Corrupted: A Jason King Thriller (Jason King Series Book 5)

by Matt Rogers

  It took a certain type to accept a position in this kind of operation.

  They all had to lack a conscience entirely.

  The man was in the process of reaching for a Kalashnikov assault rifle resting in an otherwise-empty weapon rack. He got a single hand on the gun before King blasted his upper back to shreds with a volley of shots from the carbine. The guy hadn’t been wearing any kind of body protection. He slumped forward into the metal rack, motionless.

  For good measure, King put a final bullet through the rear of his skull.

  He lowered the M4A1 and looked past the dead men.

  Through a wall of steel bars, he met the gaze of five terrified World Health Organisation employees.

  40

  The five men were on their feet, trapped on the other side of thin steel columns stretching from one wall to the other. Each of the bars were separated by only a few inches. The men stared at him with startled expressions, shocked by the sudden outburst of violence.

  ‘Hey,’ King said after a beat of silence.

  No-one responded.

  He didn’t expect anything else.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, gesturing to the two dead mercenaries. ‘No other way to do it, really. Try not to look at them.’

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ one of the workers blurted, his tone quivering.

  King regarded the source of the voice. The man had a thick European accent — he couldn’t pinpoint exactly which country he was from. He had long brown hair spilling down his back that would have ordinarily been lush, but was currently matted with sweat and dirt. His face was sharply defined, with high cheekbones and a pronounced jawline. He looked malnourished. King doubted the group had been fed since they were taken.

  No need to satiate the contestants. They would die, anyway. In fact, being starved might have made them more rabid, more prone to obey Mikhailov when he commanded them to fight. King imagined Mikhailov’s promises to release the victor were always completely false. All captives would be murdered eventually.

  That’s how they had remained undiscovered.

  ‘I’m the guy who just went through hell to get you out of here,’ King said. ‘You could be a little more polite.’

  ‘Sorry,’ the man stammered.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Léo.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Léo. I’m Jason.’

  ‘You’re a soldier?’

  ‘Yeah. Kind of.’

  ‘Kind of?’

  ‘We’ll have time to chat later,’ King said. ‘Are any of you injured?’

  Four of the five — including Léo — shook their heads. The guy on the far left met King’s gaze with a grimace. When he spoke, his voice was distinctly Australian. ‘I think one of my ribs is broken, man.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Marcus.’

  ‘Can you walk, Marcus?’ King said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Then you’re not injured.’

  ‘Are you injured?’ another one of the men asked, regarding King’s left arm dangling by his side.

  He glanced down at his wrist, which had now swollen to twice its usual size. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Are they all dead?’ Léo said, desperation in his voice.

  King assumed he meant their captors. ‘Most of them are. I’m good at my job.’

  ‘What about…?’ Marcus started, but he trailed off.

  Like he didn’t really want to know the answer to the question.

  King met his eyes and softly shook his head, grimacing as he did so. He had been responsible for informing people that those close to them had died more times than he cared to think about. It never got easier. Marcus bowed his forehead and slammed it into one of the steel bars. He left it there, staring at the ground, breathing deep.

  King saw a tear splash against the rock floor of the room.

  The other four seemed shell-shocked. They stared vacantly at King, like they were seeing through him, not really aware that he was there.

  Sarah. Jessica. Carmen. Seth. Eli.

  Five workers dead. King imagined the ten-person party had formed a tight bond during their time spent as free civilians in the Russian Far East. An environment like this drew people together.

  He knew news of their deaths would not be taken lightly.

  He gave them a minute. Despite the sentiment, the timer in his head ticked down rapidly, reminding him each second that any time not spent in motion was time wasted.

  That was the way things were on an operation.

  King rarely ever had time to process what had occurred until after the fact.

  ‘I know this must be crazy,’ he said. ‘It’s a lot to process. But we have to move. We’re not out of the woods yet. I need you all to follow everything I say until we make it home safe. Okay?’

  A few blank stares. A couple of nods.

  It would suffice.

  King yanked a bundle of keys out of the rear pocket of the dead mercenary by his feet and unlocked the door fixed into the makeshift cell. He ushered the five men through. They followed his commands, but all of them seemed spaced out. Thankfully King had years of experience dealing with hostages of similar demeanour.

  As long as they did as he instructed, he would manage.

  He didn’t want to alert them to the fact that they might all be trapped in the mine. Not just yet. Fear could break a man — staring into the empty mine shaft had almost broken him, and he considered himself one of the most mentally-hardened people on the planet.

  If these civilians realised that there was no way out of the depths of the earth, nervous breakdowns weren’t out of the question.

  Before they reached the cavern, King turned on his heel and raised a hand. The men froze.

  ‘Grab the shirt of the man in front of you,’ he said. ‘Close your eyes. I’ll lead you through this part.’

  ‘Why—?’ Léo started.

  King glared at him. ‘Don’t ask questions. Shut up and do what I say. Don’t open your eyes for any reason.’

  They obeyed, as he knew they would. They were more likely to respond to stern commands in the face of fear — hence his rudeness. When he was certain that each man had their eyes firmly shut, he led them in a rudimentary line across the cavern floor, past the dead bodies of their close co-workers.

