by Matt Rogers
‘Best not to think about it.’
‘We’ve done a lot,’ Slater said. ‘A hell of a lot.’
‘I’ve done enough.’
‘You keep saying that. But you keep coming back.’
‘You didn’t give me much of a choice.’
‘So how do things unfold from here? What if I run into another situation like this?’
‘Then you handle it on your own.’
‘And if I can’t?’
‘Then you walk away.’
‘And if I can’t do either of those things?’
‘Then you kill yourself.’
Slater blinked, wondering if he’d heard King correctly. ‘What?’
‘You’ve been in and out of unconsciousness for half a day. It’s given me a lot of time to think.’
‘And…?’
‘I’m done. Completely done. I don’t want to ever hear from you again.’
‘Because you think I’m a bad influence?’
‘Not a bad one. You needed me now, and it was noble. You wanted to wipe out the vermin left around the peninsula. I get it. And we ended up pulling off that shit at the shipbuilding plant, too. Imagine if I didn’t come. Imagine if you never found this.’
‘I was going to find it,’ Slater said. ‘One way or another.’
‘Because you’ve still got the fire inside you.’
‘You keep saying you don’t anymore. But how can you do what you did on the icebreaker without the fire? How is it even possible to kill without it? I’ve always had it.’
‘Mine went out. I can’t describe it. Neither can you, and I know it. Fire is the closest thing we can think of. But it’s that burning desire to never stop. To keep moving forward. To jump from problem to problem. Leave us in one place with nothing to do for too long and we’ll go insane.’
‘But you were on Koh Tao,’ Slater said. ‘For almost a year.’
King nodded. ‘It’s out, Slater. And it didn’t come back. I don’t think it ever will.’
‘What does it mean? Long-term?’
‘I don’t know. I killed all those men without the motivation to do it. It cost me a lot. In terms of mental capacity. I’m spent. And I don’t want to do anything other than go back to that tropical island and live out the rest of my days there. With Klara.’
‘But if she knows that there’s the possibility—’
‘There is no possibility. Not anymore. I’m not doing it anymore, Will.’
‘What if I call, and a guy has his finger on the trigger of a dirty bomb that’ll kill thousands of people, and the only way I can stop it in time is to—’
‘Give me all the hypotheticals you want,’ King said. ‘I won’t pick up the phone.’
Slater nodded. ‘I guess I can’t understand. Because I don’t know what it feels like when the flame goes out.’
‘You think it ever will?’
‘I’m younger than you, aren’t I?’
‘Not by much. Not enough for it to matter.’
‘And I think that’s the difference between you and me.’
King raised an eyebrow.
‘I don’t think my fire will ever go out.’
‘It’s hardwired in?’
‘I think so.’
‘I thought so, too.’
‘We’re not the same, King. You’re done. I’m not. This concussion will put me out for weeks, maybe months. And then I’ll jump right back in again.’
‘You enjoy it?’
‘I can’t explain it. You know what I’m talking about better than anyone else.’
‘If you stop, you’ll start to think about your life.’
‘And that’s something I really don’t want to do.’
‘The girl. Was she important to you?’
‘It was getting there.’
‘How long had you known her?’
‘Only half a day.’
‘Still the ladies man, I see.’
‘Less than before.’
‘You thought there might have been something there?’
‘Maybe. Down the line. I speculated. Turns out it doesn’t matter, because she’s hanging from the ceiling of a concrete bunker.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Slater shrugged. ‘It’s the life, isn’t it?’
‘That’s why you should take my advice. Follow my example. Get out.’
‘Then who’s going to stop the next incident?’
‘There’s always someone else.’
‘Not like us.’
‘That’s bordering on arrogant.’
‘Don’t you understand what we just did?’
‘I’m fully aware of what we just did. I won’t forget it for the rest of my life.’
‘Because the fire wasn’t there? So it made you feel terrible?’
‘I feel like a mass murderer.’
‘You shouldn’t.’
‘Thanks for the advice.’
Slater said, ‘Fuck advice. Nothing I say to you is going to change how you feel. Nothing you say to me is going to change how I feel. We’re two broken minds who happen to be very good at what we do. And we deal with it in different ways. And that’s all it’s ever going to be. Nothing else to talk about. And I can see the change you’re talking about in your eyes. They’re different. They’re not as intense. You really, truly don’t want to do this anymore. So get yourself back to Koh Tao, and stay there. And I’ll rest here and hit the road.’
King nodded solemnly. Deep in thought.
Slater said, ‘On that note … where is here? I think I have an idea.’
‘I’ve been following you since you left the bar. Figured I’d bring you back here. Seems like you formed a bond with the barman over something. I didn’t push it. Not my job to be nosy…’
‘She was taken,’ Slater said. ‘From here.’
King bowed his head. ‘Right.’
‘Alexei tried to stop them.’
‘He’s grateful that you didn’t go to the police.’
‘Does he know what we did?’
