by A P Bateman
Rashid shrugged. “I phoned King, told him my rendezvous was in play. I cleared out before he could meet me. I imagine he’s on the way back.”
“And Caroline?”
“No idea. But I presume King would have contacted her to reiterate.”
Ramsay picked up his coffee and nursed it in his hands. “Okay, good work. And the asset is secure?”
“They’re old fashioned locks. I showed her to her room, locked the door behind me. She’s secure. But I said I’d return with food and coffee for her. I said she should clean up and expect a meeting with you within the hour.”
“Fair enough,” said Ramsay. “Go and get changed, then wait with her. Send for room service if she wants anything. I’ll contact London, then make my way over. What’s the room number?”
“Three-thirty-three.”
“An omen, perhaps?”
“What do you mean?”
Ramsay looked thoughtfully into his coffee cup. “Times three-three-three by two and it’s the devil’s number. Six-six-six.”
Rashid nodded. “You’re right…” He scoffed, smiling when he saw that Ramsay had taken his reply as enthusiastic agreement. “And if my auntie had a dick, she’d be my uncle…”
Chapter Fifty-Five
King pulled the snowmobile into the trees and switched off the engine. He kept his eyes on the horizon, a dull and monochrome hue in the distance, surrounded by trees on both sides. They had been traveling down a wide clearing, which he had earlier realised was in fact a river. The water had frozen months before and the ice had been covered in snow, only ridges on both sides where the snow had built up on the banks distinguished it as such.
“What’s wrong?” Caroline asked. She released her grip on his waist and stepped off the machine. “What have you seen?”
King couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had the same feeling he had earlier with the woman who had been impersonating Senior Constable Lena Mäkinen. And again, with Stewart in the car on the way up to The Eagle’s Nest Hotel. It was the way the sky looked mottled, like a mackerel. As he watched, the clouds parted, and he was sure they started to turn counter clockwise. Slowly at first, then gaining in momentum.
A biblical sky.
King swung off the saddle, his ribs catching him and making him wince. “Follow me!” he barked. He swung the rifle off his shoulder and trudged up the slope towards the
trees. He found what he wanted. A fallen tree, with a build-up of snow caused by a prevailing wind. The other side of the trunk rested on the slope with a drop of a few feet before the ground levelled out towards the riverbank.
“What is it?” she asked again, but she knew better to stop and protest. King’s instincts were to be trusted.
“The storm!” he shouted as he drove the buttstock of the rifle into the ice crust. “Scrape the ice and snow that I break up into a mound, either side of the hole I make.”
Caroline dropped onto her knees and did as he asked. He punished the rifle, its ability to function would be over after this. The dented receiver had made the action difficult for the gunman to use, but its accuracy would now be ruined beyond repair. King upended the weapon and used the muzzle to loosen the ice, then turned it around and used the butt to dig
and scrape. Caroline had banked up the loose snow and pressed it down with all her weight. She could see what King was trying to achieve and simply worked with him. They saved their
breath, the exertion made it dangerous for them to breathe through their mouths. Just
breathing through their noses warmed the air enough to save their throats, and in turn their lungs. They were perspiring, which presented more problems. Freezing sweat would cool them down too quickly. But one problem at a time, was all they could worry about for now.
“That’s big enough,” said Caroline.
King nodded. “Get in,” he said. “Head first.”
She did as he said, bent down and crawled inside. She turned onto her side, pushed herself against the ice wall to give him some room. King bent down and stripped the rifle. He pocketed the magazine and the chambered round, tossed the bolt aside and slipped the barrel out of the fore-stock. He jabbed the barrel into the roof of the cave and worked it until it pushed right through. He pushed the barrel until it was approximately halfway, then contorted himself around it and crawled in next to Caroline.
“What the hell?” she asked, looking at the barrel of the ruined weapon.
“If we get snowed in, or the cave collapses, then we have an air hole. Enough to keep us alive,” he said. “We wouldn’t know the air was being used up, because we’d just fall asleep with the lack of oxygen and then die.”
“Is there no end to your general knowledge?” she asked light-heartedly.
“Just survival,” he replied.
They were braced for the storm, but the lack of drama seemed an anti-climax after all the effort they had put into their shelter. They looked at each other, the whites of their eyes visible in the darkness, and not much else. They were so close, their faces almost touched. King leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. She responded, her lips warm, her mouth soft and moist. They had spent so much time apart that the act seemed different, yet familiar. A strange mixture of emotions, that needed rekindling. The constant familiarity had gone. It was like starting a new relationship, but with a close friend.
Caroline pulled away and smiled. “I’ve missed you so much…”
She couldn’t finish her sentence, because the world seemed to end outside. The howling of the wind was like a locomotive passing through a tunnel at full speed. The air seemed to disrupt, sucked out by the vortex, then swept back to their grateful lungs as the pressure equalised. King hugged her tightly and she slipped her arms around him and nuzzled her head into his neck. He risked a glance at the entrance to the tiny cave and saw the blizzard of ice and snow and debris of pine needles, pine cones and branches. Throughout the storm, they
heard great crashes that could only have been falling trees dropping around them. They just hoped that one did not come crashing through the roof. But neither said a word, merely hugged one another to keep warm and took solace that they were together.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Ramsay knocked on the door and waited. He wasn’t a patient man at the best of times, so in the brief time it took for the door to be answered he had already started to pace around in a circle. The door unlocked, and Marnie peered through the crack, the security chain pulled taut and a curious expression upon her face.
