The Will Slater Series Books 1-3

by Matt Rogers

  At one point, he glanced across. ‘That guy wasn’t lying. There’s no-one around. They’re all cowering in some corner, I assume.’

  ‘Yeah,’ King grunted.

  He had his own demons to grapple with.

  Now wasn’t the time to try and pretend they weren’t both going through their own personal versions of hell.

  ‘This is why you got out, huh?’ Slater said.

  ‘I feel like you’re better at suppressing it than I am. Hence why you’ve still got the spark.’

  ‘Not really. I’m just better at dealing with being broken, I guess.’

  ‘That’s grim.’

  ‘Doesn’t have to be. Doesn’t matter how I feel. As long as I’m helping people.’

  ‘That’s what your spark is?’

  ‘Isn’t yours?’

  ‘It was. I don’t have it anymore.’

  ‘If I’m sitting around, someone’s getting taken advantage of that I’m not trying to stop.’

  ‘Yeah,’ King murmured. ‘That’s why I feel so guilty all the time.’

  ‘You shouldn’t. You’ve done more than enough. I’ve just got an addictive personality.’

  ‘I have my vices.’

  ‘Not like mine.’

  ‘Drink? Drugs? Women?’

  ‘Keep going.’

  ‘That’s perfectly natural given what we do.’

  ‘Given what I do. You’re going back to Koh Tao.’

  ‘Am I?’ King said, and escorted Slater into a loading dock in the side of the icebreaker’s hull.

  70

  The dock turned out to be sparse and smooth and clean, nothing but sterile surfaces and sterile landings. The multi-level space was arranged in a U-shape around a small bay of open seawater that churned and swelled as the icebreaker powered forward. Exposed to the elements by the ocean flooding in through the archway, Slater braced himself against the ice-cold wind as it howled in, whipping through the railings and lashing at his clothing.

  In fact, it almost took him off his feet.

  King tightened his grip and kept Slater upright, leading him down a landing. Now sea spray assaulted them, coming off the waves swirling angrily below. In similar fashion to all the electronics aboard the ship, the exterior lights struggled in unison with the rest of the system. The emergency power system battled to keep the icebreaker functioning, and soon it would peter out and plunge the entire interior into darkness.

  Like something out of a horror movie.

  By then, Slater would be long gone, but it gave him relief to know the Mochnost would eventually end up dead in the water somewhere near the Bering Strait instead of incessantly continuing on its path until it ran out of fuel or split another unassuming water vessel clean in two.

  King pointed to a vaguely familiar shape hovering by steel cables a storey or two over the docking bay. Slater squinted to make out the object, but the sea spray coupled with his already compromised vision made it impossible. He wiped a hand across his face, only serving to spread blood into his eyes.

  He was in bad shape.

  King noticed. ‘Come on, brother. Let’s get you on board.’

  ‘On board what?’

  ‘That’s an RHIB. You can’t see it?’

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ Slater grumbled, leaning more weight on King’s bulging arm.

  He drew the soaked sleeve of his shirt over his eyelids, clearing some of the debris. Now he could see clearer, and he stared up at the rigid hulled inflatable boat as King led him down the final ladder to the bottom level of the landings. Much like the rest of the icebreaker, it was brand new, probably purchased off the plan in anticipation of the Mochnost’s launch. No expense had been spared.

  King found a control panel and set to work learning the mechanisms. He clearly aimed to lower the RHIB into the waters, and Slater felt that helping would be the honourable thing to do, but he took one step toward King and pitched violently to the left. At first he thought the icebreaker had crested a particularly fearsome wave, but as he stumbled and fell into one of the steel columns, sliding down to his rear in an uncontrollable heap, he spotted King looking awfully concerned, whipping around on the spot, still perfectly balanced.

  There was no incident.

  Slater was in terrible shape.

  ‘Stay there,’ King said. ‘Don’t move. I’ll help you anywhere you need to go.’

  ‘Sure you don’t want to leave me aboard?’

  ‘Funny.’

  ‘I’ll only slow you down.’

  ‘I only came here to pull you out of this shit,’ King said. ‘Now stay there. The concussion’s talking right now.’

  ‘And you ended up saving the world.’

  King paused, bulky detachable control panel in hand, and his gaze wandered over. ‘We did, didn’t we?’

  ‘Mostly you.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s sunk in yet.’

  ‘It will. When we’re off this ship.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You think that’ll change how you feel about all this?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s a lot to grapple with. I know.’

  ‘Now’s not the time,’ King said, but he turned back to the control panel with his brow furrowed, deep in thought.

  ‘Sorry,’ Slater said after a long pause. ‘We should talk about this later. You still haven’t had your minute.’

  ‘Haven’t found the time,’ King mumbled.

  Footsteps.

  On the landing above.

  King swore, steadied himself against a particularly violent gust of wind and sea spray, and swung the wet barrel of the HK433 up to aim through the railing above his head.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ an accented voice cried out from above.

  Slater couldn’t see a thing. He started to crane his neck upward but it sent bolts of agony down his spine, so he elected to simply sit with his legs crossed and his gaze locked onto King.

