Isolated: A Jason King Thriller (Jason King Series Book 1)

by Matt Rogers

  But the blow landed.

  It crashed off the mercenary’s chin in just the right spot, breaking bone. The guy sprawled to the ground. At the same time he released the wrench. It skittered away, out of reach. His legs had given out under the impact of the punch. King felt pain shoot up his wrist, and he knew damage had been done. Yet it didn’t matter. The mercenary’s head would be a lot worse off than his hand.

  Just like that the fight was over. No prolonged battle or heroic comeback from the brink of defeat. In a fight between two men of their size, it only took one shot with just the right timing and placement to send the other to a dark place.

  A place where quick recovery was impossible.

  King knew a devastating concussion when he saw one. For a moment he considered mercy. He questioned the potential ramifications of leaving the man to recover from the beatdown. But it would do no good to spare his life. He would wind up killing someone else, that much was certain.

  Men who were swayed so easily by dollar signs had no clear path to moral redemption.

  So after assessing the state of the guy and deducing that he would not be getting up anytime soon, King crossed to the other side of the hangar and fished a bloodied assault rifle out of the cluster of dead mercenaries. Another M4 carbine. Safety off. Whoever supplied them must have delivered a bulk discount.

  He turned back to the dazed mercenary.

  His face fell.

  The man had produced a small satellite radio from somewhere, probably one of the pockets in his khakis. Before King could react, he thumbed a button on the side and spoke two sentences into the device. They were disjointed, and he stumbled over his words, but the message was clear enough.

  ‘They’re coming. Take off now.’

  He tossed the radio away and stared at King. Smiling. The expression was full of contempt and jest and sick satisfaction.

  Now Lars knew he had to hurry.

  He would be gone by the time they got there.

  The anthrax spores would leave Jameson, and King would spend countless days eating himself alive with worry, wondering when he would switch on the news to see the effects of the most devastating terrorist attack in history.

  He shot four times, wiping the smile off the man’s face, but what had been done would not be so easily repairable.

  Silence descended over the dropzone, and with it came a tension so thick and overbearing that King felt the sudden urge to vomit.

  He had failed.

  CHAPTER 39

  ‘Kate! Kitchener!’ King roared at the top of his lungs. ‘All clear!’

  It echoed out of the hangar and through the empty cluster of buildings, which were now populated by a wave of dead men. He strode into the sunshine, passing the bullet-ridden corpses of the first four mercenaries he’d killed. The runway stretched off in either direction, showing no sign of life. Adjacent to the hangar, the pair of Hawkeis now lay empty, engines still running.

  He jogged to the nearest one, tossed the M4 carbine in the back and leapt into the driver’s seat.

  The two women rounded the corner a moment later, coming from the rear of the hangar. They passed the clubhouse, now torn apart by bullets, all the windows shattered and the deck splintered and the insides churned to shreds. They saw the dead bodies scattered across the runway, dressed in the same olive-colour khakis, most now stained red.

  Kitchener couldn’t hide the shock from her face. In her police uniform she seemed out of place, suddenly timid, taken aback by such a concentrated level of death. Her dirty blond hair had come mostly loose from the ponytail she’d put it in earlier that day. Locks stained with sweat and dirt hung over her forehead, adding to the disbelief plastered across her face. King studied Kate, and saw nothing but numbness in her gaze. As she looked over the death and destruction she did nothing but stare blankly, almost vacantly. As if she wasn’t entirely there. He didn’t blame her. It had been the most unbelievable three days of her life.

  The pair of them recognised his urgency and piled into the back seat of the Hawkei. Without a word, he slammed the accelerator as soon as they were inside the chassis and the armoured vehicle peeled off the mark, tyres squealing.

  ‘How did you do that?’ Kitchener yelled above the wind pouring in through the open windows.

  ‘Do what?’ King said.

  ‘They’re all dead. It was ten-on-one and you killed them all.’

  ‘I’m not sure if you looked hard enough into my file,’ he said. ‘That’s what I used to do for a living.’

  ‘Are we heading for Lars?’

  He nodded. ‘The last man managed to get in contact with him before I could kill him. He knows we’re coming. We might be too late.’

  On the other side of the back seat, King noticed Kate grip the Hawkei’s frame and close her eyes. He saw her breathing increase rapidly. He knew panic had begun to set in.

  ‘Kate,’ he said, looking at her.

  She met his gaze. ‘You keep throwing yourself towards danger. Doesn’t it go against your instincts? How aren’t you scared out of your mind?’

  ‘I’d rather die trying to stop him than sit back and watch him kill hundreds of thousands of people. That’s just how I’m wired.’

  She looked away, silent.

  ‘I can go on alone if that’s what you two want. It’s what I’ve been doing my whole life.’

  ‘No,’ Kitchener said, firm and matter-of-fact. ‘You need all the help you can get.’

  Kate still did not reply, but she looked at him and nodded reassuringly.

  That was all he needed.

  The runway ended abruptly and then they were back on the main road, this time with no regard for the speed limit. King mashed the pedal to the footwell’s floor until the trees on either side of them blurred into one stream of woodland. Thankfully, no traffic passed them by. He knew a collision at this speed would prove disastrous. The Hawkei was a speeding battering ram. An innocent passerby wouldn’t stand a chance.

