by Matt Rogers
‘Which was?’
‘Local politician running a sex-slavery ring. But you know that.’
No-one said a word, but King knew the truth. Already, an independent investigation would have been carried out using the best resources the United States government had to offer. The devastation that King and Slater had left behind in Corsica would have been scrutinised in impeccable detail. Certain conclusions would have been made.
‘In fact, I think you know I didn’t kill Slater,’ King said. ‘The chopper he left in must have been fairly easy to track.’
‘We found it,’ Isla said.
‘And?’
But King already knew what would come next.
‘Slater’s too good,’ Isla said. ‘He covered his tracks. We have no idea where he is now.’
King shrugged. ‘The training you put us through has its benefits.’
Isla dropped a thin leather briefcase onto the table between them and flipped it open. ‘We can sit around all day talking, but technically we weren’t supposed to say a word to you until you signed these.’
‘You’re not doing your job properly then.’
The trio ignored the quip and sorted through a handful of freshly-printed documents, some sealed with the presidential emblem. King glanced at them, barely interested. The upper echelon of power had long ago lost its intrigue.
Now, he simply wanted to be let out of this room and put back to work.
A pair of contracts were passed across the desk and a pen was thrust into King’s hand. He scrutinised the fine print out of habit, but it was nothing he hadn’t seen before.
In summation, he was expected to cut off all ties to family and friends and devote his services to Black Force twenty-four-seven, three-hundred-and-sixty-five days a year. He was to be sent where he was told, and carry out what he was told to do. He accepted full responsibility for his own death in the service of his country, and he had no guarantee that his death would be officially acknowledged depending on which tasks he perished while attempting.
There were countless other details, but he knew exactly what his job would be. He and Lars had pioneered the division. Built it from the ground up. They had practically founded the Force.
He signed on the dotted line.
Black Force operative Jason King was officially employed.
CHAPTER 7
Isla collected the papers and tucked them away. ‘Obviously there are a mountain of technicalities but we’ll get through those in the coming weeks. Now, we can officially talk.’
The two men on the other side of the table got to their feet. Their chairs scraped against the metal floor as they stood, omitting twin screeches. They nodded curtly to Isla and King and made for the door.
King watched them go with surprise. ‘You’re not hanging around?’
‘We were only here to witness the signing,’ one of the men said. ‘Isla handles the bulk of this process. We’re needed elsewhere.’
They left without any further conversation. King hadn’t warmed to them in the slightest, so he didn’t mind whatsoever. He turned to Isla after the door slammed shut behind them. ‘They were nice.’
‘What do you care what they were like?’ she said. ‘We need to talk about Slater.’
‘I assume this is being recorded,’ King said.
‘You assume correctly.’
‘What if I only want to talk about it off-the-record?’
Isla glared at him. ‘Don’t be so foolish. We’re scrambling here, and you know it. That’s why you came back.’
‘So, how bad is it?’
She bowed her head. ‘Bad. After you left, we were struggling to spread out all the assignments over the remaining operatives. I take it you know you were the best.’
‘I do now. Slater told me in no uncertain terms.’
‘So you two really did end up being friends?’
‘Like I said, we have a lot in common. We’re just the only two people on the planet who can relate to each other.’
‘You were the best of the best. Since the program started, you two are the only ones to see it all the way through.’
King blanched. ‘You’re saying…?’
Isla nodded. ‘It’s a dangerous business.’
‘How many others are there?’
‘We try to keep it around a dozen. The elite from DEVGRU, the SEALs, Delta. Of course, some are more elite than others.’
‘Slater and me?’
Another nod. ‘You know about your reaction speed. His was incredible, too.’
King flashed back to Corsica, to following a trail of dead mercenaries through a massive superyacht. ‘I saw that first hand.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Same thing that happened to me,’ King said. ‘Perhaps a little more extreme. He didn’t want to do things the diplomatic way. I think he’d been disillusioned by whatever you’d been feeding him lately. Thought he was doing too much damage to innocents. Decided it would be best to just fall off the grid.’
‘That doesn’t fit the Will Slater we know.’
King paused. ‘I think he kept a lot of things hidden. I only knew him a day, and I was only scratching the surface. He’s a complicated man.’
Isla gazed at him from across the table, refusing to break eye contact, searching for the truth. ‘Did you persuade him in any way?’
King shook his head.
‘King…’
‘Would I be back if I did?’ King said. ‘He had his own demons, and he’s off dealing with them in whichever way he needs to. Maybe he’ll come back, like I did. But I knew that if I left you be, there’d be no-one of our calibre here.’
‘Why does it concern you?’ Isla said.
‘I gave ten years of my life to this cause,’ King said. ‘It broke me in the end, but I had my time off.’
‘Doesn’t sound like you took it too peacefully.’
‘Don’t accuse me of anything unless you know what really happened,’ King said. ‘I never asked for any of it.’
Isla raised her hands. ‘I never would. I’ve followed your career since its inception. I know your intentions.’
