Hunter Killer - Alex King Series 12 (2021)

by A P Bateman

  King didn’t see the bubbles or the figure swimming down to him, and nor did he feel the hands upon him, the desperate kicks to get him back to the surface. He didn’t feel the hands pulling at him, nor the firm rubber side of the boat. Rashid struggled in after him, pulling himself in as Madeleine and Grainger heaved on King’s limp arms, but he took what he thought would be his final breath and pictured Caroline, the image rushing to him more clearly as he took in precious air and the saltwater kiss of death never came…

  King looked up, confused. He had expected the breath to be his last. He was shivering and became aware of painful touch as both Madeleine and Grainger pulled on layers of clothing and put on Grainger’s own warmed pair of gloves as they turned their attention to assisting Rashid with dressing him. King stared up at the grey sky. He was shivering less, but he felt drunk and what he felt was an existential experience – a visitor to his own body and a voyeur to the scene around him. He closed his eyes, the image of Caroline coming to him more clearly. She was laughing, her hair blowing in the wind atop a cliff, the sea shining behind her. He had been a fool to leave her in her fragile state, recuperating from her ordeal. How could she ever forgive him? She was vulnerable and needed protecting and looking after.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Lake Como, Italy

  “You don’t look how I expected,” said Fortez, gesturing her ahead of him.

  Caroline was dressed in a white linen dress with a thin, grey cashmere cardigan and white linen gloves. She wore a white, silk headscarf and it was contrasted greatly by her oversized black Gucci sunglasses. Big Dave had commented that she looked like Audrey Hepburn and that she should perhaps travel by Vespa. She had told him that the crutches might hamper that. She placed the foot of the crutches carefully on the gravel pathway and started out ahead of him. “Don’t let the crutches fool you,” she replied. “Injuries are an unfortunate part of the business we’re in. I will soon be healed, and the mark will soon be dead.”

  “No, I wasn’t referring to your injuries, just that you look so beautiful and elegant. It’s difficult to imagine you in such a role.” He paused. “And Milo Noventa told me you are part of a formidable team,” Fortez said. “And yet you show up alone. Rather reckless, given the business you are in and the obvious injury.” He nodded for the guard to stay with them. The man had earlier searched Caroline professionally from ankle to crotch to breasts and under her arms. There was nowhere she could be concealing a weapon in her outfit, and he had allowed Caroline to see the Beretta 92FS in the holster on his right hip for good measure. “I assume your partner is nearby?”

  “I don’t have a partner,” she replied. “I employ ex-soldiers, just like your rent-a-muscle here. But mine are undoubtedly a far more professional breed.”

  “The security agency only employs ex-soldiers with combat experience,” Fortez corrected her, smiling at the guard, and sharing a condescending expression with him like the lady had meant no offence. “I am well-protected, am I not, Marco?”

  “Sì, Signor Fortez,” the guard answered ruefully.

  Caroline smiled and nodded, pausing at the top of the terrace to admire the view. “Yes, but with respect an Italian ex-solider is not up to the same standard as an ex-British soldier, and certainly not up to the standards and experience of the SAS or SBS, and those are my team’s credentials. And believe me, you will need a team like mine, given the calibre of your target.” She paused, staring at both men. “Think what you like, but I’m right and unless you’re both deranged, you know it, too. And yes, I have someone nearby.”

  “How much has Milo Noventa told you?” Fortez asked, annoyance in his tone. He turned to the loitering guard and waved him away, but the man only walked a dozen paces and stood facing them with his back to the lake and his hand near the 9mm pistol.

  “Not the target’s name, just that they work for the British intelligence services and that the man killed your sons. Or one of them at least and was responsible for the death of the other.”

  “Killed him like a dog…” Fortez said coldly.

  Caroline nodded. She didn’t know how much Fortez had discovered about his son’s death, but it involved being injured by a gunshot and going down in a light aircraft. Hardly a dog’s death, but since Fortez had elected not to attend the inquest he had probably built up a picture in his grieving mind. She did her best to pull out the chair at the table, and Fortez walked around the table and helped her. “Thank you,” she said, attempting to rest both crutches against the round table, but they slipped and so she rested them carefully on the table instead.

  He nodded like it was nothing and took his own seat. “I have arranged for coffee and amaretto biscotti,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “I am surprised you came alone,” he said. “No wires or weapons. I’d have expected more in your line of work.”

  “You should have expected less,” she replied. “It was pretty obvious that I would be subject to a search. And if I turned up here armed, what would that prove? That I work in a dangerous business? You already know that much, otherwise why else would I be here?”

  Fortez smiled. “Why else indeed…” He looked over to the villa where a traditionally dressed maid in her thirties stepped outside with a serving tray. “Ah, coffee!” He waited until the maid had silently placed the tray on the table, then smiled as he took the silver pot and poured the coffee into both demitasse cups. “Sugar?”

  Caroline shook her head. “Nor cream, thank you” she said.

  “Your injuries,” he ventured. “An accident perhaps?”

  “Of sorts,” she replied.

