Reaper

by A P Bateman

  “No!” Helena fired the revolver.

  She was incandescent with rage, and it affected her aim. The bullet sliced through the air an inch from King’s ear and he was already dodging to his right to put himself between the gunfire and Caroline. He heard another gunshot and returned one of his own, but it went wide, and Helena was still standing. The reports of the revolver were loud and crisp and as King caught sight again of Caroline, he could see Helena in his periphery adjusting her aim. Caroline fell forwards and hit the dirt hard. King threw himself down, slid close to Caroline on his belly and spun around, holding the pistol in a two-handed grip. He took aim and fired.

  Miss.

  He aimed lower, central body mass.

  A larger target.

  Concentrate.

  Only three rounds left.

  Catherine had got to her feet and was running for cover. She crossed in front of King and he lost sight of Helena in his sights, couldn’t shoot without hitting Catherine in the back. Helena tracked her aim across to Caroline, no longer fearing King, only intent on killing the person he loved. She wanted to hurt him more than killing him. She fired three shots. Catherine took two of them in the chest and fell.

  Helena froze for a moment, realization kicking in. She looked at King fleetingly as he adjusted his aim, and then she dropped to the ground, a red hole appearing on her chest and a crimson splash leaving her back.

  King got up and dashed to Caroline. He hugged her close.

  “Help me up,” she said.

  “No, stay there, I’ll get help…”

  “Help me up. I’m not hit,” she said. “I fell…”

  King hugged her like she would float away from him if he let her go. He felt her arms squeeze him tightly, her tears soaking his cheek.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” he said quietly. He pulled away and looked at her inquisitively. “Where the hell did you come from?”

  Caroline shifted in the dirt and sat up. “Ramsay had a text from Rashid. We high-tailed it up here, but a lorry hit us about six miles back,” she paused, wiped dust and tears and blood from her face. “Marnie was knocked out cold, Ramsay said you’re a big boy and his priority was to get her to hospital.”

  King nodded, although he had no idea who Marnie was. “Why didn’t Ramsay tell Rashid that you were safe?”

  “He did.”

  They both looked up and saw Rashid looking down at Helena. He had a grey blanket over his shoulders, a load of foliage poking out of the weave, the AK15 rifle in his hand. He kicked the revolver away from Helena’s body and strode over. “For a start, you don’t return my calls,” he paused. “And that bitch needed to go down. End it for you both. You were too close, needed to keep your head in the game. She’s still alive by the way.”

  King got up, limped over to Helena. He ached and bled and felt weak. The wound to his stomach had stopped bleeding. It was packed with dirty cloth, and he needed to get medical attention imminently. He had seen enough gunshot wounds to know he had been lucky. On closer inspection he had seen that the bullet had slowed through his leather belt and was stuck in the muscle wall. His arm ached though, and he put his missed shots down to the lack of movement. It was still bleeding, despite his makeshift dressing.

  Helena looked up at him. Her breathing was shallow and there was blood at her lips. Her eyes, for the first time, did not show indignity, cruelty or spite. They were the eyes of someone close to the destination of their journey. The only destination we all ultimately reach yet are completely unprepared for. She looked a different person.

  “Counter measures,” King said. “My guy was better than your guy.”

  She tried to speak, but the rattle left her lips and she closed her eyes, her face frozen, her body relaxing and resting still.

  King turned around and walked back to Caroline. He put his arm around her and looked at Rashid. “I guess I owe you a pint?”

  Rashid smiled, looked at the two of them and shook his head. “Nah, I’ll by you both a drink when we get home.”

  75

  London

  “I’ve spoken with Bérénice Duvall my contact with Interpol in the Anarchy to Recreate Society case,” Caroline said, hesitantly enough for King to sit up and look at her. “She is arranging a tour for me. I’ve spoken to Director Amherst, Simon Mereweather too. They have agreed for me to take a sabbatical from MI5. Six months.”

  King sat up in the sofa, he struggled with his bandaged arm, pinned to his chest in a sling. He had stitches in his side and had only just found a comfortable position. Somehow, slouching didn’t seem appropriate with Caroline’s revelation hanging in the air. “To go and work with Interpol?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I see,” King paused. It was a rare thing for him to appear shocked, but he could not play it down. Didn’t want to. “Is this goodbye?”

  Caroline cocked her head to one side, reached out and stroked his leg. “No,” she said quietly. “But this is something I have to do.”

  “Georgia?”

  “It’s a start,” she said confidently. “I can’t let it go. I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. But those girls… the things I saw…”

  “It eats you up.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Caroline, I’ll never ask what happened, other than what you’ve already told me,” King said. “I’ve seen enough crap, gone through enough to understand what needs to be known, and what is better left buried. But will this help you?”

  Caroline’s eyes flashed momentarily. “It’s past the point of whether it helps me or not. I need to do it for them.”

  “The Georgian police are investigating.”