‘I hope you know I wouldn’t be here if they weren’t good.’
She nodded. ‘I have to say thank you.’
‘The operation really is shaky, isn’t it?’
‘We have our operatives dealing with different tasks. But there’s a lot of shit happening in the world, King. You know that just as well as I do.’
‘I sure do.’
‘Some of them aren’t up to it. The things we ask of them…’
‘Are they dying?’
She shrugged. ‘Death is inevitable with what we do.’
‘Faster than usual?’
She nodded.
‘How many this month?’
‘Two. We’re searching for replacements.’
King sighed. ‘Where do you need me?’
Isla shook her head. ‘It’s not as fast as that. We have our operatives investigating certain leads. When you’re required, I’ll let you know. We’re stretched thin, but there’s nothing that needs urgent action.’
‘How long have you been in charge?’ King said.
‘I’m not truly in charge,’ Isla said. ‘I run the operations, same as Lars did. But there’s always higher-ups.’
‘What happened after his death?’
Isla hesitated. ‘It was you in Australia, wasn’t it? We always assumed it was, but there’s nothing concrete.’
King shrugged. ‘I did what I had to.’
‘Your friend Dirk kept his mouth shut.’
‘Lars was a monster,’ King said. ‘Now he’s dead. I’d prefer to forget that entire ordeal ever happened. What do you need from me now?’
Isla laid her hands flat on the table. ‘I need you ready.’
‘I am ready.’
‘Physically. Mentally.’
‘Never been better. I kept myself in shape.’
She scoffed. ‘I don’t
need you in shape. I need you ready for war.’
CHAPTER 8
Two weeks later…
Brooklyn Marina, New York
In an unassuming rundown warehouse on the edge of the Brooklyn Marina, King heard a sharp electronic beep overhead that signified the round was over. He fell to his knees, drenched in sweat, his muscles so fatigued that he could barely lift his arms. He undid the velcro straps around his wrists and slipped the four-ounce MMA gloves off his wet hands. He fell back against the ropes, panting uncontrollably.
Overhead, a man who went by the name of Colt shed his safety gear as the sparring session came to an end, equally exhausted. A grizzled Navy veteran, Colt had trained the SEALs for the last three years. Every now and then, Black Force brought him in to shake up their fresh recruits. He had insights into human willpower that very few others shared. He knew exactly how to push a man’s body to breaking point, yet customise the workouts in such a way to prevent overtraining.
King had learned just how effective Colt was over the last fourteen days.
‘Eight rounds,’ Colt said, glancing up at the timer built into the far wall.
His voice echoed off the walls. They were the only two inhabitants of the warehouse, a spacious industrial building that Colt had converted into a modified training facility with the help of a few friends. King had been the facility’s sole focus for its entire temporary existence.
King peeled a soaked singlet off his chiselled upper body and climbed out of the boxing ring. No matter how fit he was, nothing could prepare for eight hard rounds of maximum intensity pad work. He’d been drilling combinations for weeks, combinations he knew off-by-heart. The prior training was there. His fast-twitch muscle-fibres were honed from a decade of work. This camp was about refining what he had already mastered, pushing his limits, bringing back the suffering that formed the foundation of this life.
‘You don’t look so great yourself,’ he said as Colt followed him out of the ring.
‘You’re a tough man to keep up with,’ Colt said. ‘Even if I am the one training you.’
‘You think this is necessary?’
‘Of course. Don’t you?’
King nodded. ‘I was hesitant, but it’s what I need.’
‘Do you know where you’re off to next?’
King shook his head. ‘Always a mystery.’
‘Nerves ramping up?’
A shrug. ‘This is what I’ve done my whole life. Nothing I’m not used to.’
‘Whoever your boss is has been goddamn vague about how long this is supposed to go on for.’
King crossed to a long wooden bench and snatched a bottle of electrolyte-filled water off its surface. He downed its contents, gulping the chilled liquid back. When he finished he tossed the bottle away and slumped down on the bench, thoroughly spent. ‘It’ll keep going on until they find me something to do. They must have everything covered right now.’
‘I hear you came back after walking away,’ Colt said, dropping down next to him.
‘How’d you hear that?’
‘Rumours circulate.’
‘Amongst the SEALs?’ King said, surprised.
Colt shook his head and laughed. ‘Brother, the SEALs don’t know your division exists.’
‘I thought as much.’
‘I have ties to Command. They tell me things. Occasionally. Only what I need to do. They briefed me on a couple of things regarding your sudden re-appearance. Hence why this is needed.’
Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the interior of the warehouse. King stared up at the caged windows running along the top of the warehouse’s walls as dusk began to take hold.
‘I’m not sure if it was the right decision,’ King said quietly.
‘Any particular reason you did it?’ Colt said.
King avoided the question. He knew Colt had no clearance to be informed of the situation regarding the other operatives. He wondered if he knew just how dire Isla’s situation was. ‘Felt like I was missing something on the outside. This is all I’ve ever done.’
