by Matt Rogers
What mattered was that they were trapped down here.
All the frivolities would be discussed later.
‘That was your friend?’ Léo said as King dropped the satellite phone onto the desk.
He nodded. ‘He’s on his way.’
‘So what do we do now?’
King hesitated. He had been on the move ever since he’d set foot on Russian soil, always transfixed by the next objective, the next goal. Now he sat in the deathly silent sub-levels of the gold mine, wondering just what exactly he was supposed to be doing.
Nothing, he concluded.
‘We wait,’ he said.
As soon as he spoke the words, something in his subconscious shifted. A mental switch that had been set to full capacity ever since he’d dropped out of the B-1 Lancer’s bomb bay suddenly relaxed. A wave of tiredness overcame him. He realised he had been roaring at full mental capacity for over twelve hours. In that time he had been beaten to within an inch of his life. Bones had been broken. Skin had been bruised. He imagined his brain had been rattled by some of the blows Mikhailov had landed.
And he had killed nearly twenty men on Russian soil.
He slumped back in the chair and battled down a sudden wave of exhaustion. With it came the cold reality that he was severely incapacitated. His wounds hurt more than ever as the adrenalin wore off.
Fighting the fatigue, he looked at the health workers, his vision shimmering unnaturally.
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘You probably heard what I was saying on the phone. We have problems. We’re not out of this yet. There might be more of your kidnappers’ friends coming down to meet us.’
‘You look like you’re about to pass out,’ Léo said.
‘I feel like I might, too,’ King said. ‘I need to get to the tunnel that connects to the mine shaft. That’s where they’ll be arriving, if they come. You all need to barricade yourself into this room and open it for no-one. If someone forces the door open without announcing themselves, shoot them.’
They nodded in unison.
‘But I need one of you to come with me,’ King said. ‘To keep me awake. I’m functioning on my reserves here.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Léo said immediately.
King nodded and heaved himself to his feet. He snatched up the M4A1 and hobbled for the open doorway. ‘Let’s go.’
43
They left Marcus and the other three men in the production room. King armed them with two of the MP-443 Grach pistols that he had collected from the dead mercenaries. They had been instructed to keep the barrels aimed at the door for as long as it took. He and Léo set off into the maze of tunnels. King had a tight ball of apprehension squirming around in the pit of his stomach — and he had faced situations like this countless times.
He couldn’t imagine how Léo felt.
‘Your friend,’ Léo said. ‘He’s just as dangerous as you?’
‘What makes you think I’m so talented?’ King said.
‘You killed the guys guarding us in a second or two. That shit only happens in the movies.’
‘Just accuracy,’ King said.
‘Is your friend accurate?’
‘I’ve only seen him in action once,’ King said, recalling Slater’s violent rampage through a horde of sex slavers on a luxury yacht in Corsica. ‘But that was enough.’
‘He’ll get us out of here?’
‘I hope so.’
They lapsed into silence. King listened to their footfalls echoing off the tunnel walls. At any second he anticipated the rush of rapid footsteps behind them, signalling an approaching attacker. He recalled the sheer helplessness as Mikhailov had tackled him from behind. A bolt of fear ran through him.
He would never let a situation like that unfold again.
‘How are you holding up?’ he said quietly, training the beam on the empty space ahead. They were close to the mine shaft.
‘Okay, I guess,’ Léo said. ‘Trying not to think about anything.’
‘That’s the way.’
‘You do this kind of thing for a living?’ Léo said, flabbergasted.
‘Yeah.’
‘Are you used to it?’
King kept his gaze fixed firmly down the tunnel. ‘I keep thinking I am. But there’s no real way to get used to a career as volatile as mine.’
‘At least you’re alive.’
‘Touché.’
They exited into a larger tunnel, wide enough to fit three or four men shoulder-to-shoulder. King recognised it.
‘This is it,’ he said. ‘Elevator arrives somewhere down there.’
He trained his flashlight to the left, illuminating a sheer drop into nothingness fifty feet away from them.
The entrance to the empty mine shaft.
As he suspected, the elevator had yet to return to their level after Mikhailov’s ascent.
‘What do we do?’ Léo said.
‘Same as before. We wait, and keep an eye out for any activity.’
They clambered down onto the cold floor of the tunnel. King lay prone on the smooth rock, setting up the M4A1 on the ground in front of him. He let the front grip rest against the floor, acting as a stabiliser of sorts. He pointed the barrel in the direction of the mine shaft and settled in for what would likely be a long and uneventful shift.
A minute into the wait, King heard the distinct thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump of a heartbeat. He spent a moment attempting to calm himself before he realised the sound wasn’t coming from his own chest.
‘You nervous?’ he said.
Léo stifled a panicked breath. ‘Never done anything like this before.’
‘I’d hope not. Breathe deep. In and out. Focus on slowing your pulse. You’ll need energy for later.’
‘Why?’ Léo said. ‘I don’t know anything about what’s going on.’
‘Do you know what happened to Seth and Eli?’