‘No. But I paid him fifty thousand dollars for his loyalty.’
‘You did what?’
‘I offered. He didn’t ask. It’s worth it to be safe. I figured the fastest way to get him on our side was to buy his loyalty. I probably didn’t need to. He already spoke fondly of you. He helped me carry you upstairs. So you’ve got this room for as long as you need. And he promises to hide you and feed you until you’re better. No matter what the television says happened in Vladivostok. And then you can carry on your way.’
‘And you?’
‘I’m leaving.’
‘How will you get out of—?’
King held up a hand. ‘Maybe it’s best we don’t talk about specifics. In case one of us runs into trouble. That way we truly don’t know where the other person is. If it comes to that.’
‘But I’m right here. And you know I’m not moving for a long time.’
‘But my mind is bulletproof,’ King said. ‘So there’s no risk of them finding out where you are.’
‘And mine isn’t?’
‘We’re close. But I don’t know you that well. I don’t know you down to your core.’
‘Have a guess.’
‘I’d guess there’s nothing to worry about.’
‘Good.’
King said, ‘What will you do?’
‘After this?’
King nodded.
‘Walk around. Put my nose where it doesn’t belong. That always leads to something. You know how it is.’
King nodded again.
He said, ‘I’d recommend you get out while you still can, but I know you won’t listen to me.’
‘Would you have listened when you had your own fire?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then let me do my thing.’
‘Go for your life.’
King got to his feet. There was something final about it. Something symbolic.
‘Don’t call, Slater,’ he said. �
��Even if the world’s ending. Because my world ends if you call.’
Slater said nothing. Just nodded.
King said, ‘Do you think I’m selfish?’
‘No,’ Slater said. ‘I think you’re done. For good.’
King nodded, and turned toward the doorway.
Slater said, ‘For now.’
King turned back and rolled his eyes. ‘Give me a break.’
‘I don’t know how you’ll feel a year from now. And you can say you do, but you really don’t. Deep down in your core. You haven’t got the faintest clue. Because we’re similar in more ways than you think. And I know me. Which means I know you.’
Now, King didn’t respond.
Just nodded.
‘You’re like the reckless younger brother I never had,’ he said. ‘Always trying to drag me back.’
‘If I’m the younger brother, then we have the same blood.’
‘Maybe.’
After a long pause, Slater said, ‘Be seeing you?’
King just looked at him.
Then he left.
Strode through the doorway and disappeared.
Nothing grandiose about it.
One second there, then gone the next.
Vanishing into the shadows, without a trace.
Slater knew where to find him. He hadn’t a clue if King would answer when he called.
But he figured he would need to call. Eventually. Because as he settled back into the pillows in the corner of the empty room and watched the light from the fireside dance across the ceiling, he realised he was destined to seek confrontation until the day he died. Whether that be three weeks, three years, or three decades from now. The warmth of the small wood-panelled room comforted him like a warm blanket.
He would stay here for as long as he needed.
Days.
Weeks.
Months.
Until the headaches disappeared. Until he returned to his normal self. Maybe he would ease back into training when the concussion started to recede. He could probably strike a deal with the owner of the combat gym on the outskirts of Vladivostok. Sneak out in the dead of night and train until his lungs screamed for mercy, concealed by the shadows as all of Russia bristled with conflict.
Because certain details would leak in the coming days. King would make sure of that. A grand conspiracy aboard a nuclear-powered icebreaker. A disgraced politician with a twisted, broken, nihilistic mind. A pair of Mikhailov brothers with profit set to the highest priority and no limits to their depravity.
And a woman.
A worker at the Medved Shipbuilding Plant.
Swallowed up by the evil side of the bear.
There was no justice. Ruslan and Iosif had died grotesquely, painfully, but it didn’t bring Natasha back. She’d still suffered the same fate. For no good reason.
Dead at the hands of a sociopathic businessman with more money than he knew what to do with.
The bear had been hungry in Vladivostok.
Slater closed his eyes, trying his hardest to forget. But he never would.
Inside, his own fire raged.
It always would.
Bonus: The Hidden
A Will Slater Black Force Short
Go back in time to the foundations of Slater’s career…
1
Will Slater took one look through the entranceway to the cocktail lounge and figured, at twenty-three years of age, he probably didn’t mesh with the typical Friday night crowd. Mood lighting covered the interior in a dark hue, and the soft jazz filtering through the air had a relaxing undercurrent. Not the sort of scene a man who should be fresh out of college would eagerly dive into.
Then again, he was not a normal twenty-three year old.
So he stepped across the threshold without a second thought, exchanging a brief nod with the broad-shouldered bouncer manning the door. The guy didn’t even think about asking for identification, and Slater hadn’t expected him to. Something about working for a black operations division of the U.S. military charged him with a confidence that couldn’t be faked. He kept his chin held high and his shoulders back. It hadn’t even crossed the bouncer’s mind that Slater could be underage.