Not the real answer, but not a lie either.
‘How do you feel after that?’ Colt said, gesturing to the ring.
‘Like shit.’
‘I think that’ll do us for today. Can’t overwork you, can we?’
‘Feels like you’re trying your hardest to.’
Colt grinned. ‘Don’t lie. You thrive off this stuff.’
King picked himself up off the bench. ‘Maybe. What time tomorrow?’
‘Early. As always.’
‘Looking forward to it.’
‘Get some rest, brother.’
They clasped hands and King gathered the few possessions he’d purchased for the training camp. A sports bag, three changes of workout clothes and a miniature foam roller were enough to suffice. He had paid a month’s rent for a tiny one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. Expensive, given the recent surge in housing prices in the area, but only a five-minute walk from Colt’s warehouse. That was the most important thing.
You’re employed again now, he reminded himself. Money’s no object.
Besides, he assumed Black Force would cover the costs.
He left the colossal warehouse through the open roller door and waved farewell to Colt. The man waved back, gathering up the remnants of the day’s training. It had been a gruelling marathon of a day, just as twelve out of the last fourteen had. Colt allowed him one rest day a week.
Apart from that, his life was pain.
Today had incorporated powerlifting, situational drills and heavy bag work, with intermittent rests in between, finishing up with the eight rounds he’d just completed of sparring Colt. The guy was a demon in the ring, an expert in all facets of martial arts.
If his age hadn’t been a factor, King would have fancied the man’s chances as a professional fighter.
The East River glowed as the sun melted into the horizon. King took the path out of the marina slowly, savouring the walk back. He needed a sufficient cool-down period in any case. If he collapsed into bed now before taking himself through a vigorous foam-rolling and flexibility routine, he would wake up the next morning too sore to move.
He strolled through Brooklyn, not rushing, nodding politely to middle-aged couples pushing prams and walking dogs. Ordinary civilian life never failed to dumbfound him. He wondered just why his attempts at settling down had failed so drastically. It felt like an entirely different world to the chaos he was used to. These people fussed over their taxes and their rent and the mileage on their people-movers.
He worried which sociopathic piece of shit would try to find a way to massacre hundreds of people next.
Just as his mind wandered to whether a situation would present itself shortly, the smartphone in his workout shorts buzzed. He took it out, glanced at the number and answered reluctantly, knowing what would likely result from the conversation.
‘Nice to hear from you,’ he said.
Isla responded with urgency in her tone. ‘Get back to our initial meeting point as fast as you can.’
King checked his watch. ‘I was just about ready to relax for the night.’
‘Don’t have time.’
‘Something’s come up?’
‘You could say that.’
‘From your tone, I’m guessing it’s bad.’
‘It is.’
‘On my way. Let me clean up first.’
‘Okay. Hurry.’
The line went dead. King felt a twinge of panic in the back of his throat as he tucked the phone away and made his way up the small flight of steps to his ground-level apartment tucked into an airy residential street. He didn’t take Isla as the type of woman who was easily bothered. Yet something in her voice had signalled that she was stressed to the eyeballs. The calm, clinical demeanour had vanished, replaced by something else.
He could feel the tension in the air.
He took the stairs two at a time, his actions charged with a newf
ound energy.
Something’s come up.
You’re back.
It felt strange. As he showered and changed into fresh casual clothes, he felt the familiar ripples coursing through his body. Like supercharged volts of energy in his bloodstream, they signified the path that lay ahead. Soon he would be back where he belonged — hunting armed men.
There was nothing that provided more of a thrill than that.
If he could do some good in the process, then who could refuse?
He made his way back through the neighbourhood and across the Brooklyn Bridge, trying to soak in all the sights while making sure to quicken his pace as he walked. Isla had sounded desperate for his presence. There was a matter of pressing urgency at hand.
Wasn’t there always?
By now, the sun had fully set. New York City came alive as he strode into the borough of Manhattan. Restaurants filled, department stores closed, and foot traffic increased significantly. To combat the chill, King shoved his hands into the pockets of the same overcoat he’d flown in with. He liked the way the piece fit his physique. He knew he would have no time to enjoy fashion soon enough, so he relished every opportunity while he had the chance.
The construction site was blacked out at night. King had come here several more times after his initial visit, meeting various colonels and commanders and reacquainting himself with the inner workings of the operation. Black Force had friends in high places, even going all the way to the very top. He still remembered the brief conversation he had on the phone with the President just a week earlier.
During the early years, he would have been awestruck, in disbelief that the most powerful man in the United States would take the time to talk to him.
Now, it didn’t quicken his heart rate in the slightest.
The President was just another man.
Nothing more.
King ducked through the same gap in the fence and was greeted by Isla almost immediately after doing so. She appeared out of nowhere, emerging from the shadows like a phantom. They shook hands in mutual silence and she led him down to the same uninviting meeting room buried in the depths of the site. A large television on a stand had been wheeled into the room, and a plethora of documents were sprawled across the table.
