Alexander King Thriller Series: Books 1-3

by Bradley Wright

  “Can the sheriff figure out where Kuznetsov is staying under his Doctor Semenov alias?”

  “He probably already knows. You sure you want me to speed things up that much? Once Kuznetsov misses a check-in, they’re going to know something’s up. This will be my last night here.”

  “We are aware. You’ve got to find everything that is being hidden in Barrow tonight.”

  Zero to sixty. That’s the way it works most of the time in the spy game, as King had come to learn. For a year he was mostly dormant in London, then the shit hit the fan in one day. Seemed as though that was going to be the case here as well. But at least he didn’t have to spend a year in Alaska. On the other hand, Cali would have been a nice fire amongst all the snow.

  “I’ll call the sheriff and see if I can get to the virologist before he goes to Volkov tonight.”

  “I’ll work on getting you a plane.”

  “Hold on,” King said. Then he hit mute on the phone. “Cali?”

  Cali walked back into the main room. She was pulling her shirt down over her head. “Do I need a plane from the CIA tonight?”

  “It’s going down tonight?”

  King nodded.

  “No, you have a ride.”

  King unmuted the call. “Already got that taken care of. Anything else I should know?”

  “We just got word that a ton of people in a town called Atqasuk, about a hundred miles from you, have been mysteriously getting sick. So far it seems consistent with the other two town disasters. We have to stop this now or the next city will be in the continental United States. Even though it is awful to lose these people in these towns, at least it’s isolated. If this makes it into a spreadable area, the numbers will be catastrophic.”

  The news Director Lucas was laying on King was heavy. He’d been part of plenty of lifesaving missions in his day, but nothing like this. This was an intense amount of pressure. If he didn’t succeed tonight, it could be the disaster his country had been fearing for decades. In the back of his mind he hoped what he found would make all of this a big misunderstanding. That somehow they were getting it wrong and Kuznetsov wasn’t in on a scheme to harm the world. But with all that was going on in Barrow, coupled with the shit Sam was wading through in Moscow, it all seemed to be lining up. Someone was about to wage an invisible war from the shadows, and King needed to put a bright light on all of that darkness.

  “If that was a pep talk, you’re really bad at pep talks,” King said.

  “Probably so. Either way, gather what you can tonight and get the hell out of there. We might need you in Moscow if you’re up for more in the morning.”

  “It’s what I do.”

  “Good luck, son. The president and I have full faith in you and Sam.”

  “That was a little better. Maybe lead with that next time.”

  King ended the call and looked at Cali. “You mind giving Josiah a call. I’m going to need him.”

  “Not sure I can do anything until you put some pants on.”

  King’s mind had already moved past the fun and games. After the call with Director Lucas, he was locked in on the task at hand. “Tell him if he has a man he can trust that’s good with a gun, we could use him too.”

  Cali nodded and went for her phone.

  King did what he always did when the shit was getting real. He scrolled to Sam’s number on his phone and gave her a call.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Moscow, Russia, 9:52 p.m.

  Sam bit down on the leather belt between her teeth and pounded on the round wooden table she was sitting beside. She spoke with her teeth clamped to it. “Good God, Patrick! I asked you to remove a bullet, not dig through my bloody shoulder to China!”

  The small apartment smelled of rubbing alcohol and dried blood. Sam took another swig from the bottle of vodka the agent-in-place kept on hand.

  It wasn’t helping.

  “I’m not a surgeon, Sam. Doing the best I can.”

  Sam had met Patrick back at Langley a time or two. He seemed to be a nice enough man. He was a big guy, large broad shoulders, a full brown beard to match his fluffy brown hair. If it wasn’t for his last name, one would think he was Russian. Director Lucas had linked them up, and Sam drove straight to his apartment, after ditching the SUV for a more inconspicuous vehicle, of course, as well as picking up some essential supplies for the makeshift surgery.

  “Do better,” she said, just before chomping on the belt once again.

  The tools Patrick was forced to use were obviously not medical grade. And at the moment, it felt like the large set of tweezers he was digging insider her shoulder were scraping bone. Patrick had been a medic for the Army in a former life. How he went from medic to CIA agent was a story Sam had yet to hear.

  “Take another drink of vodka,” he said in a horrible Russian accent.

  “You think this is the time for humor, do you?” A bolt of pain zapped her shoulder as she watched him clamp the tweezers. “Ah! For fuck’s sake!” Sam spit out the belt. The bullet sliding out felt like a tooth with an unnaturally long root being extracted. But finally, as Patrick held up the bullet with a big, dumb, happy look on his face, the pain began to subside.

  “Proud of yourself, are you?” she said.

  “Is that a thank-you?”

  Sam pulled the second shot glass that sat a few feet away on the table over beside her own. As blood ran from the hole in her shoulder, she picked up the bottle of vodka and poured two shots. “No, this is. Cheers to you not killing me.”

  Patrick raised his glass, they clinked, then they both slugged back their shots. “God, this shit’s nasty.”

  “You sound like—” Sam stopped herself before the name Xander left her mouth. The two of them were still so close, at times she forgot people were still supposed to be think he was dead.