‘No.’
So the prisoners had no knowledge of the no-holds-barred fighting bouts before they were thrust into them. The surprise probably had its advantages to Mikhailov and his crew. The contestants had little time to think about their actions before they were forced to brawl for their lives. Compliance would be more likely.
‘There was a sick game taking place in this mine,’ King said. ‘Fights between your group. To the death. That’s why they were snatching people.’
‘Seth and Eli fought?’ Léo said, astonished.
‘They were about to,’ King said. ‘I intervened.’
‘They would never do that. They were friends.’
You have no idea what people will do to stay alive, King thought.
He remembered the manic glint in Eli’s eyes. He had no doubt the man would have attacked his friend had he done nothing to stop them. Seth had remained level-headed. At least, until Eli laid a hand on him.
Then all bets would have been off.
King stomached his rage at the circumstances of the situation.
‘There were people watching via cameras,’ King said. ‘Men and women in positions of power. Wealthy beyond measure.’
‘Watching this?’ Léo said.
King nodded. ‘The world’s a brutal place.’
‘They know we’re down here?’
He nodded again. ‘They know I’m down here, specifically. They won’t let it rest until we’re all dead. Their anonymity is sacred.’
‘So who’s coming for us?’
‘I know just as much as you do. More hired guns. Russian Special Forces. It could be anything.’
‘Let’s hope your friend beats them here.’
King grimaced. ‘Yes, let’s.’
The conversation died out. King focused on the flashlight beam, watching it shimmer and flicker as it pierced through the darkness, lighting up the visible portion of the mine shaft. His own vision began to waver. The light blurred into a shade of pale blue that slowly washed over him, warm and pleasant. The pain in his left wrist dulled slightly, fading.
Everyth
ing faded…
He slipped into some kind of trance. At least, that’s what it felt like. It wasn’t usual drowsiness. Maybe the head injury had dealt more damage than he originally thought…
The pale blue overwhelmed him and he sunk into the ground.
44
Bang.
The rumble of metal sounded, close by. Limbs scrambled against rock. Panicked movement, all at once.
King was torn out of unconsciousness.
‘King!’ Léo yelled as he shot to his feet.
The syllable pierced the silence, ripping through King’s eardrums. His head spun and his ears rang. His heart lurched, struggling to comprehend all the developments at once. At some point the flashlight had gone out. He was surrounded by black.
‘Wha—?’ he started.
He hadn’t even realised he had been out. The darkness of the mine and the darkness of his unconscious state had blended into an amalgamation. Startled, he fumbled for his weapon.
‘Elevator,’ Léo hissed, breathing hard. ‘It’s here.’
The metal cage doors grated at the other end of the tunnel, sliding open. King froze on the spot as he heard murmured voices — at least five men, speaking Russian.
He went pale.
‘Don’t move,’ he mouthed in a tone below a whisper.
The approaching party hadn’t heard them yet.
King noticed the distinct sound of footsteps on the tunnel floor. At least one of the new arrivals had stepped off the elevator, into the mine. They were advancing towards their location.
King didn’t know how many there were, or what kind of firepower they had. The unknown terrified him. He lifted his swollen left hand and touched it to Léo’s chest, silently commanding the man to remain motionless.
Léo complied.
King let the wait grow to a horrifying length. Anyone else would have caved. His instincts screamed to take off in the other direction.
Now.
He unloaded half the M4A1’s magazine down the tunnel. Muzzle flare ignited from the barrel, flashing like a strobe light off the rock walls. Dark silhouettes approaching from the elevator became apparent.
There were five.
As he suspected.
Two died in the initial burst of gunfire, twisting unnaturally off their feet. The other three dropped simultaneously, incredibly fast. King knew they hadn’t been hit. They were responding out of instinct to the gunfire, minimising their target area just as he had been trained to do all those years ago.
They were elite.
And they would be training their barrels on the source of the barrage.
‘Fuck.’
King swung his right hand around in a tight arc — still holding the M4A1 — and crash-tackled Léo to the floor. A moment later bullets ripped through the space above his head.
He wasted no time. The tunnel was a death trap. They would trade automatic gunfire until there was no-one left standing. In one swift motion he hauled Léo to his feet and set off at a full-pelt sprint in the other direction.
Thwack.
A sharp punch — vicious in its intensity.
He let out an involuntary yelp as the pain lanced through his upper back. He had been hit, but if the bullet hadn’t impacted his vest it would have likely killed him. Instead it felt like blunt force trauma. Like a pro swinger had sent a steel baseball bat into his spine. The shockwave that transferred through the bulletproof material made him stumble and falter.
But he remained standing.
A second later he whisked Léo around a bend in the tunnel and they sprinted out of the line of sight.
King ran for his life, thrusting Léo ahead. The man got the message. He took off at an incredible pace down the tunnel, peeling away from King as the fight-or-flight mechanism kicked in.
King heard orders being shouted at full volume behind him. They echoed down the tunnel, ringing around his head. He couldn’t understand a thing.