  The wind howled as Kate guided him with short, sharp gestures through the forest, heading back to the concrete plant and — presumably — the hidden runway buried somewhere behind.

  ‘What if it’s too late?’ she said. ‘What do we do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ King said. ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead. We’ll need to contact some powerful people. This is a shit-storm.’

  ‘What will they be able to do?’

  ‘Not much,’ he admitted. ‘If the plane is gone when we get there, then Lars wins.’

  They blazed back through the town of Hurst, attracting the attention of every pedestrian in sight. Now, it didn’t matter. Secrecy had been thrown out the window. He had a single goal of utmost importance, and if they failed to achieve it every moment of the last three days would be for nothing.

  It took another five minutes to find the same gravel trail that cut through pastures and farmland, leading to the concrete plant at the very end. Every second that ticked away drew another bead of sweat from King’s forehead. He felt suffocated by the tension, like every breath took a gargantuan effort. At that moment he did not care for his own safety whatsoever. The urgency flooding his system overpowered all other emotions.

  He simply had to succeed.

  The Hawkei’s chassis rattled violently when they hit the gravel, shaking him to his core. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a farmer driving a tractor in one of the pastures. The man stopped what he was doing and stared in awe at the sight before him. In the middle of nowhere, a powerful armoured vehicle shot past his farm at close to eighty miles an hour, kicking up swathes of dust in its wake.

  King battled to control the wheel against the bucking suspension. He kept his foot pressed firmly against the accelerator. There was no time to slow down. Then they were through into the forest. He saw the path leading to the concrete plant, branching off. He aimed the Hawkei for it.

  ‘Wait!’ Kate cried. ‘You won’t access it from there. Keep heading straight. I’m sure of it.’
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br />   ‘If you’re wrong…’ King said, not daring to think of the consequences if they hit a dead end. Intercepting Lars would come down to a matter of seconds, even if they timed it perfectly.

  He blitzed past the trail to the concrete plant and roared further into the forest, narrowly avoiding the pine trees pressing in on either side. He couldn’t see far ahead. The trail twisted and curved, showing nothing but thick forest in all directions.

  ‘From the layout of the map…’ Kate said, then she trailed off. Thinking hard.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Kitchener said to her.

  ‘No. Are any of us?’

  Kitchener made to reply but the Hawkei slid sideways across the trail, dropping her stomach, making her hesitate. King grit his teeth as he turned the corner, faster than he should have. For a second he thought they would continue sideways, crushing the vehicle into one of the sturdy trunks lining the road.

  Then it corrected course and they continued down the trail, narrowly avoiding harm.

  ‘Oh, shit — here!’

  He heard Kate’s startled exclamation and looked ahead to where the path branched off two separate ways. One continued deep into the forest, trailing away out of sight. The other led down to a metal chain-link property gate, roughly the height of a man. Beyond it, the trees dissipated into some kind of open area. It had to be the runway.

  He spun the wheel and the Hawkei shot down the right-hand path, gaining momentum. The speedometer began to climb.

  ‘King!’ Kate screamed.

  ‘Hold on to something,’ he said, eyes locked on the road ahead in concentration.

  Stopping the vehicle to open the gate would kill precious time they did not have. There was no guarantee it would even open for them. He studied the flimsy, rusting supports and the hinges that looked like they hadn’t been oiled since their creation. He figured a fifteen-thousand pound armoured vehicle would win in a head-on collision ten times out of ten.

  At least, he hoped.

  Kate and Kitchener scrambled for hand-holds, panicked and urgent. He gripped the wheel with both hands and touched the accelerator a little more, giving the Hawkei a final surge. By now it was too late to slow down. They would collide with the gate no matter what.

  With a groan of tearing metal and a heavy jolt of impact the Hawkei’s bonnet struck the middle of the gate at close to seventy miles an hour. King shot forward viciously, but the seatbelt dug into his shoulder, slowing him. He felt Kitchener’s hair whip the back of his neck as her head whiplashed forward. Then the gate was under them. Then behind them. They burst out onto open road, losing little speed in the process. The violence of the impact abruptly ceased. Kate let out a gasp of exertion.

  They were okay.

  The gate had buckled under the pressure and they had shot through into the property.

  The Hawkei roared out onto another runway, this one more cramped than Paul’s dropzone. The tree line ran right to the edges of the tarmac, demonstrating that the area had been carved out of the forest before the runway was constructed. Its surface was nowhere near as smooth as the dropzone’s. King got the sense that grand plans had been made for this runway while under construction, then hastily abandoned. Perhaps its location was too secluded. Whatever the case, he presumed it had not been used for commercial purposes in years. Much like seemingly every building in these parts.

  ‘There!’ Kitchener said, pointing to one end of the runway. ‘See that?’

  Sure enough, he noticed activity far in the distance, perhaps half a mile away. A grey low-wing monoplane rested idly in the centre of the runway. Blurred shapes moved in and out of its fuselage. With relief flooding his veins, he aimed for it and accelerated to maximum speed.