  The sight of Seth and Eli’s lifeless forms with identical bullet holes in their skull might have been too much for the group to process.

  When they made it to the ground level walkway, he let them open their eyes.

  ‘Follow me,’ he said. ‘Keep your eyes trained on my back.’

  As they ascended to the next level, King discarded the M4A1’s magazine and chambered a fresh one home. He wasn’t sure how close to empty the previous magazine had been, having lost count in the midst of battle. But it would pay to have a guaranteed thirty rounds at his disposal for whatever lay ahead.

  He led them into the tunnels not far off the cavern floor, his mind reeling with thoughts.

  What could he do?

  Faltering in front of the workers wasn’t an option. They would latch onto his weakness and fold mentally, which would in turn encourage him to give up hope. Once again, he resolved to act calm until he had drawn his last breath. It would keep him level-headed, and keep the workers from panicking.

  King found the production room without much effort and ushered the five men inside. He glanced at a motionless body resting against one wall of the tunnel just outside the door.

  The mercenary with the concussion.

  Unquestionably dead.

  The guy had succumbed to his injuries. A brain bleed, most likely. King was unperturbed by the development. He didn’t hold an ounce of pity for these animals. It was one more spare bullet in his arsenal.

  He followed the men into the production room and instructed them to stare at the rock wall.

  ‘If I see you looking away from that wall, it’s going to be trouble,’ he said.

  H
e wanted them focused on his rude commands instead of letting their mind wander onto stray thoughts.

  Why isn’t he taking us out of the mine?

  Why can’t we leave?

  King also didn’t want them looking out through the glass. There was an unobstructed view of Seth and Eli’s bodies slumped on the cavern floor. He would have preferred not to bring them here, but there was matters that needed attending to as quickly as possible.

  He needed to act before Mikhailov and his friends severed the connection, which King was sure would be done promptly.

  He crossed to the nearest computer and shook the mouse, removing a plain black screensaver. He navigated to Google and muttered a silent plea that this avenue would prove successful.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Marcus said softly.

  King turned to make sure the guy hadn’t taken his eyes off the wall. Satisfied, he turned back to the computer and searched for luxury family resorts in St. John’s, Antigua.

  ‘I need to contact a friend,’ he said.

  41

  The landline phone connected to the internet cables rang for just under a minute, which felt like an eternity to King. He pinned the receiver to his ear by trapping it against his shoulder, at the same time drumming the fingers of his right hand against the surface of the desk.

  ‘Come on,’ he whispered. ‘Come on.’

  The ringing ceased, and a soothing male voice answered a second later. ‘This is the Ocean Club. Francis speaking.’

  ‘Hey, Francis,’ King said, adopting a pleasant but insistent tone. ‘My name’s Jason King. I was wondering if you could do me an enormous favour.’

  The man chuckled. ‘That depends, sir. I am on the job, after all.’

  King sensed the sly nature of the man’s tone and adjusted his approach accordingly.

  ‘Look, here’s the situation,’ King said. ‘I believe that my brother is staying at your resort. He’s an African-American man in his thirties with short black hair. He’s in excellent shape and he’s good looking. His accent is American. He’d stand out in a crowd. Do you know who I’m talking about? Have you seen him around?’

  ‘I’ve seen him,’ Francis said. ‘You’re certainly right, he’s noticeable.’

  King stifled a sigh of relief. ‘Would I be able to speak to him?

  A pause from the other end of the line. ‘Your brother, you say?’

  ‘Yes,’ King said.

  ‘Do you have a name for this brother?’

  ‘That’s the problem,’ King said. ‘He left the family home a few weeks ago. He got into a huge argument with our parents, and we haven’t heard from him since. I’m desperate to talk to him about what unfolded. We were so close.’ King paused, pretending to mask emotion. ‘He would be staying under a different name. He doesn’t want our parents to find him. Please — could you let him know that Jason King wants to speak to him? That’s all I’m asking. You’d be doing me an unimaginable favour.’

  Francis paused, considering the spiel. ‘I cannot promise you that he will contact you back.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to,’ King said. ‘Please just let him know that I called.’

  ‘Jason King, did you say?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Another pause. King clenched his teeth as the stress leeched from his bones. This was a last-ditch effort. If it didn’t work, he couldn’t figure out a way to make it out of the mine. There was one way in and one way out. And if Mikhailov had been truthful, there would be a small army en route to their location.

  ‘Okay, sir,’ Francis said. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No,’ King said. ‘Thank you, Francis.’

  ‘Not a problem.’

  The line disconnected. King took the phone away from his ear and stared at the receiver, deep in thought. Francis’ tone had turned bemused towards the end of the conversation, like he was humouring an insane relative just for the sake of it. It didn’t matter what the man thought of him. All he needed was for the name “Jason King” to reach its target.

  Francis was unaware that the lives of five innocent civilians and a secret government operative rested solely in his hands.

  A low cough behind King made him turn. He swivelled around in his seat to see the five health workers staring at him as if he were an asylum patient. Clear concern was plastered across all their faces.

