushed past him and to his annoyance, took the lead. “Some tears, some cleavage and vulnerability and you were only too happy for me to tag along.”

  King shook his head, although she did not see, striding ahead of him. “I don’t buy that,” he said. “I saw the fear and hurt in your eyes.”

  She stopped in her tracks and turned around. “Of course, you did! Because it was there, and it is all true!” She paused. “But why did you agree to get me out? Because you wanted me. Like all men, you saw a chance and thought you’d exploit it.”

  “Bullshit!” King snapped. “I haven’t made an advance on you. Not a single move…”

  “You didn’t exactly pull away from me on that quadbike!”

  “It was made for one!” King shook his head. “The bloody seat was only two feet long and we had five hours together on the damned thing!”

  “Then why?” King walked past her, setting a fearsome pace diagonally down the slope. He didn’t answer her. She broke into a run to keep up. “Wait!” she called after him.

  King turned and held a finger to his lips. “We need to be quiet.”

  “It’s miles until we get there!”

  “They may have roaming patrols,” he said tetchily. “They may even have audio receivers and trembler devices. We don’t yet know what we are up agains
t.” He trudged on and dipped into the fringe of trees as he started the next incline.

  “Sorry,” she said as she caught up with him. “You are a good man, Alex King. I can see that. And I know you are committed to Caroline. She is a lucky woman. To have a man so faithful these days.”

  “What’s so different about these days?”

  “Well, people are so narcissistic now. It is no longer a personality disorder, it’s simply a common trait. People want instant gratification. They are egocentric and want instant credit, notoriety, satisfaction, and recognition. People don’t wait for things or turn down opportunities, even though that opportunity brings on nothing but self-destruction. We do not guard against false prophets. We accept all too willingly. That is why half of all marriages end in divorce. People can’t remain faithful to somebody if there is the hint of the possibility of a sexual conquest. You are a rare being.”

  King shrugged. “I suspect there are a few of us left.”

  “I blame social media. It has created the idea that everybody is a celebrity, everybody is more important than everybody else, just so long as their audience continues to enable them.” She paused, stepping over a rain gully worn into the rock. “So, somebody posts a picture of their expensive lunch and gets a load of likes or positive comments. What they really need is to be told that with starving children in the world, their picture is an obscene image of narcissism, and that they should be ashamed of wanting their ego massaged. That would go a long way to curbing this trait that is eating away at the heart of society.”

  “Why would somebody post a picture of their lunch?”