“Progress?”
Marnie closed the door, unlocked the chain and pulled the door wide open. “Yes,” she said. “And no.”
Ramsay tutted as he stepped over the threshold. “Meaning?”
Marnie led the way over to her laptop. “It was difficult to get in, but I bounced it to GCHQ and one of the techies got through the data encryption. GCHQ bounced it back. It is clearly scientific, and I’m guessing biological and chemical, so I sent the file back to GCHQ to be sent to Porton Down. They’re the people for that sort of thing.”
Ramsay glanced out of the window. There was a faint howl of the wind through the triple glazing, but the snow and ice crystals in the air looked like a snow globe. It was wild and
all-consuming in the darkness, and he knew that King and Caroline had not returned. He glanced at his watch, uncertain what to do. It wasn’t like there could be a search party put together. He looked back at Marnie. “And?”
“I haven’t heard back,” Marnie paused. “But it has a priority order on it and I’m on a direct link with Cheltenham, so we should know more soon enough.”
“Okay, good work.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” Marnie blushed. Ramsay wasn’t known for his praise. “Just one more thing…”
“What?” he asked, his manner terse. He looked like he was trying to order a thousand things at once in his mind and basic conversation skills had left the building.
She leaned ov
er the laptop and opened a file. She stepped back, and Ramsay watched. A series of high-quality photographs filled the screen.
“Jesus Christ…” he trailed off.
“Be careful of the defector,” she said. “We don’t know what we are dealing with yet.”
“I’ve sent Rashid in to wait with her…”
“Oh no…”
Ramsay shot for the door, Marnie followed. They ran down the corridor, Ramsay bustling into a tall, thin man who was limping. He was covered in snow and looked frozen under his snowsuit, his face ruddy and crusted with ice. He wore a permanent grimace, obviously in pain. He mumbled something as Ramsay apologised and ran onwards. Marnie moved past him and caught up with Ramsay as he reached the stairs. They climbed the staircase two treads at a time and darted into the corridor. Rashid was at the door, the key turning as he looked back towards them curiously.
“Wait Rashid!” Ramsay shouted.
“Don’t!” Marnie added.
Rashid shrugged and stepped back from the door.
“Have you unlocked it?”
Rashid shook his head. Marnie went to step forward and hug him, but Ramsay caught hold of her and pulled her away. “No!” He looked at Rashid, who squared up, looking as if he was about to hit Ramsay. “Just wait,” he pleaded. “Rashid go back to your room. Strip off those clothes and put them into a laundry bag, along with any possessions. Take a shower and meet back at my room.”
Rashid frowned, but he soon worked it out. “Is she contaminated?”
“We’re not sure,” said Ramsay. “But I’m hoping we shall know soon enough.”
Marnie had tears in her eyes. She smiled at Rashid, then turned and followed Ramsay back along the corridor. She had only just noticed the noise. As if a dozen vacuum cleaners were working on every floor. “Is that the wind?” she asked incredulously.
“It is,” Ramsay replied absentmindedly. “King and Caroline are still out in that.”
“Oh my god…” she said quietly.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
The silence was eerie. It happened at once. No warning. One minute the outside world sounded as if it would come to an end; the next moment silence fell, and with it, the pressure that had squeezed their ears, sucked at the air from their chests. The wind dropped, and the world lived on.
“Are we in the eye of the storm?” Caroline asked. “Like in tropical hurricanes?”
King shook his head. “I don’t think so. This happened before; both times. It was violent and intense, then simply gone. Blown out. I think we can get out of here now.”
She kissed him again and said, “Shame.”
They were in complete darkness. The mouth of the cave had snowed over. King wasn’t sure if the rifle barrel had saved them, but it would have provided the snow hole with air nonetheless.
They struggled and scraped their way out, discovering just how difficult it was to crawl backwards. They kicked at the snow blocking the entrance. It had already started to freeze solid. King finally got his right foot through, and that gave him something to kick at. He made the edges of the hole larger with every kick. By the time they fell out through the hole and down the slope, they were exhausted and soaked in sweat. The droplets of sweat on exposed parts of skin had already frozen to tiny icicles.
“We’ve got to get going,” King said. “That was another squall. If this storm is as bad as people are predicting, then we need to get back to the hotel.”
Caroline nodded. She looked around for the snowmobile but couldn’t see it. King searched too, but it was gone. There was a distant glimmer of light on the horizon to the east. It did nothing to illuminate the dimness, but it signalled there was a reprieve on the way.
“It can’t have just blown away,” she said incredulously.
“Well, it has.”
“Wait. Is that it over there?” she asked, pointing to a speck in the middle of the river.
