Betrayed: A Jason King Thriller (Jason King Series Book 4)

by Matt Rogers

  ‘Get him to call it off.’

  ‘I have already spoken to him,’ Nasser said. ‘Nothing I say will convince him otherwise. He knows I am in danger. He knows to go through with it, no matter what. You have lost.’

  ‘I don’t lose often,’ King said, getting to his feet. ‘I don’t plan to now.’

  ‘Good luck,’ Nasser said, his voice weakening by the second. ‘You will need it. I will watch from above, to see what happens…’

  He trailed off. His eyes drooped shut, and stayed that way. His breathing slowed. King watched him slip in and out of unconsciousness. If he left Nasser in the alleyway, the man would eventually succumb to his wounds — but it would be a long and painful death.

  Best to put him out of his misery.

  ‘You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?’ King said, slotting an index finger against the trigger of the Glock in his hand.

  Khalil Nasser smiled one final time, and raised his hands contemplatively. ‘Different perspectives, my friend. Have a nice life.’

  King fired a single shot between his eyes and turned away from the resulting exit wound. He left the dead man where he lay — amongst the filth and shit ridden across the alley floor — and headed off into the bustle of Gezira Island, to shatter the foundations of the devastating plan Nasser had laid out before his death.

  CHAPTER 35

  He covered ground as fast as he could without drawing attention, putting enough space between himself and the devastation he’d left behind inside and outside the Cairo Tower. As he hailed a cab on the other side of Gezira Island and ducked into the back seat, he considered the chaos he had stirred across Cairo in the space of twenty-four hours.

  The Cairo Opera House.

  The Cairo Tower.

  The Marriott.

  Nasser’s hotel.

  A demolished café with two dead Black Force operatives.

  The destruction had been rampart. Yet along the way, he had minimised civilian casualties and was one single feat away from bringing Nasser’s operation to a grinding halt.

  The major players were dead.

  The profits — if they happened to materialise — would go unused.

  And there was still a world of pressure on his shoulders.

  He forced the thought out of his mind and leant back against the cab’s headrest, directing the driver to take him to Giza.

  It was then that the pain began to rear its ugly head. In the heat of the moment he knew he had the uncanny ability to quash all physical sensations and enact a laser focus on the task at hand, but as soon as he experienced a quiet phase every knock and bump began to present itself.

  This time, it hit him like a freight train.

  He imagined most of the damage had been caused by his flight through the SUV’s rear windscreen. Although he had minimised the impact and prevented any broken bones, it felt like he had jarred seemingly every fibre of his being. The throbbing started in his upper back and spread to his shoulders, down his arms, through his core. He winced and pressed two fingers into his eyes, stifling the urge to grunt.

  Everything hurt at once. He couldn’t pinpoint an exact spot where the agony specifically came from — instead it intensified all across his body at the same time. The wear and tear of such brutal experiences one after the other had caught up to him. Growing groggy from the pain, he started to question his ability to finish what he had started.

  The cab dropped him in the centre of Giza, as requested. King didn’t want the driver knowing anything about where he was headed or what his intentions were. He tipped handsomely and shimmied himself out into the dusty streets, so sore that even walking had become a difficult task.

  Egyptian urban life hurried all around him as the cab took off in search of new customers. He loitered for a moment, observing the chaotic traffic and bustle of pedestrians that seemed a world away from the open airy streets of Zamalek. Then he set off at a slow pace, looking out for any kind of temporary accomodation.

  It would be no use hurrying to the pyramids now, at late afternoon. The complex would be closing for the day and security would be tight as they ushered the hordes of tourists and visitors out of the area. He would no doubt run into trouble trying to search for Nasser’s accomplice. From what he could deduce, the boy would tuck himself away in the site until morning, where he would be in prime position to set off the unimaginable blast.

  King made up his mind to move in on the complex in the dead of night.

  It would give him his best chance at locating the boy and destroying the detonator before the entire area went up in a fireball.

  He had too many thoughts jumbling through his mind — Lopez, Price, Nasser, Walcott, the Semtex laced around the pyramids…

  There was a woman back in New York who needed to be informed of what had occurred.

  Reluctantly, he fished his phone from his pocket and dialled a number.

  ‘King?!’ Isla said almost immediately, her voice cutting through the speaker with obvious urgency.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, his own tone weak. ‘I’m not in a good state.’

  ‘We’re getting crazy reports,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if they’re true. What the hell’s going on at the Cairo Tower?’

  ‘That was me,’ he said. ‘I have a lot to tell you.’

  He filled her in on his altercation with Lopez and Price, on what had unfolded across the island, on Nasser and Walcott’s demise, on the unknown quantity of explosives placed around the Giza Pyramid Complex. By the time he finished, Isla had grown furious.

  ‘Lopez and Price are dead?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah. They attacked me again. I convinced them to hand over their weapons, because you knew they were traitors. I said I could make everything okay.’

  ‘And you killed them?’

  ‘What else would I have done?’

