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

whipped out. The bodyguard fell flat on his back, let out a gasp as he was winded, the chair on top of him, with King standing on the chair, legs apart and balancing like a surfer on a wave. King dropped down, drove the blade deep into the man’s trachea. At the point where the breastbone met the throat. He dropped all his weight onto it, pressed so deeply the hilt went into the wound. The man gargled and gasped, but with each intake of breath, he took more blood into his lungs. King side-stepped the chair, keeping a grip on the knife. The man’s eyes had glazed, his movements minimal. King gave the knife a twist as he pulled it clear and the blood flow more than doubled. The man was gone, his body just going through the motions. He wasn’t breathing now, and as King wiped the blade on the man’s jacket, he could tell that he was circling the drain. He stood up, turned and surveyed the scene. Nikolai was still caught up in the frame of the table, he was whimpering, had been watching intently, no doubt praying his man would win.

King bent down and checked the Uzi. The breach showed a round. He dropped the magazine and saw he only had the one bullet. He turned to Nikolai, kept the weapon trained on him.

“So much for appealing to your better nature,” King said. “Where else gets the signal? The police? Rescue services? That’s what those watches are for.”

“Just my security.”

King smiled. He glanced at his own vintage Rolex. He was merely estimating how long it would take to get clear of the villa. “Now I know you’re lying,” he said. “You’re desperate enough to chance the local police. Well, I’ll tell you now, they’re being paid off by Luca Fortez.”

“We’ll see,” said Nikolai. “Maybe their payments will stop now you’ve killed their meal ticket. Maybe they’ll want to get even with you? Maybe they’ll accept a deal from me?”

“Who else raped Helena Milankovitch?”

The Russian tried to move, but the glass was cutting into him badly, and his knee was beyond grinning and bearing it as he got out of the mess of twisted metal and broken glass. He looked back at King. He was beaten, and King knew it. What’s more, he knew King knew it as well.

“Okay… Just help me out.”

King put his foot against the frame, held out his hand and when the Russian took it, he heaved him out and spun him over into the deep chair. Nikolai cursed and yelled. He was as pale as a sheet, and he panted deep breaths to get through the pain, like a woman in labour.

“Who else is she wanting revenge on?”

“It’s hazy, you know… There was a guy called Dimitri Romanovitch. He got out of the brotherhood. Started a series of businesses, legitimate ones. But once a Bratva, always a Bratva. He’ll have done things to get where he is now.”

“Who else?”

Nikolai glanced at his watch. King raised the machine pistol and the Russian looked back at him. He shrugged. “It won’t do you any good.” He smirked. “You may have killed Sergeyev, you may well kill me. You can kill Romanovitch if you like. But you won’t get near the other man.”

“Who is it?”

Nikolai smiled. “Oh, what a place the new Russia is. Like the Wild West, no? A man can do as he pleases. He can kill, have blood on his hands. He can take a man’s property, business, empire even. And then what? When he has taken what he wants, what then? When is enough? Enough is a word some people have no understanding of. Enough is not even a word to a man like that.”

King stared at the man. He was no longer the big, powerful mafia boss, leader of one of the most ruthless brotherhoods to emerge from behind the Iron Curtain. He looked broken, desperate. King knew he was biding his time. “I’m getting my fiancé back from Helena. I’ll do it with or without your indulgence. So, another guy on her list is going to be difficult to get to. I get it. But I got to Sergeyev, and I got to you.”

“You have no idea!” Nikolai spat at him. “You don’t know what you’re up against! You think you can fuck about in the shadows? Think again!”

“Who, then?” King snapped. “Who else raped her?”

“The fucking president, that’s who!” Nikolai laughed and wiped a tear from his eye. He looked faint with the pain he was suffering, but the tear could well have been from the laugh. It seemed heart-felt and genuine. “Helena Milankovitch is just warming you up! Have you got a way to the president? Can you take on a million soldiers? Two million reserves?” Nikolai laughed again, he seemed delirious. He had either accepted his fate or was plaintively unaware that he was both crippled without medical attention, or at the very least, losing blood from the lacerations over his back, neck and legs. “Forget it! Forget your lover. Move on, it’s done. You won’t get to the new president of Russia! Just accept that you have lost, and Helena will kill your fiancé. Hopefully swiftly, but I doubt it…”

King squeezed the trigger and stopped the Russian mid-sentence. He sagged, his head lolling onto his chest like he’d fallen asleep. King glanced at his watch again. He estimated another five minutes before the police arrived in response to the GPS signal and recorded message they would have received from the tracker inside the Breitling watch. He was already packed, estimated he would be clear of the property inside three minutes.

33

 

London

 

Rashid had taken a run around the Thames, estimated it at five-miles and finished up sprinting at full pace back over Westminster Bridge. He had showered and