  “Who’s that?” Patrick said.

  “Never mind. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, I still have to get you stitched up.”

  Just as Sam was rolling her eyes, her phone began to ring. “Just sew it up while I’m on the phone. I need some sleep, so let’s get this done.”

  Patrick unwrapped the tampon from the box Sam had picked up. He told her a tampon was about the best thing for the wound because it would expand and stop everything up.

  Sam picked up her phone and answered. “Go ahead.”

  Alexander King’s voice came through. “How you holding up, old girl?”

  “I’ve been worse.”

  “They getting you fixed up?”

  Sam looked at Patrick. “You could say that. I’m assuming you aren’t calling just to see if the bullet was finally the end of me.”

  “No, you’re too stubborn to die from a measly gunshot wound. I just spoke with Lucas, I’m making a run at it tonight. Here in the next hour actually.”

  “He told me there was a new outbreak not far from you. You’d better get out of there before they infect Barrow just to leave no trace of evidence.”

  “I still can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Believe it, X. I’m fairly certain the vials Zhanna and I intercepted were headed for mass production. I have zero proof of that, it just seems the next logical step. Any info on mysterious things flying in and out of the airport there?”

  “Maybe.”

  She didn’t know why King didn’t elaborate, she just knew he couldn’t in that moment. Someone was listening who might be involved somehow. Years of spending weeks at a time with someone lends these types of intuitive powers.

  “Okay, no need for me to know as long as you do. But I do need to know what to do next after I get Zhanna and hopefully the two vials she had back.”

  “I’ll have a lot more information by the time morning comes for you.”

  Patrick slid the needle through her skin without warning. Sam grunted and gritted her teeth.

  “Yeah, sounds like you’re just fine, Sam,” King said with a laugh. “I’ll let you get to it. Talk soon.”r />
  Sam ended the call as Patrick laced her up. “Doing good, Sam. Almost finished.”

  “Try not to make my shoulder look like one of your American footballs, would you?”

  Patrick pulled the last thread, tied it off, and cut the stitch. “It won’t take much to reopen this, so try not to get into any fights.” His grin told her he knew that wasn’t possible.

  “That’s like telling a drunken Brit to lay off the gin.”

  Patrick poured for them this time. They clinked shot glasses again. “I’d tell you cheers in Russian, but who the hell knows what that is? And we’ll have to open this and restitch in the morning to take the tampon out.”

  “Glorious,” Sam said.

  Sam set down the glass, stood, and gave Patrick a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t finish that bottle. We’ve got business early.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Sam didn’t know a lot about Patrick. The only rumor running through the agency was that he had one hell of a temper. The teddy bear who’d just repaired her arm didn’t seem to match the chatter. As she slid into bed for a couple of quick hours, she prayed to the clandestine gods that she was wrong. She and Zhanna were going to need the grizzly bear instead.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Barrow, Alaska, 11:00 a.m.

  Josiah and King sat in the front of the sheriff’s personal truck. The snow was falling over the small town at one of the northernmost inhabited places on earth. Cali was in the backseat. She wasn’t happy that they were dropping her off, but this wasn’t the movies. Civilians don’t tag along on clandestine missions into the depths of danger. She handed King’s phone back to him.

  “I put my number in there. When you’re ready, I can be at the airport in ten minutes. Like I told you, I can wait there if you need me to.”

  King turned around in the seat. “No need for that. I have no idea how long this will take.”

  “All right. Guess I’ll just sit inside and think about earlier.”

  Even though Cali made a mood-lightening comment, he could see the concern in her eyes.

  “Jesus, really?” Josiah said. “I try for years and James Bond rolls into town and that’s it? Just like that?”

  Cali flashed Josiah a killer smile. “No hard feelings, Josie.”

  Then she took King’s face in her hands and gave him a long kiss. The last thing he wanted to do was leave her, but he had no choice.

  Cali finally let him go, forced a smile, then pulled her hood up over her head as she pushed the truck door open. The cold air blasted inside the warm interior. She was off to her front door without another word.

  “You lucky dog,” Josiah said as he put the truck in drive.

  King’s mind had already moved forward. “You said the lady you knew who rents the houses said Dr. Semenov’s, aka Dmitry Kuznetsov’s, place was just a mile down this road, right?”

  “Yep, be there in two minutes.”

  “Good. When you drop me off, head back to the station and wait for my call.”

  “No chance. You said he probably has people watching over him, right?”

  “More than likely,” King said.

  “Then I’m not leaving you there alone.”

  “Trust me, this is the easy part.”

  “Doesn’t matter, X. I told the president I was helping. That’s what I’ll do.”

  “No, you told the president you’d offer your services to me. After you drop me off, I no longer need your services. I don’t know your training. I can’t risk you messing up and red flags getting thrown up. I mean no offense, Josiah. But it’s safer for you and me if I go it alone. If Kuznetsov isn’t there, I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Then at least let me sit a block away. Let you know if I see anything funny. And that way I’ll be there when you’re finished without you having to wait around for any more trouble.”