Slater certainly didn’t look twenty-three.
The last six months of his life had consisted of such utter madness, such indescribable carnage with no end in sight, that he felt right at home mingling with an overwhelmingly older crowd. Any kind of social awkwardness or hesitation had been rudely stripped away. Slater had come to embrace the strangeness of life, and in the brief periods of downtime he’d received over the last half-year he’d thrown himself in the deep end, seizing every opportunity that came his way, even if it made him uncomfortable.
So he had no qualms about approaching the two women sitting across from each other on bar stools in the far corner of the room.
No-one glanced at him twice as he made his way through the lounge. He passed broad leather armchairs arranged stylistically in tight groups, most of them occupied by wealthier types. This was a socialite’s haven, which explained the attractiveness of the women by the bar. They appeared to be the only people in the room roughly similar to Slater in age. He put them at no older than twenty-five. Strangely enough, it took him a moment to realise that he was probably wealthier than half the people in this room, even though most of them were three times his age.
Black operations paid handsomely and offered impressive rewards if you survived the job.
Which was no easy task.
Slater opted to ignore the nagging aches and pains in his body from the last three consecutive operations. Nevertheless, he took them as a sign of achievement. He shouldn’t have survived any of the situations he’d found himself in.
Which added confidence to his psyche.
Which seeped through into his abilities.
Which made him a better soldier.
The effect of compounding.
If he strode into a situation without a shadow of a doubt that he would succeed, the sheer mental edge often swayed results in his favour. The battlefield had taught him that. But he was starting to learn that it also applied to almost anything in life.
Namely, most social encounters…
Slater stopped alongside the two women and rested both elbows on the countertop, an enormous slab of polished wood with accompanying downlighting to accentuate the shadows of the giant bar. He was in shape, and he didn’t feel the need to hide it. Men in this cocktail lounge had probably spent thousands of dollars on designer clothes to hide their flabby physiques and the fat running around their mid-sections. The benefit of putting yourself through a fitness regime that most Olympic athletes would frown at, Slater had realised, was being able to dress in a twenty-dollar long-sleeved shirt and attract as much attention as one desired.
He noticed the women studying him out of the corner of his eye as he ordered a glass of eighteen-year-old Macallan, on the rocks.
‘That’ll be fifty dollars,’ the bartender warned.
‘Think I would have ordered it if I didn’t know that?’ he snapped.
‘Just checking.’
‘Fair enough.’
As the bartender set to work making the beverage, Slater figured he’d overreacted and made a mental note to correct the situation. When the man passed the drink across, Slater slid him seventy dollars cash with a knowing nod. The guy smiled, nodded back, and pocketed the change.
Strangely enough, Slater found himself stunned that he’d been so curt in the first place. It had been an astonishing six months, a whirlwind of solo operations — three missions, back to back to back — that had pushed him to his physical and mental limits. Each time he’d crawled out of the pit of war with his body barely held together. Each time he’d been patched back up and returned to the fray.
Hence his presence in Chicago.
He needed a break.
He needed rest and recuperation and some semblance of peace for a couple of weeks if he was going to do th
is job for the rest of his life.
Which he fully intended to do.
So he didn’t even hesitate in turning to the pair of women and flashing a grin of pearly white teeth. Thankfully, although he’d been beaten to a pulp in every other way, he’d kept the workings of his mouth flawless. He assumed fake teeth would come in future if he maintained his current pace. He’d take it all in stride. Just as he’d handled everything in the last half-year.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Figured I’d introduce myself. Will Slater.’
He shook each of their hands in turn, applying just enough firm pressure to let them know he meant business. The woman closest to him seemed to be the elder of the two, although she couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than Slater. Physically, she was stunning — model calibre at the very least, with an expensive black dress hanging off a slender frame and a long flowing mane of golden hair. The other woman was a redhead, slightly shorter with a more curvaceous physique. She seemed in impeccable shape — Slater figured she lifted weights religiously. He found that even more attractive.
‘You’re forward, aren’t you?’ the taller of the pair said.
Slater eyed the empty cocktail glass on the countertop in front of her and noticed the warm glint in her eyes. She’d had a couple of drinks to take the edge off.
He shrugged. ‘I think we’re the only people in here under the age of fifty.’
They both laughed.
‘Bit of an exaggeration,’ the redhead said.
Slater cast a quick look over his shoulder. ‘Not really.’
‘What are you doing here, then?’ the taller one said. ‘If it’s not your crowd.’
‘Did I say it wasn’t my crowd?’
‘You seem to think we shouldn’t be here.’
‘You’re both single?’ Slater said.
‘Cutting right to the chase, aren’t you?’ the redhead said, but she was grinning devilishly.
‘Well,’ Slater said, sensing his opportunity, ‘I just figured — why else would you be here?’
‘We’re both single.’
‘Looking for a guy with money?’
‘You’re not supposed to say things like that to people you’ve only just met.’
