The Alex King Series, A BATEMAN [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

than now, not for one man with relatively few resources. He had resigned himself to thinking the plan was fluid at best, unrealistic and doomed to failure at worst. No, at worst it would be the death of him. But he didn’t fear death. He didn’t want to die, but he was not scared of dying. He had finally compartmentalised the emotion. What he feared was not fulfilling his objective. And now, as he started to get into the mindset of the task, it was no different. Ultimately, Caroline’s freedom, her life, would be on the line. But he couldn’t be blinkered by this, he needed to set himself objectives, process steps for the task. A to B to C. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He looked at his watch, figured he had time for a swim. The water and exercise would help him calm and finalise his plan. He stepped through the open glass doors and out onto the patio. The pool glistened in the late afternoon sunshine, the garden taking on shadows as the sun moved past the top of the mountain and warmed the western slopes of olives and grapes and tended meadows. King looked to the east, miles of pine forest mountain slopes, interspersed with the odd church spire or farmhouse.

The water was cool on his skin and he enjoyed the sensation as he swam the first two lengths underwater. He rose to the surface and settled into a crawl and got his rhythm, tumble-turning as he reached the side every ten strokes. He stopped after twenty lengths, pushed backwards and floated on his back, regretting it almost instantly as a persistent horsefly shadowed him, buzzed in front of his eyes and bit his cheek. He got to his feet and fended off other attacks. There were four or five of the insects in all, and they were going to town on him. The bites hurt as much as wasp stings, but the pain thankfully dispersed within seconds. It was both painful and annoying, to say the least. King dived under the water, flipped onto his back and blew through his nose to avoid taking water into his sinuses. He could see the insects buzzing above him, flitting on the surface. He spun, swam and pushed himself up when he reached the side. The flies were coming in again, and he flicked his towel at them as he made his way back up the lawns to the patio. He wondered if other villas in the mountains suffered the same infestations. The mountains were heavily forested, and villas had been constructed amid the wild land, without other habitation or amenities. He knew about the wild boars, had seen some crossing the lane on his way down to the villa. He had seen some sort of mountain goat on an impossibly steep, practically vertical mountainside on his drive down into town. He wondered what other wild animals lurked on the edge of his fenced-off and well-tended gardens.

King showered the chlorine from the swimming pool off his body with cold water, but did not use soap or shampoo, and when he towelled himself dry, he did not apply deodorant either. He would be infiltrating a hostile environment and knew the importance of keeping a neutral odour. Likewise, when he ate a small meal of bread, tomatoes, cheese and prosciutto, he chose not to eat the garlic and chilli olives he had bought earlier. He took his meal on the patio, drinking plenty of iced water and picking at the food as he looked out across the beautiful countryside.

It was the sort of place he would have loved to come to with Caroline. The hills, the mountains and forests, the idyllic mountain towns with its bars and restaurants, the ice cream and gelato parlours. The kind of delis and bakeries and butcher shops where Caroline would shop and prepare delicious meals for them both as they talked and read and watched the sun go down over the Mediterranean. He couldn’t help longing for her, wishing he had not left her to hunt down a cold and callous killer, or that he had not wasted time exacting revenge for a family caught up in someone’s agenda. If only he had stayed with her…

King pushed his plate aside. He was feeling wild and aggressive. He knew the task that lay ahead of him, and he breathed deeply to calm himself. He wanted to hurt the person behind this, but he did not want to lose control and fail. His target tonight was a clinical process, part of an equation which would ultimately lead to getting nearer to Caroline. That was the objective. Not getting even, and certainly not exacting revenge. That had been his downfall. He would learn. He would learn too, from his mistake in France. He had underestimated the ego and vindictiveness of the Russian mafia boss. Again, Rashid, who he had put in place for backup, had fluidly worked with events and saved his backside.

The target tonight was a cold and ruthless killer. A man surrounded by his own security. Those men would be armed, and King doubted the local law enforcement would turn anything but a blind eye. He had seen evidence of this at the town of Monteverdi Marittimo.

King would learn not only from his mistake in France, but from his enemy. Collateral damage was a phrase used by people behind the decisions to use lethal force. King found the phrase abhorrent. It had always been something he fought stridently against and tried to avoid. He had even hung onto his job when the new MI5 director was appointed by vehemently arguing the pros of a man on the ground against the cons of missile strikes by drones. He felt a hypocrite now, because tonight there would be people forming collateral damage in his plan. All he could hope for was that they remained unpunished from previous crimes. He would do his