by Matt Rogers
At first, King had assumed the guy was just a troublemaker, looking for a fight after drinking too much at the game. But this man hadn’t come from The Garden. He had sinister purpose behind his actions. He didn’t hesitate to stride directly at King, venom in his eyes, his hands balled into fists and ready to swing.
King didn’t know who he was. The guy was roughly his height — six foot three — and a little larger. A little wider. His bulk wasn’t all muscle though. There was some fat in there. He was the enforcer type.
King hoped the guy had come ready for a war.
He feigned surprise and hesitation, which caused the assailant to surge into range, intent on capitalising on King’s weakness. King let him get a little closer then threw a front-kick, rocketing his heel into the guy’s solar plexus. The man’s momentum halted and he coughed for breath. King dove forward and sliced an elbow across his jaw, close-range, hard enough to hear an audible thwack above the nearby din of New York traffic.
The shift in energy was palpable in the air. King felt something in the guy falter as nerve endings fired across his face. He’d landed the elbow with impeccable precision. The assailant would be in a world of pain. He stumbled back, suppressing a grunt of agony, and bounced roughly off the damp brick wall behind him.
King surged forward and slammed a well-timed follow-up shot into the man’s exposed stomach. A vicious twisting body kick, landing shin to skin, sending the guy straight back into the wall with another hollow thud. In an attempt to prevent the assault turning into a straight-up beatdown, the guy swung a fist with everything he had, searching valiantly for King’s chin, hoping to put him away with a single uppercut.
Close, but no cigar, King thought.
He sidestepped just enough to draw himself out of harm’s way. He felt the guy’s knuckles whistle through the air to the side of his head. Another inch to the right and King would have been in a world of hurt. But after literal hours of experience in similar situations, he had reached a level of proprioception that was practically unrivalled in anyone he fought. He knew the exact position of his body in space, and could manoeuvre it in such ways as to avoid the majority of heavy punches.
Carried by his own momentum, the assailant stumbled. King caught a brief glimpse of his face — laced with pain, contorted into a disbelieving scowl — and decided that enough was enough. He saw a window of opportunity for a perfect right-cross that would crack across the man’s chin and rattle his brain inside his skull, stripping him of consciousness in one slicing blow.
But he didn’t take it.
He kicked out again, this time aiming for the guy’s right calf, just below the knee. When it slammed home, the man buckled and sprawled out across the alleyway floor, incapacitated but not seriously injured. King strode up to his torso and planted a boot on his chest. He leant just enough weight on the guy to let him know not to make a move.
The man winced as he rode out the pain coursing through his stomach and his chin. King knew exactly how much effort he had put into the two significant blows, which meant he understood exactly how much pain the man would be in the following morning.
A lot.
He hadn’t appreciated the push.
‘You want something?’ he said after giving the man ample opportunity to regain his breath.
The guy looked up at him, something close to fear glinting in his eyes. ‘Wasn’t my choice.’
‘What?’
‘This,’ the man said, using his arms to gesture around at the contents of the alleyway. ‘Boss put me up to it.’
‘Who’s your boss?’
‘You know her.’
King paused for a moment, thinking back to the female voice on the phone. ‘You’re fucking kidding.’
The guy shook his head. ‘I’m guessing you’re an operative.’
‘Not yet. This little encounter might make me reconsider.’
‘It wasn’t personal.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘I think she wanted to see if you still had it.’
‘Did I pass the test?’
‘I can’t feel my jaw,’ the guy said. ‘So I’d say yes.’
King assessed the situation and made a quick decision. The man’s tone had softened over the course of the short conversation. He didn’t mean true harm. Despite the blood flowing through King’s veins, he battled down the fight-or-flight instinct raging in his mind and helped the man to his feet.
The guy wiped dirty water off his leather jacket and looked at his feet. Another wave of pain rolled over him, evident from the furrowed brows and gritted teeth. He shook his head in frustration. ‘Better get a bonus for that.’
‘What’s your name?’ King said.
The guy looked up. He smiled wryly. ‘Not your concern.’
‘You just tried to beat me up.’
A shrug. ‘I think you got the best of that encounter. I’m nobody. You’ll never see me again.’
The man slid a note out of his pocket. An address was scrawled in barely legible handwriting across the torn paper. He handed it over to King, who tucked it into his overcoat. ‘There you go.’
King scoffed. ‘That’s it? What would have happened if you beat the shit out of me? I never would have heard from the Force again?’
The guy started backtracking out of the alley. He shrugged mid-stride. ‘Don’t know, man. None of this has anything to do with me. I’m paid to do what I’m told. Nothing else.’
‘Well, good luck.’
‘Thanks.’ The man pointed to the left side of his face, which had already started to swell. ‘Nice shot.’
With that, he was gone. He reached the sidewalk and shrank away into the crowd of pedestrians passing by. Some had probably seen the fight taking place within the alley. None had felt the need to intervene.