  As much as King didn’t like it, Josiah’s proposal actually did make the most sense. Whether he could actually shoot, fight, or whatever else didn’t really matter if he was just the getaway driver.

  “Here we are,” Josiah said as he let off the gas.

  “No,” King said roughly. “Keep driving.”

  “You see something?” Josiah went back to the gas.

  “No, but you can’t drop me off right in front of the house. We’re not serving a warrant or questioning a witness here, bud. We don’t exist, remember?”

  “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  “Now you understand why I’m going alone. But you can wait right where you drop me off. The less movement we have the better.”

  “This apartment complex right here should be good.”

  “Yeah, that’ll work. Just pull under the covered parking. This may not be your police vehicle, but people around here still know your truck.”

  “Right. Good call.”

  Josiah pulled under a sheltered parking area. There were several other cars, all four-wheel drive, there as well, which was good for cover.

  “If I call, it means I’m in trouble. Otherwise, I’ll come straight back here when I’m finished.”

  “I’ll be ready. And I’ve got a good view of the road from here,” Josiah said, then squinted as he looked out the window. “Well, if the snow doesn’t get any heavier than this, that is.”

  It was near a whiteout as it was. King supposed that living here as long as Josiah had, maybe he had special ability to see through it. King wasn’t looking forward to getting out of the truck. But as far as that went, he didn’t remember the last time he wanted to walk into a dangerous situation under any circumstance. Want and need were two things he had become a lot better at differentiating. Except maybe, for instance, like with Cali. His want got the better of him there.

  “Be back shortly,” he told Josiah.

  “Be safe.”

  King did as Cali had a few moments ago and pulled his hood around his head. But as soon as he stepped outside into the subzero temperature, with frozen snow beating down on what little exposed skin he had on his face, he wasn’t sure the hood was any help at all. The cold moved through him like a fresh needle through the skin. Only ten times as sharp. His entire body shuddered as he ducked his head down and began the short walk diagonally across the street to the house that perhaps held clues on how to stop millions of people from dying.

  The only thing going through King’s mind, however, was whether or not his toes would be salvageable after this mission from the frostbite that would surely greet him at the end.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  King felt as if he were on a movie set as he walked toward the house where the infamous virologist was staying. The snow was coming down almost comically thick, as if a snow machine had gone faulty. However, there was no director there to yell cut, no matter how much King wished there was. He used to think the winters in Kentucky could have stretches where it seemed a frozen tundra. But he wouldn’t have that opinion any longer. Not after seeing, and feeling, what real cold was like.

  A man just being out for a walk in weather like this would send up red flags if someone were watching. There was no one on the roads at that point—and certainly no one but him dumb enough to be on foot. This being the case, as much as he wanted to head straight for Kuznetsov’s house, he walked right on by. He squinted through what seemed a blanket of white until he saw the street behind the house. He made a left there.

  King had been contemplating how to go about entering the house. There was a good chance Kuznetsov was there. According to his security pal Arnie, Kuznetsov mostly came in to work at night. Just like he had last night. Best-case scenario, King could get in, find Kuznetsov’s key card, and get out unnoticed. That way, he could head directly to Volkov and rush through to the secure room like a bull in a china shop, and then make a break for it. However, with the snow going the way it was, there would be no way Cali could fly him out of Barrow. That might be where the sheriff could actually help him. First things first, he needed the key card. The rest would have to wait.

>   King walked up to the back door. Visibility was only a few feet, so even finding the back door had been difficult. And he was lucky he could see even that well. If he wasn’t in the middle of the only two hours of the day with sunlight, he wouldn’t be able to see his hand in front of his face. A strong wind whipped through as he shielded his eyes to look through the window. He was looking into the kitchen. Sitting out on the countertop were some deli meat, mustard, cheese, and bread. Beside those things were a plate and knife. King eyed the rest of the room. No sign of Kuznetsov but he was clearly home. King would have to move to plan B.

  Just as King was about to reach for the back door on his left, his cell phone starting vibrating in his pocket. He almost let it go to voice mail. Instead, he crouched and pulled out the phone. It was a local number.

  “What is it?” King answered in a whisper.

  “A truck just drove by,” Josiah said. “I couldn’t see through the snow, so I pulled out behind it. They pulled into your driveway there. I’m parking now. I’ll come up the front!”

  “Just park and stay in the car. DO NOT come near this house. You understand?”

  “But I saw three guys getting out. You can’t—”

  “Stay in your truck!” he shouted in a whisper.

  King put away the phone. Though he didn’t need the small-town sheriff, the information he’d just relayed was extremely helpful. Instead of trying the back door, he walked around the side of the house toward the front. King had a knife in his right front pocket and his Glock tucked in a concealed hip holster—the same two friends he carried to every party of this sort.

  He rounded the front of the house. The three men were just being let inside.

  “Excuse me!” King shouted. “Little help here!”

  All three men jerked around at the same time. They didn’t pull any weapons, but King could tell by the way their hands instinctively moved toward their hips that they were packing. These men were clearly Kuznetsov’s protection detail. One of them shouted something back in Russian.