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

who had set him on this course, held the woman he loved as his stake in her wicked game. He edged out of the treeline, kept within the shadows and moved behind the shot-up Mercedes. One of the Russian’s lay dead at his feet, and he tucked the pistol into his waistband and picked up the AK47. He crouched low, listened. The Italians and Russians only shared one common language, spoke English in thick accents, one slowly, commanding, the other desperate. King edged out, saw the mafia boss towering above the kneeling Russian. A coat draped over his shoulders, like a mafia Don from the fifties.

“Where is your man who attacked me? Where is the dog who did this?” Luca Fortez asked, his tone cold and impatient. He wore a sling on his arm, his shirt ripped open, a large dressing taped over the bullet wound and clearly visible underneath.

“Again, I know nothing of any attack!” Nikolai spat at him.

Fortez looked at the man who had been looking at him for confirmation. He shook his head at the man holding the prisoner’s head under the water. He watched as the struggling Russian slowed his movements, then ceased altogether. The mafia boss walked to the prisoners. He nodded to the man in the water and he dutifully pulled the next terrified man under. Fortez looked down at the man beside him. “You will be next. After your friend has died, you will feel his pain, feel his loss. You will breathe the water through your lungs as if it were air, your life will play out before your eyes and you will wish you told me everything. Do you understand? Now, tell me,” he paused. “Where is the man your pig of a boss sent to kill me?”

The man was panicked, could not get his words out quickly enough. “I… know… nothing… of… an… attack!” He looked at the struggling man beside him, then back at the man above him. “Please! Bring him up!”

“Then tell me about the attack!” Luca barked at him. “Tell me what you know!”

The man slowed, and like his colleague, stopped moving altogether. The man looked at Luca Fortez desperately.

“Please!”

“Tell me!”

“I don’t know of any attack!” he screamed. “You had a deal with my boss! We were going to work for you on something! I don’t know of any attack, it doesn’t make sense!”

Luca nodded, and the man was pulled backwards. The men at his feet gripped tightly, making themselves ready.

“No! No…” the man’s screams were cut off by a deep gargle and the thrashing of his limbs in the water.

Luca turned to Nikolai, unconcerned for the dying man and his struggle. “Tell me, tell me now.”

“You stupid fucking wop! You have been told! There was no attack!” he screamed at him. “Not by us!”

Luca turned and watched the struggle until the man lay as still as the other two bodies. He stared at the scene for a moment, then looked at the man in the water. He said something in Italian and the man pulled both remaining guards into the water, catching the men holding their legs by surprise. They held on tightly as the men struggled and splashed and fought desperately, but futilely for their lives.

King looked on. He edged backwards, another body behind him, another AK lying on the ground. This time the weapon was an AK74. It fired a lighter 5.45x39mm round, technically less powerful than the AK47, but designed to be so, as the bullet was designed not to deform or fragment, but to yaw and create cavitation, or simply put: would tumble after penetration and cause more damage than a through and through shot from the 7.62x39mm round. He preferred the weapon, because it had less recoil and was easier to control. He looked back at the pool, the gathering of relaxed men watching the grisly scene, their leader undefeated, invulnerable in battle, merciless in his victory. The snipers, such as they were, rested on their rifles. King had felt anger at being pushed into this, rage at being used as a pawn in another person’s game, but as he looked on, he felt contempt for the woman he now served. He had lost sight of what he was doing. He was so busy doing her bidding effectively, he had not stopped to ask himself why. Why? Why did she want these Russian mafia men dead? He thought back to the forest in France, the dead man’s wife at the farmhouse. Helena Milankovitch wasn’t just someone out for revenge for something in her past, she was working towards a future.

A future with these men removed from it.

King couldn’t check the magazine of either weapon without making a noise. The AK rifle was a tool. A reliable tool you could count on, but it wasn’t a supremely manufactured firearm intended for the range and competitions. For civilian shooters to coo over and upgrade with match-grade precision parts. It was hardy and rustic and worked. It was noisy and metallic in its operation, and that was without even firing it. King looked on. The men were drowning, and there wasn’t anything he could do for them, and nor did he want to. They were men of the sword. They knew the score. But as he looked at the Russian brotherhood boss on his knees, he saw then a man who was merely a target.

He saw a link.

A link to the woman who had come crashing into his life and torn it apart.

King backed away, gave himself a better field of vision. He hoped the two weapons held enough rounds to do the job. He brought the AK47 up to his shoulder and tightened his finger on the trigger.

30

Georgia

She was exhausted. She had tried to keep her eyes open, but there was no fighting it. The coffee hadn’t