  “You really think they’ll close the loop? Ramsay said that Cub Scouts could have done a better investigation. Interpol will lend their expertise. It’s a wild west country. The police and government officials are all on the take. Sure, it’s closed-down now, but another venture will start up again. If not there, then in the Ukraine, Belarus, another anonymous spec on the map.”

  King nodded. “I can imagine that,” he agreed. He could see how important it was to her, but he didn’t want to lose her. He wanted to fight for her, but he could see that if he stopped her from doing what both her heart and mind was set upon, then he would ultimately lose her anyway.

  “Bérénice is excited. She has contacts who want to do more to shut-down these ventures. She has a couple of people in mind who will jump at the chance and together, we may make a difference.”

  King nodded. He sipped some of his tea, but it was tepid. He recognised Caroline’s drive, her desire to do something as survivor’s guilt. She had fled that night. There was no way she could have fought for those girls and women. To have done so would have been futile. But Caroline had gotten away. She had done what nobody else had. She had escaped. Now, she was not only driven by justice, but by her own guilt at having walked away. The Georgian police had moved in, women had been rescued, but he knew that the investigation would have stalled at their end. Caroline’s connection with Interpol, having been seconded to them earlier in the year had given her an insight into what the international facilitator could do. She saw that she had a chance to make a difference, and King knew the cost of not trying. He had walked away from death and despair. He had performed his tasks for Queen and country, but he had lived with the fallout ever since. He carried guilt, carried the memories of the things he had seen along the way. Could he have done more?

  Undoubtedly.

  “I think it’s a good idea,” he said. He touched her hand. “I know you need to do this.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him closely. Her breath was warm in his ear and her perfume, the way it clung subtly to her body, stirred him. He pulled back and kissed her, but he could already tell she was in Georgia. She was with Interpol, planning her first move.

  “What will you do?” she asked. Her eyes were moist, and they glistened like diamonds, but it was more than that, there was renewed vigour, more li
fe behind them. As if his consent, or at least acceptance of it had lifted her.

  “Well, if MI5 are handing out sabbaticals, I think I’ll take one of my own,” he said. He watched the television screen for a moment. The Russian president was waving at the top of the steps about to board his plane back to Russia. He had conceded nothing. The recent biological attacks killing former KGB agents turned British informants had been vehemently denied. Deals had been restructured to secure pricing and supply of natural gas. It had been an awkward accord, but all the King could see was that Russia had taken a big slice of cake and eaten it in front of the rest of the world.

  “Sabbatical? You?” Caroline said, almost laughing. “Where would you go? What would you do?”

  King watched the man who had raped Helena Milankovitch turn and step from view into the airplane. Maybe fate always played a part in life. Maybe action and consequence were inextricably linked to fate. He watched the door to the plane close, the ticker-tape on the bottom of the screen round-up a summary of the Russian president’s visit. Could this one man have led to Helena having people killed, of taking Caroline prisoner? Of taking over the concessions of the other men who had been a part of it? Of the girls trafficked, heinously abused and dehumanised? And now, Caroline was a part of it. She had lived a nightmare, was going off to live many more in her quest to redress the balance and look for justice, a stop to this outrage. One man’s actions a dozen years ago, destroying and claiming so many lives all these years later.

  King watched the plane taxi onto the runway. The ticker-tape highlighted the success of the president’s visit. King just saw a series of scraps the Russian’s had tossed a country who had to be seen to keep face but was desperate for what they could get in a post-Brexit world. A world where the alliance between the countries it once surrounded itself with were uneasy towards its new-found independence. Russia increasingly took no notice of NATO, America or indeed, the rest of the world. It was a country with no allies, no friends, and nor did it care. It was a country that bullied the world but heeded nothing. A country whose president merely shrugged at the footage of ballot-box discrepancies and of blatant vote rigging. A president who intimidated the opposition. Who failed to sanction investigations into the disappearance of his political opponents. A leader who merely did as he chose, dared countries to respond and taunted governments at their lack of resolve. A man who considered himself untouchable.

  “Do you believe in fate?” he asked.

  “Sort of,” she replied. “I suppose there’s a case for it.”

  King nodded. “Do you believe it catches up with you?”

  “What, like cheating death?”

  “I suppose,” he said. “The cards get dealt. I’ve known some of the best operators in the field catch an unlucky bullet. I’ve seen rebels with no training, discipline or skill fight and live through hell on the battlefield. Sometimes it just boils down to fate.”

  “You’re sounding distinctly profound tonight,” she said, digging him the ribs with her elbow. “Are you worried I cheated fate? Worried that my true destiny lies in Georgia?”

  King smiled. “No. I think you’ll take care of yourself.”

  She edged a little closer, rested her head on her shoulder and watched the television. The Russian president’s plane was nearing the end of its taxi to the runway. A picture of him appeared in the top righthand corner, the ticker-tape relaying his position on the discovery of biological nerve agents that killed the two Russian KGB defectors.

  “So, tell me more of this sabbatical idea,” she said softly.

  “I thought I’d go to Russia,” he said.

  “Russia?”

  King nodded. “I hear it’s a beautiful country,” he said. “Might be worth it.”