  ‘It would have been valuable to bring them in. If you had them detained, we could have…’

  ‘They’re Black Force operatives, Isla,’ King said. ‘They would have killed everyone at the precinct if I sent them off to the local police station. You know that.’

  ‘They were so valuable,’ she muttered. ‘Why the fuck did they—?’

  ‘You told them about my resurgence,’ King said.

  A pause. ‘Yes, because…’

  ‘That’s why. They weren’t happy that you took them off the big jobs. Scaled their pay down. They wanted to lure me over and do away with me so they could get back on top. Their own ego, Isla. That’s why they did it.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘They spoke the words. I’m just passing them on.’

  ‘I can’t believe this…’ she trailed off, mulling over the development in silence. ‘They were the future.’

  ‘Guess that’s the nature of this work,’ King said. ‘Their moral compass was gone. I saw them kill innocents. Without hesitating.’

  ‘We screen them. Psychological tests, the whole works.’

  ‘Looks like your methods aren’t effective enough,’ King said. ‘Or you pay the top dogs too much. You’re the one that said it was best to keep the operatives separate from the behind-the-scenes workings.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘They shouldn’t have known anything about me.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I would tell you not to let it happen again, but I’d say you’re out of operatives, aren’t you?’

  ‘We’re close,’ she admitted. ‘We have a handful. None like you.’

  ‘Then let’s hope I make it through the night.’

  She had listened to him outline his plan just a couple of minutes earlier. ‘You’re sure it’s a boy?’

  ‘That’s what Nasser said. But he’s dangerous. He has the key to a few hundred pounds of Semtex. If anyone is in the vicinity of that, it’s going to be brutal.’

  ‘You think he might be scared? You could capitalise on that. Talk him out of it.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ King said. ‘Nasser’s br
ainwashed him. He seemed completely certain that his work would be successfully completed.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to get through to anyone who will listen to me,’ Isla said. ‘A couple of high-ranking officials in Egypt have dismissed us already. There’s no evidence. They think it’s a fairytale.’

  ‘I thought as much.’

  ‘This is on you.’

  King sighed. ‘Isn’t it always?’

  ‘Report back as soon as you can.’

  ‘Will do.’

  In any other agency, all manner of official briefings and confirmations would be required. But King’s track record had quickly established him as a force beyond all traditional instruction. Isla understood clearly what needed to be done, and was comfortable letting King do his thing while she chased up other avenues.

  With that, he hung up the phone and continued to hobble through the scorching streets of Giza.

  He found a place soon enough — a small hostel, sandwiched in between an Egyptian grocery store and a crowded parking lot. It seemed less than inviting, but all he needed was a room to lay low for a few hours and recharge his internal batteries. It would suffice.

  He stopped by the grocery store first and bought a plethora of painkillers and some ready-to-go pre-packaged meals. He paid in cash and stepped into the hostel’s tiny lobby carrying a plastic bag in each hand.

  It took less than a minute to secure a room. He added a large tip to the bill in order to skip the official process and simply acquire a one-bedroom on the ground floor for a single night. He nodded gratefully to the receptionist — a Middle-Eastern man in his twenties — and found the nondescript wooden door down a couple of corridors thirty seconds later.

  Finally — after unimaginable chaos — he had found a quiet space.

  The room had no distinguishable features from any of the other hostel rooms he had stayed in over the years, aside from the fact that it was a little smaller. There was a frail bed with a thin mattress and a total of zero decorations on the walls and a thin carpet over concrete. The space was utilitarian, and above all humid. There was no air-conditioning and the heat of the Egyptian afternoon had seeped into the room.

  King didn’t care.

  He fell onto the bed and dumped three painkillers in his mouth, swigging them down with a plastic bottle of water he snapped out of a purchased six-pack. As he waited for them to take effect, he closed his eyes and tried to still his thoughts, focusing on the silence instead of the aches and daggers arcing through his system.

  They were never going to truly numb the pain, but they subdued it just enough for him to function properly. He propped himself up on the bed and stared at the phone in his hands. It wouldn’t be dark for a few hours, but he wasn’t going to leave the room.

  He had travelled enough distance for a lifetime.

  So he brought the keypad up on screen and dialled a new number — one he had only recently memorised. It took a moment to go through, connecting internationally.

  Connecting to Corsica.

  A man answered at the very end of the ringing, right when King thought it would go to message bank. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hey, Dad,’ King said. ‘Me again.’

  CHAPTER 36

  It still felt strange to hear his voice.

  Ray King had been reunited with his son in Corsica just weeks ago. To King, it felt like an eternity. So much had unfolded during the time since that it felt like he hadn’t seen his old man in years — almost the length of time where they had lost contact during King’s time in the military.

  Now, he intended to repair those bridges. The short time he had spent with his father at the man’s home in the small town of Aregno had been indescribable. It had brought back a fresh wave of sensations that King hadn’t felt in years.

  ‘How you holding up?’ Ray said. ‘Been getting into trouble?’