  Because he trusted the man with his life.

  ‘Gun down,’ King yelled above the din of the churning ocean.

  Immediately, something clattered against the metal over Slater’s head.

  ‘Good. Now turn and walk away.’

  ‘You mean…?’

  ‘I’m not going to kill you.’

  ‘O-okay…’

  ‘Actually,’ King said. ‘Make sure you answer this truthfully. The Kamchatka Peninsula. Last year. Were you there?’

  ‘What? I’m Nigerian. I came over for some contract work. Wasn’t my fault they put me on board this thing. Where the hell’s the Kamchatka Peninsula?’

  ‘Walk away,’ King said.

  ‘Uh, thanks, man. Any idea what the hell I should do now?’

  ‘Don’t push it. You’re fully aware of what happened here.’

  ‘Bits and pieces.’

  ‘So you’re not a saint.’

  ‘Ever heard of Stockholm syndrome?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it. I don’t think it applies here.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘Walk away. And be better.’

  ‘Why haven’t you killed me?’

  ‘Because unless you’re directly responsible for what I’m going up against then I’m not really in a position to judge.’

  ‘You a mercenary too, then?’

  ‘Used to be.’

  ‘Where’d you work?’

  ‘Everywhere.’

  ‘Just surprised we didn’t run into each other at any point, man.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have wanted that to happen. Trust me.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘I’m not here to have a conversation. Walk away.’

  ‘Okay, man. You can’t help me?’

  ‘Not a chance. And you’re lucky I’m retired.’

  ‘You don’t look retired.’

  ‘I’ll shoot you if you’re not out of here in three seconds.’

  More footsteps on the landing overhead.

  This time rapidly fading into nothingness.


  ‘You should have killed him,’ Slater said.

  ‘I’m tired of killing,’ King said, turning back to the control panel.

  ‘He deserved it.’

  ‘A lot of people deserve it. But I’ve reached my threshold.’

  ‘Just because he wasn’t on the Kamchatka Peninsula doesn’t mean he’s innocent.’

  ‘He’s far from innocent. That’s the nature of the field.’

  ‘So why let him live?’

  ‘You probably expect me to give some philosophical answer, right?’

  ‘No. I just want the truth.’

  ‘Would you have killed him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you’re a stronger man than me.’

  ‘What’s the reason?’

  King looked up with weary eyes and said, ‘I’m just tired of it all.’

  Then he stabbed down with a single finger and pressed a button on the hefty remote. Something whirred, and the RHIB splashed into the water with a resounding thud.

  ‘Let’s go,’ King said.

  71

  The RHIB was military grade, with a firm hull and a tough, reinforced windshield that ordinarily deflected most of the howling wind and sea spray. But the conditions were grim, and under a dark grey sky Slater and King ducked their heads to avoid a barrage of the elements. The inflatable craft bounced and jolted on the high seas, tearing away from the looming icebreaker, spearing over the crests of waves with its engine roaring and the throttle lever pushed to maximum.

  Slater saw King shiver, one meaty hand wrapped around the lever and the other keeping the Heckler & Koch HK433 stood at attention. But the man’s muscles were relaxed. His vision was fixated on the horizon, not on the hulking Mochnost icebreaker behind them.

  He had no fight left in him.

  He’d made that clear.

  ‘What if someone pursues us?’ Slater said.

  ‘Then I’ll deal with it,’ King said, his tone rising to overpower the freezing gale.

  ‘You look like you’d rather do anything else.’

  King glanced back at the icebreaker, now just a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the storm clouds, and shivered again.

  This time not because of the cold.

  He didn’t respond.

  They shot away from the scene, leaving it far behind, heading back for Vladivostok. Slater adjusted his position resting against one of the hard-backed seats skewered into the deck. He squinted against the sea spray. Pain hung over him in a dark cloud. It took everything he had left in his body to keep himself awake. Because he knew if he fell asleep now, in such close proximity to a severe concussion, he might never wake up again.

  Slater said, ‘You think it’ll keep you up at night?’

  ‘It already did. What’s another couple dozen more dead men to add to it?’

  ‘You might feel like you have to do this forever, but you don’t.’

  ‘I don’t know whether to go back to Koh Tao.’

  ‘Why? You were happy there. Klara’s there.’

  ‘She doesn’t deserve this.’

  ‘Deserve what?’

  ‘The next time I get a call, my conscience won’t let me ignore it. Just like you knew it wouldn’t this time. That’s why you came to me.’

  ‘I’m sorry I did.’

  ‘No you’re not. And you shouldn’t be, anyway. Even Koh Tao wouldn’t be immune to what we just prevented.’

  ‘So you know it’s necessary. When it happens. If it happens.’

  ‘It’ll happen again. That’s the nature of the beast.’

  ‘Go off the grid. Like I did. If no-one can contact you, then you don’t have to help.’

  ‘That makes me just as responsible.’

  ‘Does it?’

  ‘She doesn’t deserve to have to live with the knowledge that I’ll end up getting myself killed one day. She thought I was done with the life. I did, too. But … things like this…’

  ‘So lie to her.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is that one of your rules?’