Bystander effect, King thought.
He stood alone in the alleyway, his heart racing from the thrill of a fight, his limbs ready for action even though he knew there would be no more that night. He pulled the note out of his pocket and looked at it long and hard. It told him to be at an unidentifiable location on 102nd Street at eight a.m. the next morning.
Is this really the life you want?
Do you want to dive straight back into the world you tried to escape from?
There were few other options. He’d tried retirement. It hadn’t worked. Besides, although he was reluctant to admit it, the fight with one of Command’s goons had brought back the very sensations that had carried him through such an arduous career in the first place.
Truth was, there wasn’t anywhere else he would rather be. It had taken him far too long to make up his mind. Duty and courage and love of country could only get you so far in terms of motivation. At the end of the day, anyone in his echelon of the Special Forces were truly mad.
They thrived off the thrill of combat.
Time to embrace that fact.
He headed back out into the street, grimly resolved to re-dedicate himself to a life of chaos.
At least, until he reached breaking point for the second time.
Who knew when that would come…
CHAPTER 5
Daylight crept through the enormous windows of Studio 57 early the next morning. The blackout blinds had stayed up overnight and King woke naturally as the sun rose over the New York skyline and infiltrated the ornate bedroom at 7:16a.m., according to the digital clock on the dresser. He stretched once, rubbed sleep from his eyes and dressed in the Nike workout gear he’d purchased on the way back to his room the night before.
The note had said to meet at eight a.m., but King didn’t give a shit what time he showed up. The woman now in charge of Black Force should have been eternally grateful that he was stepping back into the madhouse, but so far he had been greeted with nothing but a lack of answers and a brazen attack the night before.
She wanted to see if you still had it.
He cursed the brash nature of her test and left the room to find a gym.
It
didn’t take long. New York City was a hive of commerciality, packed to the brim with hundreds of thousands of businesses of all sizes. He found a twenty-four-hour gymnasium just two blocks away from the Four Seasons and paid an exorbitant fee in exchange for a day pass.
He spent an hour in the chilled industrial room packed with dozens of different machines and a horde of free weights. King was glad that the gym provided the tools necessary to throw around some heavy iron. Most commercial gymnasiums had nothing but a handful of treadmills and some light free weights.
He ploughed through a heavy chest and triceps workout, zoned in as always. The period of time in which he slaved away at the weights until he stumbled from the room dripping perspiration and thoroughly spent was sacred to him. He wouldn’t trade it for anything. It tested his mental fortitude and physical abilities. It was something he could always go back to, no matter where he was on the globe.
Find a gym.
Train like an animal.
Leave.
At 8:30a.m. he stepped back out into the freezing New York morning, drenched in sweat, chest heaving as he made the journey back to the Four Seasons. He purchased a fresh set of cold-weather clothing from a designer outlet on the way back and made the journey up the elevator in silence, clenching the shopping bag between sweaty fingers.
He showered, changed, and surveyed Studio 57 one last time. He’d only booked a single night’s stay, and despite his significant wealth he didn’t think he could bare to part with that much money again.
Not like you’ll need to dip into your savings for a while…
It was true. When he reunited with Black Force, life would change. Luxurious hotel suites would be replaced with third-world war zones. Lifting weights would be replaced with battle. Of course, there was the possibility that in the time he had spent away from the Force, the world had made peace and brutal conflicts with bio-terrorists and dictators would not be necessary.
A fool’s paradise.
King knew that as long as the earth stayed spinning, people would keep wanting to kill each other.
It was human nature.
He was responsible for eliminating the scum of society — and there would always be scum.
He took the elevator back down to the lobby and handed over the room key to the same smiling receptionist.
‘Everything up to standard?’ she said.
He nodded and smiled. ‘Great place. Thanks for the hospitality.’
Then it was back out into the freezing morning, integrating into the twenty-four-seven hurry of civilian life in the big city. As King walked, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander. Memories came back to him from countless experiences throughout his career — some good, most terrible. Working for the upper echelons of the Special Forces was not a happy existence. Despite the good that was inevitably done by someone of King’s unique ability, it couldn’t mask the whirlwind of pain and brutality that accompanied such a life.
But time after time he felt himself drawn to its pull.
He’d sworn off the life of a Black Force operative six months ago. Every fibre of his being had screamed to never step foot in that world again, or it would have disastrous consequences.
And here you are.
He made it to 102nd Street and spent a significantly drawn-out length of time figuring out where exactly the address on the note was located. If his heart was truly in it, he could have found the place in half the time. But he knew that this might be his last taste of true freedom for a long time.
Possibly ever…
The inherent danger of being part of Black Force couldn’t be avoided. He knew the odds were against him, but they’d been against him on every mission and somehow he had clawed his way back into the land of the living each and every time. Maybe he could make it through this next stint in one piece, too.