  King touched a hand to his temple to suppress the blinding headache that had decided to spring into life. ‘Don’t think I can deny that.’

  ‘Is it bad?’

  King leant back against the wooden headboard. ‘Pretty bad.’

  ‘You signed up for it.’

  ‘I know that. I didn’t expect anything else.’

  ‘How long are you going to keep doing this to me, Jason?’

  King paused. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This isn’t right.’

  ‘Us speaking?’

  ‘No,’ Ray said. ‘I wanted you to resurface more than anything. It felt like I’d been waiting for half my life to open that door and see you there. And then when it finally happened, off you go. Straight back to the old ways. I thought you were done…’

  King took a moment to digest the outburst. Ray was a man of very few words, much like his son, and in the rare times where he strung more than a sentence together it was important to pay the utmost attention.

  ‘We went over this when I visited,’ King said. ‘It was a tough decision, but it was the one I had to make.’

  ‘I know, son. I just want to see you again, I guess…’

  ‘You will.’

  ‘Are you out of danger?’

  King sighed. ‘The hardest part is over, I think. I have one more thing left to do. Shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘You going to be okay?’

  ‘If you knew what I’ve been through, you’d be reassured.’

  Ray scoffed. ‘You told me some of it. Remember?’

  King recalled the night they had spent talking — for hours and hours straight — about King’s past escapades. He smiled, something he hadn’t done much of for the last few days.

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘You know I can’t talk about that kind of stuff.’

  ‘I guess so…’

  ‘How’s life?’

  ‘Same old, I’m afraid. Not as eventful as yours, I imagine.’

  King thought back to everything that had unfolded in Cairo. ‘I’d have to agree with you there.’

  ‘Will you be visiting soon?’

  ‘I hope so, Dad,’ King said. ‘It’s just that…’

  ‘What?’

  In his mind, King brought up the mental image of two of Black Force’s most promising operatives lying dead in the middle of a civilian café in Zamalek. ‘Some things have changed. I’ll do my best to get away soon.’

  ‘Your best?’

  ‘I can’t promise anything.’

  ‘Have you ever?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ Ray said. ‘You’re doing good work. You always have been.’

  ‘How do you know that? You don’t even know where I am.’

  ‘You’re a King, Jason. I hope you’re knocking heads together and sorting the world out. Seems to be what you’re best at.’

  ‘One step at a time.’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear. Come back in one piece, okay?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Beautiful. None of that ‘I’ll try’ bullshit. You do what needs to be done and get back here. We’re long overdue on a catch-up.’

  King smiled and reached for the End Call button. ‘Talk soon, Dad.’

  ‘Bye, Jason.’

  He dropped the phone on the bed beside him and experienced something he hadn’t felt in a while.

  Hope.

  He wanted to succeed tonight. Not just for the lives it would save, but because he didn’t want to be so reckless with his own life anymore. He wanted to make it out of Cairo with his health intact and take more care in what he did, for now he had a purpose to make it out the other side. He hadn’t been quite so careful in previous years.

  The benefits of having no friends or family…

  Now he had people relying on him. People who actively wished for him to meet them in future.

  Ray.

  Klara…

  Determination coursed through him like a shot of energy. He controlled it, rolled with it. He didn’t let it consume him. The last thin
g he wanted was to storm into the complex like a bat out of hell and wind up dead in the process. He had no idea if the boy Nasser spoke of would be the only enemy to face. There could be an army of hired help out there amongst the pyramids…

  He locked away the sudden dose of adrenalin and focused on his breathing, shutting his eyes and resting against the bed. He focused on the throbbing bruises and cuts all over his body — and with great effort, channelled his mind into riding out the pain.

  Five or six hours later, he came out of a groggy stupor and woke back up.

  Out the tiny square window built into one side of the hostel room, the sky had turned dark. He guessed the sun had set a few hours ago. He rose off the bed and shook the tiredness out of his limbs, taking a long ten minutes to ensure he was wide awake.

  It was time.

  He ate one of the pre-made meals he had picked up from the supermarket. The kushari — a mixture of rice and spaghetti combined with black lentils, hummus and caramelised onions — filled the gaping void in his stomach. There had been little time to eat during his time in Cairo. He had kept his hunger at bay by fuelling it with the bare minimum, but now he ate a little extra to fuel himself for whatever lay ahead.

  Then he scooped up his phone, tucked the Glock into his waistband, and left the room for the final time.

  CHAPTER 37

  As he stepped out into the busy streets of Giza, his phone told him that it would be a two-and-a-half mile walk to the pyramids.

  He opted for the scenic route.

  It would allow him to adapt to whatever hostilities presented themselves, instead of showing up in a noisy vehicle.

  He pushed on through the streets, navigating with the help of the map application on his smartphone. It didn’t take long to enter parts not usually inhabited by foreigners. It was evident in the scowls and glares of the locals as they passed him by, but King knew no-one would lay a hand on him.

  He was too big. Too imposing to the ordinary civilian.

  Then again, every now and then…