  ‘I don’t have any rules. I just do what I think is right.’

  ‘And it’s not right to make her happy?’

  ‘Blissful ignorance doesn’t count. Better to know the truth than be wrapped up in fantasy-land.’

  ‘And the truth is…?’

  ‘If I get another call like this, I won’t be able to resist.’

  ‘And why is that a burden for her?’

  ‘Because I’ll die. One day. My luck will just run out. And that’ll be that. And she’ll have spent years getting attached to someone who was too dumb to say no to putting their life on the line time and time again.’

  ‘You can’t resist responding to trouble,’ Slater said. ‘But that shouldn’t mean you live a miserable life. Think about what you’re saying. That means no relationships. No close connections of any kind. That’s not a life.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t deserve a life.’

  ‘So you’ll just keep wandering and wallow in self-pity and get wrapped up in carnage over and over again?’

  King paused, thought it through, then shook his head.

  ‘No. Klara would hate me even more if I did that.’

  ‘You care about her.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘It’s just … I didn’t know if it was going to last. That’s what I thought would bring you back. In the end.’

  ‘It’s going to last.’

  ‘Unless you run away.’

  ‘No,’ King said. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Good. You’re realising.’

  ‘But what do I tell her?’

  ‘What you said. The truth. But if I had to guess, I’d say she already knows that.’

  ‘I told her I was done. I believed it.’

  ‘Did she?’

  King opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t follow. He paused mid-thought, mulling, contemplating. Then he shrugged. ‘I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Maybe she didn’t.’

  ‘Seems like I know you better than you know yourself.’

  ‘Yeah, well … we’re the same person, aren’t we?’

  ‘Not quite.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve still got the fire inside you. Not after all that. You’ll be dealing with concussion symptoms for months. Surely that’s a sign to get out.’

  ‘I wouldn’t recognise a sign if it was staring me right in the face.’

  ‘Because your brain is scrambled.’

  ‘Even perfectly healthy. Same principle.’

  ‘Slater, I pulled you out of this shit once. I’m not going to do it again.’

  ‘I’m not asking for your help again.’

  ‘What if you run into something else like this?’

  ‘It’s done. It’s over. The Kamchatka crew are extinguished.’

  ‘There’s always more.’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘Rest up. Then keep doing the only thing I know.’

  ‘I thought the same thing. Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks. Took me long enough to realise it.’

  ‘Maybe you can,’ Slater mumbled.

  ‘You could if you tried.’

  ‘I don’t want to try.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because,’ Slater said, feeling every iota of the pain in his temples and the agony in his broken hand and the icy chill of the sea spray assaulting his clothing and the uncertainty of how he was going to sneak out of the Russian Far East in the aftermath of an international incident, ‘I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.’

  72

  He came back to consciousness, and it mirrored the sensation of fighting through mud.

  He sensed internal panic in the pit of his stomach even before his vision returned.

  You fell asleep, you moron.

  Now you’re dead.

  But he wasn’t dead. He was in a room outfitted in the style of a winter lodge, small and yet spacio
us at the same time. Every inch of floorspace had been maximised. Slater blinked twice, and realised he recognised the layout of the space.

  He’d stayed in an identical room a couple of days previously.

  But it felt like a lifetime ago.

  He blinked again. His head hurt.

  That was an understatement.

  His head seared with pain. He figured it would for quite some time. Maybe forever. Even lifting his skull a couple of inches off the pillow seemed like the most difficult burden of his life. So he maintained the exact position he’d woken in. He didn’t try moving. Because he sensed the threat had disappeared.

  They’d left it behind on the Mochnost icebreaker.

  Jason King sat with his elbows on his knees in the far corner of the room. A roaring log fireplace separated them. The only illumination in sight, casting flickering shadows off the walls. It was dark outside. Slater tilted the angle of his head and stared up through the grimy window, shut tight. A sea of stars draped the Russian Far East like a sparkling blanket.

  Saved from the sub-zero temperatures outside by the warmth of the fireplace, he turned his attention back to King.

  The man was watching him.

  ‘How long have I been out?’ Slater said.

  ‘Nine or ten hours. Any longer and I would have thought you’d gone into a coma.’

  ‘I probably almost did.’

  ‘The brain’s a strange thing. You never know how it’s going to react.’

  ‘Mine hasn’t reacted well.’

  ‘You should be dead. Or permanently disabled.’

  ‘Maybe I am.’

  ‘You’re not. You feel better than before, don’t you?’

  It was all relative, but as Slater adjusted himself in the bed, he had to concede the point. It was hell, but it wasn’t concentrated hell. Not like the disorientation aboard the icebreaker.

  ‘So you’ll heal. Eventually. But no-one knows how long it’ll take. Not even the specialists.’

  ‘You know that for a fact?’

  ‘They tested me in Black Force. Dozens of times.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Did they find anything?’

  ‘Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘That they mentioned.’

  ‘You ever think about that stuff?’ Slater said, his voice low in the silent room. ‘How we’ll end up in twenty years…’