He found a rundown construction site tucked in between two imposing skyscrapers. Some kind of half-finished apartment block, but it felt like the site hadn’t been tended to in years. Dust covered the exposed scaffolding and rusty metal beams. A thick wire fence restricted access from pedestrians, and large tarpaulin sheets full of holes had been draped across many of the exposed features.
King knew that the note was not wrong.
He had not been given a false address.
There were subtle cues that gave away the fact that the site had been intentionally made to appear unassuming. No-one would look twice at it.
He wondered what would happen next.
He spent less than thirty seconds loitering out the front of the construction site before a random passerby wheeled off her trajectory, grabbed his arm and guided him through a gap in the fence. They ducked into the site and King was led into the building itself. The woman pointed down a half-finished corridor, and King set off.
He turned to get a look at the woman in charge of the most secretive special-operations division on the planet.
CHAPTER 6
Everything about her was unassuming.
She was roughly ten years his senior, secretarial, wearing standard cold-weather corporate dress. Black suit pants, a smart white dress shirt and a tan overcoat. Nothing expensive, just middle-of-the-range gear that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. In fact, it would take considerable effort to notice her in the first place. Her mid-length straight brown hair and drab, unassuming complexion would make it hard to distinguish her in a police line-up. King wondered if she was the voice on the phone who had instructed him so demeaningly.
She opened her mouth and spoke in an identical tone. ‘I said eight.’
‘I got held up,’ King said.
‘By what?’
‘Woke up late.’
‘Wouldn’t have anything to do with the workout?’
‘You’re following me?’
She pulled up alongside him as they walked further into the grimy complex. ‘Have you forgotten who we are?’
‘I know who you are. I was your first operative. You weren’t with us in those days.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Lars ran things.’
Black Force’s founder, and ex-chief handler. King had run into his old friend during a nightmarish trip through the small country towns of Australia. He forced those memories out of his mind.
‘And look where Lars is now,’ the woman said. ‘I was always there — just in a lower position. We restricted your knowledge of how the department operated. You didn’t even meet the other operatives.’
‘I met one just a few days ago.’
She locked onto him, scrutinising him hard. ‘Don’t think we’re not looking into that.’
‘What’s there to look into?’
‘Slater spends a couple of days with you and decides to vanish. I have my doubts.’
‘He wasn’t happy with you,’ King said. ‘If that’s any consolation…’
‘No-one’s happy in our trade. That’s not a good enough reason to disappear.’
‘It was for him. I did the same.’
‘You laid everything on the table before you walked out. Slater snapped.’
‘I snapped too.’
‘Yet here you are. Back at it.’
‘I haven’t agreed to anything yet.’
The woman looked at him condescendingly. ‘King, if you had any doubts, you never would have picked up that phone.’
‘You know my name,’ King said. ‘So what’s yours?’
‘Isla.’
‘That your real name?’
‘I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.’
King shrugged. ‘I like to get to know my employers.’
Isla led him down three flights of stairs, into a grungy corridor complete with flickering lights and water dripping from the ceiling. By now, they were far below ground level. The portion of the site underground had been made to deliberately confuse. King wasn’t sure he would be able to find his way out if Isla decided to abandon him.
‘Budget cuts?’ King said as they wal
ked.
Isla scoffed. ‘We have a thousand places like this. This is simply for all the necessities.’
‘What necessities?’
‘You’re still a civilian,’ Isla said. ‘We need you to sign your life away.’
‘Of course.’
The corridor ended at a rusty metal door built into the brickwork. Isla unlocked it manually with a small silver key and pushed it open. They stepped into an immaculately polished room with steel floors, steel walls and a full-length mirror running along the opposite side. A wooden table in the centre of the room was the only furnishing, aside from a handful of chairs scattered around its bulk. On the other side of the table, two stern-looking men in military get-up sat patiently in mutual silence.
‘Gentlemen,’ King said, nodding to them each in turn.
They said nothing back.
King turned to Isla. ‘They’re not very friendly.’
‘They don’t trust you after Corsica. Slater was our best operative, after all.’
Something about that rubbed King the wrong way. ‘Tell them they should be grateful that I’m willing to offer my services while Black Force finds suitable replacements. Without me, they’d be fucked.’
‘We can talk, you know,’ one of the men said, fixing his icy gaze on King.
King pulled out a chair and sat down hard. ‘Congratulations. Maybe put that skill to use and thank me for my gracious offer.’
‘You have some papers to sign,’ the man on the right said. He had thick greying hair and bushy eyebrows resting above a face that hadn’t looked like it had smiled in decades. He wore no badge signifying name or rank.
‘Are we going to talk about what happened in Corsica first?’ King said. ‘Maybe clear the air…’
‘You were killing people in your retirement,’ the other man said. ‘Then our top man happened to disappear after we sent him searching for your head. Care to explain that?’
‘We spent half a day trying to kill each other,’ King said. ‘But we’re cut from the same cloth, him and I. Didn’t take long for us to team up and take down a mutual threat.’