  ‘They’re still there,’ Kate said, her voice shaky.

  ‘They’re going to try to kill us,’ King said. ‘You two need to be prepared for that. Kate, stay down when we get close. Kitchener, give me your pistol. I need accuracy.’

  She handed her M&P over the centre console, the butt of the gun facing him. He took it and quickly checked the safety was off, heart pounding.

  ‘You have the M4?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know how to use it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Matter of fact. Straight to the point. In the heat of imminent combat, he liked nothing better. Best to keep all conversation short and sharp when the blood was flowing.

  ‘If they don’t put up a fight, don’t kill them in cold blood.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They deserve a long and tortured stay in some underground hellhole. I’ll make sure that happens.’

  ‘That will be a lot more difficult.’

  ‘I know. But don’t get me wrong. If you see any kind of weapon, don’t hesitate to shoot.’

  As they grew closer, the scene became more clear. A military truck with a canvas storage area attached to the rear was parked near the P-750 aircraft. The rear flap lay open. From what King could see, the boot was empty. Which meant the plane was fully loaded, and they’d made it with little time to spare. Just as he expected.

  Lars stood in between the vehicles, watching them approach. A mercenary flanked him on either side.

  His last two hired guns.

  So I really did wipe out most of his forces back at the dropzone, King thought.

  One mercenary held some kind of automatic weapon in his hands. Unclear from this distance, but King guessed an M4. It seemed to be the same shape and colour. Whatever the case, the man raised it as they came within range and began sprinting across the tarmac, charging directly at them.

  King saw the unmistakeable muzzle flash and knew the mercenary had unloaded his magazine. Yet he did not duck. Kate and Kitchener dove into the rear footwell, shocked by the gunfire. But the bullets pinged harmlessly off the front windscreen. Its glass was bulletproof. King kept his speed up, refusing to slow down even under a barrage of gunfire.

  Which clearly unnerved the mercenary, as he kept firing until his gun clicked dry, spurred on by the urgency of a vehicle heading for him at eighty miles an hour.

  King waited for the sound of discharging rounds to stop. He knew it would. Typically when under fire drivers panicked and slowed, or swerved, or changed course even slightly. He refused to do any of those things, continuing on his course without fault.

  It was then that the mercenary realised his mistake.

  Realised how heavily he had been counting on King to panic.

  Realised he was now out of bullets.

  King sat up. He saw the man standing only fifty feet in front of the speeding Hawkei, eyes boggling, mind racing, searching for some kind of alternative plan.

  He had none.

  King knew he would attempt to dive clear of the vehicle’s trajectory. He kept his muscles loose, his grip poised. He guessed the man would jump right. Most did. He kept his foot planted down and narrowed his eyes, employing tunnel vision. He waited for the man to make a move.

  The man dove right.

  He wrenched the wheel milliseconds later, aligning the front of the Hawkei with the mercenary’s fleeing form. He hoped the women in the back seat were still buried somewhere in the footwell. They would do good not to see what came next.

  He felt the crunch as fifteen-thousand pounds smashed into the guy, mid-leap. There was the unmistakeable jolt of metal-against-flesh contact, and then he disappeared underneath the vehicle amidst a tangle of broken limbs.

  He would not be a problem any longer.

  As soon as the armed mercenary had been dealt with King slammed on the brakes. The Hawkei skidded to a halt directly in front of the canvassed truck, slowing hard enough to throw him against the seatbelt once more. In one fluid motion, he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the vehicle before it had even come to a halt, M&P already pointed directly at Lars’ head.

  As far as he could see, both men were unarmed.

  Yet Lars’ demeanour did not match the predicament.

  The man
seemed as comfortable as ever, blissfully unperturbed by the handgun aimed at his face. He stood with his hands by his side, smiling at King, as if all was right in the world.

  ‘If you’re here that means there’s ten dead men back at the dropzone,’ Lars said. ‘You’ve still got it, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Eleven,’ King said, nodding behind him at the mangled corpse of the second-last mercenary. He didn’t dare take a look. He kept his eyes locked on the two men in front of him, searching for any sudden movements. ‘Where were you taking the anthrax?’

  ‘To another location,’ Lars said. ‘What do you care? You won, didn’t you?’

  ‘Why another location?’

  ‘Well, it’s not quite ready yet.’

  ‘Not ready to use?’

  ‘Almost there. I know a guy upstate who will turn the spores I have into aerosol form.’

  ‘A guy?’

  ‘Quite a high-level scientist, actually. Bioterrorism defence expert. Ironic, isn’t it?’

  ‘And he’s helping you?’

  ‘Everyone has a price. Except you, apparently.’

  ‘Well, I hate to crash the party, but you really should have killed me back in the concrete plant. Then everything would have gone off without a hitch.’

  Lars cocked his head. ‘What do you mean? Party’s still going.’

  ‘You’re going to jail for the rest of your life.’

  ‘Oh, am I?’

  King felt a slight tremor in his throat, like a small parcel of nerves kicking in. Lars knew something he didn’t. No-one was this confident with a weapon aimed at their head.