  “I guess so,” Caroline paused. “But don’t go worrying about fate. I don’t think you can change it anyway. When your time is up, your time is up.”

  King knew that was all too true. But he had commanded a degree of fate. He had served it up to many people over the years. Some deserving; others less so. Maybe you couldn’t beat fate, but you could guide it towards others.

  “I agree.” King stared at the picture of the Russian president on the screen, before picking up the remote and switching off the television.

  “You can’t beat The Reaper,” said Caroline.

  “No,” King agreed. “You most certainly can’t.”

  Author’s Note

  Hi – thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the story!

  It goes without saying, if you didn’t buy and read my stories, I wouldn’t be doing this. I appreciate my readers, look forward to meeting you all at signings and events, and I always respond to messages if you want to get in touch.

  Once again, if you have time I’d appreciate a review – just a rating and a few lines – this keeps my work visible in today’s algorithm-led searches. Plus, it puts a huge grin on my face and often lifts me through tediously difficult plot lines in whatever I’m writing next!

  If you need links for this, or would like to join my mailing list and stay ahead of the pack for updates, new releases and competitions, or simply want to say hi, you can find all this and more on www.apbateman.com

  Thank you

  A P Bateman

  Also by A P Bateman

  The Ares Virus

  At a US research facility funded by the military and clandestine agencies a super virus has been created as a first strike military weapon. During its conception the anti-virus has furthered the possibilities of medical research by decades. Such is its potential, treachery has struck from within. If the virus is released, then the anti-virus will be worth billions to the pharmaceutical industry. Isobel Bartlett worked on the project and knows its potential.

  After the suspicious death of her mentor, and upon hearing part of an audacious plan to make money from the project she flees the facility with the information needed to culture the viruses to seek help from a contact with the FBI. Up against rogue government forces, she is helped by Agent Rob Stone of the Secret Service who has been tasked by the president to investigate a disbanded assassination program after his investigation led him to the bio research facility. The two are hunted mercilessly by an assassin from Washington to the streets of New York. Only when the hunt reaches the wild forests of Vermont can ex-special forces soldier Stone take the fight to the enemy.

  The Contract Man

  When an MI6 agent is found to be keeping records of his missions to protect himself from betrayal he unwittingly makes himself a priority target. But how do you silence the most dangerous man imaginable? Send him into hell on earth…

  While Alex King is sent into Northern Iraq to tidy the loose ends of a botched mission, the archipelago of Indonesia is under communist threat from within its own military. A consortium of worried businessmen calls for desperate measures and seek the services of an assassin. But what if MI6 could be duped into taking care of their problems for them? With secret links to China the communist contingent threatens Britain’s trade initiatives with the largest mineral producing country on the planet.

  In the shadowy world of intelligence, it seems that everybody has their price.

  Lies and Retribution

  MI5 agents have been executed and more agents have been abducted with no terms received from the kidnappers. An MI5 analyst is missing having accessed and downloaded prohibited security data.

  The trial of notorious radical cleric Mullah Al-Shaqqaf collapses, his extradition falls apart. A man known to have funded ISIS, recruit fighters for Syria and coerce teenagers to martyr themselves. Again, he walks free.

  The hunt for a nuclear warhead stolen ten years ago has led Russian intelligence to London.

  One man connects them all…

  When retired MI6 operative Alex King is contacted by the deputy director of MI5 with a proposition, he feels compelled to act. His brief is illegal, his actions unprecedented. The law and the courts have failed. Time and events are against the n
ation’s intelligence services and the battle can no longer be fought by the rules. Britain’s enemies will soon find the game has changed.

  As MI5 agent Caroline Darby investigates with the help of a seasoned Scotland Yard detective she soon starts to look through the elaborate misdirection and discovers the horrifying truth…

  The Town

  Rob Stone is taking time out to climb in the mountains of Oregon. Taking a break, drinking coffee in a diner in a small mountain town he watches a helpless man humiliated. Stepping in to help, he sparks a confrontation. Within an hour somebody tries to kill him.

  A message has been sent, but Stone will not be pushed. As he starts to investigate what some people in the town do not want uncovered, the truth becomes unthinkable. Cruelty on a scale unimaginable, Stone is determined to shut it down and reclaim the town for its people.

  Outnumbered, hunted through the dense forest and mountain terrain, his enemy are unaware that they haven’t gained the advantage. They have merely released him into his element.

  Murder… Abduction… Betrayal… Sometimes you can’t see the woods for the trees…

  The Island

  Waking naked and alone on a deserted island, Rob Stone has no recollection of how he got there, or who he is. His memory is one of snapshots, each one building a picture of what he does and who he truly is.

  He discovers he has both the skills and will to survive. But survival is one thing, being hunted is another.

  A beautiful journalist in desperate need of help. The dark web, the dumping ground for the evil of the internet. An enemy from his past. Murder, abduction and betrayal. Stone must try to remember the time before the island changed everything. The island will help him remember. The island will make him wish he could forget.