He had roughly fifteen bullets left in the carbine’s magazine, and another full clip in his breast pocket.
It would have to suffice.
He and Léo burst out into the cavern ten seconds later, careering into the walkway’s railing due to the speed they were travelling. Briefly, it groaned under their weight. King tore his bulk off the metal, terrified of falling to a grisly death.
That gave him an idea.
He forced Léo to the left, guiding him along the walkway. Then he pressed his back against the side of the tunnel’s entrance and waited.
A half-second later, the first of the remaining attackers came sprinting around the corner. The guy wore a faded military uniform and a thick woollen balaclava that completely masked his features. He was as big as Mikhailov. Heavier than King. He was likely to pose problems in a fistfight.
Luckily, it wouldn’t come to that.
The extra weight meant the man had built up momentum. He skidded on the flimsy metal walkway as he sprinted out in pursuit of King.
If King stayed put, they would have collided in a tangle of limbs.
Instead he side-stepped the charging attacker, wrapped a tight hand around the back of his neck and used the guy’s momentum to his own advantage.
It took a single well-timed heave of exertion to hurl the man over the thin railing.
The guy smashed stomach first into the metal bar and tumbled over it, losing all balance as King launched him through the motion.
He disappeared noiselessly from sight, too terrified to even omit a sound. As soon as King recognised that the man was out of the equation he turned back to the mouth of the tunnel.
The two remaining mercenaries burst into view in unison. They fell on him in a savage heap, crushing him against the rock wall. King snatched for his carbine and managed to slip a finger into the trigger guard amidst the chaos.
A blow crashed off the side of his head. He grimaced and ducked away from the punch, bringing the assault rifle up as he did so. He squeezed off a short burst. In the quiet of the underground cavern, it blasted through the noiseless space. One of the men winced and backed off, hit somewhere.
King had no idea where.
He couldn’t pay attention to anything for more than a half-second.
The other man thundered an elbow towards King’s face. He ducked away from it. In the process, he inadvertently cracked his head against the wall behind him. One side of his face went numb and pain exploded across his vision.
Desperation seized him.
If he didn’t seize the upper hand, he would die painfully.
He turned animalistic.
Due to the tight confines of the brawl he reversed his grip on the carbine and swung it by its barrel. The stock smashed against the man’s jawbone, shattering it completely. King took him off his feet with a front kick, then turned his attention to the man he’d shot a second ago.
The guy hadn’t been incapacitated, evidenced by the head kick that came darting towards King’s unprotected face. He lurched backwards, narrowly avoiding the strike. The stumble put just enough distance between them to enable a burst of fire with the M4A1.
King spun the weapon again, seizing it by the trigger guard. He found the thin sliver of metal before the man could launch any further offence and unloaded the rest of the clip into his unprotected face.
The balaclava hid most of the gore, but King didn’t get a chance to admire his handiwork any further. A powerful arm looped around his throat from behind.
It was the last man alive — whose jaw King had shattered moments earlier. The man’s forearm strength was unbelievable. The choke hold cut off circulation to King’s brain in a single squeeze.
He felt consciousness slipping away. He would be out within seconds.
Fumbling with an empty weapon, he panicked, eyes boggling. The guy squeezed tighter. The edges of King’s vision started to blur, fading into sharp pinpoints of white light.
He knew what that spelled.
In a last-ditch effort, he dropped his hips and took
a knee, implementing a judo technique. The man followed him down, intent on holding the rear naked choke until he was out cold. King used the momentum to haul the guy over his shoulder, rotating him an entire revolution in the air.
If the man simply kept his composure and remained latched onto King’s neck, that would be the end.
But he didn’t.
He panicked and eased his grip as he lost his balance.
King wrenched his head out of the choke, gasping for breath as he did so.
All kinds of undesirable symptoms washed over him. The cold sweat, the spinning vision, the loss of balance. He ignored them all and surged on the man in front of him, who was in the process of scrambling to his feet.
He knew the guy’s jiu-jitsu base was strong. The rear naked choke had been applied with expert precision, targeting the carotid artery in his neck to deprive his brain of oxygenated blood and shut his lights out in the fastest amount of time possible. The squeeze had been vice-like, honed from years of practice. The guy had to be a brown belt or higher.
He clearly had experience in martial arts.
King kept that in mind as he charged.
He pinpointed a target just above the man’s ear — the soft spot for causing serious neurological damage. Strikes like that — taking a running kick when the opponent was down — had serious long-term consequences if applied correctly, which was the reason they were outlawed in most combat sports.
But this wasn’t combat sports.
This was life or death.
He rocketed the toe of his combat boot into the side of the guy’s head, connecting perfectly against his temple. The man staggered away, still in the process of getting to his feet but reeling from the blow. King followed him along the walkway, biding his time, aware that there were no other combatants left to dispatch.
He could take his time with this fight.
He quickly realised that would not be in his best interests. The consequences of the previous brawl were rapidly dawning on him. He felt sick and dazed and debilitated all at once.