  Léo was the first to open his mouth. ‘Have you lost your fucking mind?’

  King allowed himself a wry smile as he realised how the conversation would have appeared to the workers. He hadn’t briefed them on the context. To them, he had taken the opportunity to amend private family issues in the middle of an intensely dangerous situation.

  ‘That wasn’t what it sounded like,’ King said.

  ‘I hope not,’ Marcus said. ‘It sounded like you’ve lost the plot.’

  King got the sense that Léo and Marcus did all the talking. The other three — all in their late twenties or early thirties, with slim builds and scruffy hair — had yet to speak in the brief time King had spent with them.

  ‘I work for a certain division of the government,’ King said. ‘It’s just myself and a select few others. One of my closest co-workers is among the most dangerous men on the planet. He’s going to call me back and help us out of this situation.’

  ‘What situation?’ Léo said. ‘Let’s fucking go. I hate this place. We need to get home.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that,’ King said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Getting out will be trickier than anticipated. Nothing I can’t handle, though.’

  He wanted to ease them into the news. Coming straight out the gate with the revelation that they were trapped in the abandoned mine until their enemies came for them would help no-one.

  Sometimes, the truth had to be skirted around to keep everyone sane.

  ‘We’re stuck in here?’ one of the three silent workers said in a voice barely above a whisper. His face had paled entirely, the blood draining from it as he made the realisation.

  ‘Not exactly stuck,’ King said. ‘Just a few problems. I’m sorting it out.’

  ‘What are you doing, man?’ Marcus said. ‘You don’t need to be so vague. Just tell us.’

  King shrugged. ‘The only elevator out of here isn’t working. There’s some problems with it. As soon as I can get a friend to fix it up top, we’ll be good to go.’

  Selective information. They didn’t need to know that the elevator had been intentionally disabled by a bullet-riddled madman, who was likely in the process of calling for reinforcements amongst his contacts in the Russian government.

  ‘Are there friendlies on their way?’ Léo asked.

  King held up the satellite phone. ‘That’s what I’m working on.’

  ‘Why are you calling a co-worker on holiday?’ Marcus said. ‘Why aren’t you calling the fucking military or something?’

  ‘Because he’s the best,’ King said.

  The phone began to vibrate. King exhaled, letting out the built-up stress, and answered.

  ‘Slater,’ he muttered, the elation clear in his tone.

  Will Slater paused a moment before responding. ‘How the hell did you find me?’

  42

  ‘You found me in Stockholm easily enough,’ King said.

  ‘I’m good with computers,’ Slater said. ‘You’re an old man in comparison. Consider me surprised.’

  ‘There were laughing children and splashing water in the background of our last call,’ King said. ‘I figured you were at a resort. Then it was just a matter of pinpointing which costs the most per night.’

  Slater scoffed. ‘I’m that simple, huh?’

  ‘Expensive taste. I know that much about you.’

  ‘So what do you want?’ Slater said. ‘I assume you’re not calling unless you really need something.’

  ‘I’m in the Russian Far East.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing there?’

  ‘Making mistakes.’

 
‘Evidently.’

  ‘It’s bad, Will,’ King said. ‘I’m in deep shit.’

  ‘Get Black Force to extract you. They have resources. You know that as well as I do.’

  ‘I’m not here on Black Force’s behalf.’

  Stunned silence. ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘I wish I was.’

  ‘What personal vendetta do you have in the Russian Far East?’

  ‘It’s not my vendetta,’ King said. ‘I was set up. There’s plenty of time to fill you in later.’

  ‘How bad’s your situation?’

  ‘Terrible. I’m trying to pull kidnapped health workers out of a gold mine near Shiveluch Volcano. We’re trapped down here and there’s all kinds of powerful people who don’t want us out. I don’t know what’s coming for us.’

  King sensed a palpable shift at the other end of the line. Slater had switched over to operational mode.

  ‘Latitude and longitude,’ Slater said. ‘Now.’

  King kept the receiver pressed against his ear and navigated through the nearest computer’s directories with his good hand. Before long, he came across details of the mine itself — including a precise set of co-ordinates. He relayed them to Slater, taking his time to ensure each decimal point was accurate.

  ‘Got it,’ Slater said. ‘I’ll be there as fast as I can.’

  ‘How fast will that be?’

  ‘Depends,’ Slater said. ‘I can be twice as fast if you need me to go down that route.’

  King thought of the time ticking away as Mikhailov schemed an assault somewhere far above. ‘I think I do need you to go that route.’

  Slater sighed. ‘Haven’t stolen a plane before…’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything.’

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Slater said.

  He ended the call.

  Most of the finer details had been left out of the conversation — but King knew they both had enough experience to only bother with the necessities. He hadn’t informed Slater of what kind of hostility he would be facing on the ground — which meant he didn’t know himself. He hadn’t informed Slater of the reason why the health workers had been kidnapped — because it didn’t matter. Now Slater only had to concentrate on the barebones nature of the situation. He could direct his energy and resources into solving the main problem.