King squinted, could pick out the solid colour against the pristine white of the snow. With no trees or scrub to deflect its presence, it stood out, but was a hundred metres away at least. He nodded. “I think so. Let’s go and look.”
It didn’t take long to see the machine wasn’t going anywhere. The forks and skids were buckled, and the handlebars had snapped at the centre fixing. Fuel was leaking onto the ice and a thick ooze of oil was gathering to one side.
“Well, that’s that then.” Caroline punched King on the arm. “Looks like a tab.”
“Well, don’t go getting all competitive on me,” he said. “I’ve got broken ribs.”
“Ahh, diddums,” she grinned. She looked at the crack of light in the sky, then turned the other way. “Due West, I make it.”
“That’s about right,” said King. He fished out his mobile phone and pulled off his glove with his teeth to thumb the device open. He opened the GPS app and set the pre-entered coordinates of the hotel as their destination. “Five kilometres.”
“Back in time for breakfast, then.”
“If the chefs haven’t bailed out on that coach.”
“Well, as long as your friend Stewart has, then that’s alright by me.”
“He has.”
She glanced at him as they paced through the snow. “So sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Stewart knew that human nature, the kindness part of it at least, was merely a façade. He had been to the worst parts of the planet, dealt with the worst people imaginable. And what separated these people from their kind-hearted counterparts was circumstance. Circumstance, fate and solution. Simply put, people had no lower limits. Society was nothing more than a veneer that could so easily be peeled away. There was nothing they wouldn’t do when pushed over the edge.
The edge in question had been a squall, the like of which they had never seen, and the coach – their lifeline – being taken off the road by the monstrous winds. Trees had blown down across the road, making a return to The Eagle’s Nest Hotel improbable, if not impossible. The windows of the coach had been sucked out by the drop in atmospheric pressure, and when the ferociousness of the winds slewed the coach sideways and hammered it into the trees on the opposite side of the road, tilting it onto one side and threatening to topple it over, his fellow passengers had not been the compassionate, caring kind. They had hastily gathered their carry-on luggage, their loved ones and piled out into the trees. They had barely glanced at the weathered and worn man nearing seventy, with the broken leg and the dazed and confused expression brought on by the strong opiate-based painkillers. They had simply left him to his fate. He had seen their indecision, then their decision. He would slow them down, put them at risk. It was amazing how soon people lived with the most inhumane of decisions when it suited them.
Stewart had grimaced through the pain of being thrown about, but he had cared little about their fate as well. He had heard many screams above the wind, and now that the storm had departed – as quickly as it had arrived – he saw few people as they staggered back to the coach. Some would have been hit by debris, others would have simply fallen to the searing cold and the elements. He cared as much for them as they had for him.
Stewart pulled himself up and placed his broken leg on the ground. It throbbed and pulsated from his ankle to his groin. He left it a while before moving. The strapping had been expertly applied, and tighter than the hospital would eventually cast it. In fact, by the way it throbbed, he suspected it was too tight. But that would serve purpose. He reached up and took a pair of skis and poles out of the ski locker. He doubted the owner would be back for
them. He winced as he lifted them down. He had swiped the painkillers back at the hotel, and the young Russian had not bothered to protest. Stewart opened the bottle and took three. That would be enough to sedate him, but not for what he would be doing. He wasn’t going to be sitting on his arse and taking deep breaths. He was going to push his body one last time. By the time he finished what he had started, his leg would be unsalvageable.
But he did not care. He had a job to do. And damned Alex King. He would do what he was meant to, and nothing would stand in his way. He would push on back to the hotel. He would end things right there. He was a killer and he would kill again. And he didn’t care if he went down doing it.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
King as watched as the two men walked down from the slope to their right and turned towards them. They slid down the bank and onto the frozen river. They were on course to meet them in another hundred metres. Both men carried rifles and wore utility vests. As he watched, one of the men slung the rifle over his shoulder and let it hang on the sling.
King turned to Caroline. “Give me the Walther,” he said sharply.
She was a competent shot, but she didn’t argue. She knew King had lost count of the close quarter battles he had been in. She could still count them on one hand and they kept her awake some nights, too. “There’s only one round left,” she said as she passed it subtly into his hand.
“You’re trigger-happy,” he said.
He slipped it into his pocket and loosened the fastening to his glove. He took the glove off, stuffed it into his other pocket and took hold of his knife, opening the blade with the thumb stud and putting it back into his pocket. He worked off the other glove and then stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Who are these clowns?” Caroline asked.
“No idea. But they don’t fit in here. These guys are after our asset. I’d bet a month’s savings on that.”
“You don’t save that much a month…”
King nodded to them as they drew near. “Hi,” he said. “That storm was something else. And there’s more on the way.”
The men nodded. King could see they were armed with Kalashnikovs. Not your average Finnish hunting rifles.
“Why are you walking out here?” one of the men asked.
“I don’t see what business it is of yours,” King smiled thinly. “Why are you hunting in between storms?” He stepped closer. “Surely the animals have all taken flight?”