  He looked at her crutches on the table, at her white linen gloves. “Your hands are injured as well?”

  “No,” she replied. “But the crutches have given me bad blisters and they are rather unsightly.”

  Giuseppe Fortez nodded. “So, to the point. The target. Noventa did not tell you the target’s name?”

  “No.”

  “But he told you what the man is, who he works for?”

  “Yes.”

  “But Noventa is dead, surely?”

  Caroline looked at him curiously. “Why would you think that?”

  ***

  “She’s blown! Get her out of there!” Durand said urgently.

  “And where the hell is Dave? He’s meant to be with her…” Thorpe stood up abruptly, staring at the screen.

  “Wait…” Ramsay watched the monitor. Big Dave had rigged the camera on the neighbour’s property and Durand had given Caroline a working watch with a microphone built in. It was larger than she was used to wearing, but it was the fashion for many women to wear men’s stainless steel diving watches on a loose strap. “Let’s see where he’s going with this…”

  “You can’t be serious?” Sally-Ann Thorpe asked incredulously. She dialled on her phone and said, “Dave, where the hell are you?”

  “She wanted to go in alone. You know what she’s like…”

  “Damn it! Are you close enough to get her out?”

  “Sure. What’s going down?”

  “She may be blown…”

  “She said she’d give me a signal if the meeting takes a wrong turn. I trust her, so I’ll wait until I hear it.”

  “Hear it?”

  “Going now, I need to keep my phone line clear…”

  “He’s hung up on me.” Thorpe grimaced. “Bloody hell! I knew she wasn’t the best person for the task. And she’s not fit enough to move if she has to!”

  ***

  “I live here in relative exile,” Fortez pontificated upon his fate and continued, “I am a lesson to others. My sons died, my empire was weakened, and I was spared. Like a stud horse who cannot service the mares, I am left to grow old and fat and ignored.” He shrugged. “But I can live with that. I can live without seeing the wives of my sons, and their children. Because I play the long game. I will amass strength and when my enemies least expect it, I will strike. Perhaps it will be someone e
lse who does the killing, or perhaps, eventually, it will be me. But the killing will be done and the people who stood by idly and watched my fall from grace will pay. If not with their lives, then with their wallets and the threat of the spectre of death at their shoulders.”

  Caroline nodded. “Well, perhaps when I complete this contract, you will bear my organisation in mind for some repeat business.”

  Fortez nodded and smiled sagely. “So, if Noventa is dead, why are you here? And what’s more, did you have anything to do with it?”

  “Noventa was greedy. Tell me, how did you know?”

  Fortez shrugged. “People talk,” he replied. “I have people everywhere.”

  “Well, I’m here for the contract,” she replied looking perplexed. “You still want it fulfilled, don’t you?”

  Fortez ignored her question, instead focusing his gaze on the lake. “My son, Gennaro was a hothead. But he knew enough about the man he went to England to kill. He put enough pressure on the man’s boss to learn some key facts, and he learned of the man’s weaknesses. He also learned all about the woman in the man’s life. A colleague. Wounded terribly. Broken arm, two broken legs… one so badly that she would have been left with multiple operations and months of physiotherapy and recuperation ahead of her. He also had a picture of the man and his woman. He uploaded it into his cloud before he died and while my computer expert was hiding funds and losing money trails, he retrieved this photo.” Fortez paused, took his eyes away from the glorious view of the lake and stared directly into her hazel eyes. “And now that young lady sits in front of me, unarmed and with a head full of vengeance…”

  ***

  “La merde!” Durand shook his head. “We need to call the police!”

  “I’m on it,” Thorpe said and dialled 113, Italy’s national police emergency number. She walked away from the others as she spoke.

  Ramsay took out his phone and called Big Dave, then cursed as he failed to get through. He tried again, but still there was no connection. On the third attempt he cursed loudly and threw the phone into the chair beside him. He then thought better of it and dialled again.

  “The police are on the way,” Thorpe announced as she hurried back to the screen. “I just hope they can get there in time…”

  ***

  Caroline smiled. She was quite calm and confident and held the man’s stare. “You are an intelligent and resourceful man, Signor Fortez. And you know all about retribution, and how it eats you up, gnaws away at your insides. But once someone makes up their mind to kill you, you can’t simply let it go. They will find a way. You decided that my fiancé could not go on living, and you will never let it go…”

  “And you’re here to implore me to lift the contract? I must admit, it was a bold move on your behalf.” Fortez laughed raucously. “You may be a fool, young lady. But you have a big set of balls!” He made a gesture with his hands as if they were wrapped around an imaginary pineapple each. “Enormous!”

  Caroline shrugged, unperturbed. She was looking him directly in his eyes and her tone was unwavering. “So?”

  Fortez continued to laugh as he placed both hands flat on the table. When he ceased laughing, he looked at her quite seriously, his fingers drumming slowly and impatiently on the table. “No, my dear, I will not be lifting the contract. In fact, as we speak, colleagues of Marco’s are on the way here to take you away.” He looked at the bodyguard, who sneered back at Caroline. “So, you will soon see how effective Italian ex-soldiers can be. And after that, perhaps the contract will be served to these same mercenaries. Perhaps I should have looked closer to home and not used that slimy snake oil salesman Milo Noventa? But he was the expert in the dark web, and that was where I was advised to go for anonymity… for all the good that has done me. Now that my boys are dead, and my empire has crumbled, maybe the old-fashioned way is the best way, after all? In the old days, you just held onto a man’s wife and child and told him he’d get them back after they killed the person you had a grievance with. The job got done, and you were up to your eyes in alibis when the hit was carried out. If it went wrong, you slept safely in your bed. It was a win-win affair.”

  “From a man like yourself, I’d have expected no less.”

  Fortez smiled. “What did you hope to achieve? To get near enough to me to kill me?” He paused. “You were searched. My guard enjoyed it. His hands on your soft skin, lingering between your legs, at your wonderfully pert breasts. I certainly believe there was no weapon hidden there…” he laughed. “Perhaps I should check for myself…”

  “You really are a loathsome man. Your son died having taken a fifteen-year-old girl hostage. That’s the same age as your eldest granddaughter.” She smiled when she saw the flicker of annoyance, or perhaps concern in the old man’s eyes. “Yes, I know all about your family. But tell me, what sort of man condones this action? You sit there like you have this self-righteous higher authority when you are in fact nothing but a crooked businessman who has profited from spreading fear and reaping the success of others. Your sons did this, too. But they branched out into drugs and weapons and sex trafficking… things that cause people great pain and anguish... and you sit there, staring out on this beautiful view with thoughts of murder and head full of lies and retribution. An old man, not long for this world, who is practically a prisoner in his own home, because he has been neutered by his opposition and spared only to be humiliated further. Whose last thoughts are bitter and twisted and vengeful.” She paused. “Your sons were killed because they took a wrong path. And you have trodden that same path for far too long.”

  Fortez smiled, but it was mirthless and thin, and his eyes bore nothing but contempt into her own. “The time for talking is over…”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Caroline replied. She placed her hand on the nearest of her crutches and moved it a few inches until the rubber foot lined up just above the man’s ample stomach, then she twisted the handle. There was a colossal gunshot and a fist-sized hole appeared in the man’s sternum. He grunted, his eyes wide and his mouth open in surprise and disbelief. And then the wound started to bleed like a hose with the tap turned on halfway. She pushed out her chair and aimed the crutch at the bodyguard. “Easy… put your right hand on your head!” She shouted. “Take out the gun with your left hand. Fingertips only. Toss it towards me…”

  The bodyguard stared at the dying man, his eyes transfixed on the open wound. Behind the blood and mess of shredded flesh and bone, the remains of the man’s heart, speckled with holes from the lead shot, was still beating and pumping blood outside his chest. The heart gradually stopped after a few more beats and Fortez tensed, then slumped in the chair. The guard complied with her orders and the Beretta clattered at her feet. Relieved she had fooled the guard - the custom weapon could only fire one shot - she picked up the pistol, flicked off the safety and shot the man in his right leg. He fell to the gravel screaming and clutching his shattered kneecap. Caroline thought it payback for the revolting way he had placed his hands on her intimate areas, and she turned and placed the crutch on the table. King’s weapon contact in London, who he only ever referred to as ‘The Man’, had sleeved a 24 inch, 12-bore smooth barrel inside the crutch and a simple spring-powered pin and cap assembly in the handle of the crutch would fire a single 12-bore shotgun cartridge filled with number five shot. A twelfth of a pound of lead balls, two-hundred and twenty in number, fired at fourteen-hundred feet per second at a distance of just eight inches. It was a one shot, one time deal. Reloading would require complete disassembly of the weapon with specialist tools. ‘The Man’ had texted Caroline with the plans and instructions on releasing the safety and firing the weapon, which she had promptly memorised before deleting the series of messages.

  Caroline picked up the other crutch and stood up from the chair. She could hear a helicopter in the distance and when she looked for the direction of the sound, she could see a Robinson R44 coming in fast and low across the water. On the other side of the villa sirens app
roached from nearby Navale where the Guardia di Finanza-Comando were based, but they did not get discernibly closer. Caroline imagined Big Dave pulling the lorry he had ‘borrowed’ across the road and tossing the keys over a hedge as he walked calmly away, blocking the traffic in both directions. It would be enough to hold up the police until the chopper put down safely on the lower terrace.

  Caroline made her way down the steps, using the crutches, although the heavier adapted one slid on the stones, the rubber cap somewhere inside Fortez with almost two ounces of lead shot behind it. She watched Flymo pull up vertically, then bank the helicopter hard, the tail spinning around so he could put down with the left-side doors facing her. He couldn’t simply fly in straight and steady – it wasn’t in the ex-army pilot’s nature - but the man had style and lived up to his nickname. Like the lawnmower of the same name, nothing could hover lower than a helicopter with Flymo on the stick.