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

sooner forget, or have nobody know about, but he’s one of the good guys.”

Beard nodded. “So, you’ll kill Botha?”

“I’ll question him,” Rashid said. “After that, we’ll have to see how it pans out.”

“But my contact was adamant,” Beard protested. “That’s the deal for giving him up. That’s the deal for the account number I gave you!”

“Come on,” Rashid said. He opened the door of the SUV and signalled across the street for Ramsay to follow. He turned back to the MI6 officer. “I never made a deal with the South African Secret Service.”

“But I did!” Beard protested. “I agreed that in return for any information the British intelligence services get from Botha, and for the account number they have already given up, Botha would be eliminated!”

“Well, you best live up to your end of the bargain,” Rashid said coldly.

43

 

Stockholm, Sweden

“So, no plans of the building?”

“No.” King fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Simon Grant. Grant unfolded it, frowned as he studied the drawing. “What?”

“You have kids?”

“No. Why?”

“I thought you were showing me something they’d scribbled out in nursery.”

“Nice.”

Grant handed it back. “I need better than that,” he said.

“Good. Seeing you don’t like my plan of the building, you can do a recce yourself.”

“When?”

King looked at his watch. “About an hour. Leave your car here, I don’t want you getting lost following me.”

Grant shook his head. “No. You follow me home. We’ll leave my car there to avoid suspicion. I can’t leave it here on school grounds. While I’m there, I’ll grab some tools.”

“Thought you were out of that game.”

“I am, but I have some tools that will get us in. We’ll go to Sodertalje to scout out the post office, have some dinner, go back after dark and do the job. After that, I’ll go back home, and we’ll never see each other again.”

King studied the man for a moment. He seemed tougher than when he had last seen him. Fresh out of prison, railroaded into working for London criminals and the IRA. Then coerced to work for MI6. King couldn’t blame him now. The man had long-thought he had been in the clear. Lived a good life in Sweden and had more to lose now than he ever had before. He had his freedom now, his wife, a grown-up son and another child. He had it all to lose, whereas before, he had lost everything and had it all to gain.

King already knew where Simon and Lisa Grant lived. He had checked before, knew more about the man than he would ever let on. There were many people King kept tabs on. Some were old friends he would consider being able to call upon in times of need. Others were people he had given the benefit of the doubt to. It never hurt to keep your friends close and your enemies closer. And then there were the people who were connected to fallen comrades. He never visited them, many would not even be aware he even existed. But he had bestowed acts of kindness upon them from time to time in one form or another. He had started this life almost twenty-years ago, drawn into a fight with a group of Royal Marines in a drinking den in Portsmouth. That night had changed his life. Two men had been killed in a savage brawl and King had fled, only to be captured and tried for murder. His recruiter and MI6 trainer, Peter Stewart, had arranged for his escape, provided the body of a homeless man, who had died of hypothermia on a London street, to be substituted for King in a bog on Dartmoor and Mark Jeffries had ceased to exist. And good riddance to him. A brawler, a chancer and a troublemaker. Alex King had been born, as he had been whisked away that night, and became a better man. He had learned much over the years, but he couldn’t forget, and he had made regular payments to the families of those two dead soldiers ever since.

His penance.

Simon Grant had picked up his things and met King in his hire car around the street corner twenty-minutes later. King did not ask if he had spoken to his wife, although he suspected he had. That was Grant’s business, and they were not exactly buddies. The drive southwest to Sodertalje was both quiet and taken up by early weekend traffic out of Stockholm. King checked his watch regularly, imperative they arrive at the post office with enough time for Grant to check out the inside of the building. When they arrived in Sodertalje they had forty-minutes to spare. King drove around the block twice, checking where he had thought he saw a curtain twitch all those weeks ago. The house had a for rent sign outside it. He guessed it had been rented solely to act as an observation position to watch King take delivery of the package which would change his life. And Caroline’s too.

Simon Grant had walked into the post office ten-minutes before. He was enquiring on the premise of setting up a safe box before he set about travelling throughout Sweden. Somewhere to keep his tickets, credit cards he didn’t plan on using, his passport even. With any luck he would get a quick tour of what facilities they had, terms and conditions, even what security they provided.

King could see the entrance to the post office, saw Grant come outside at closing time. He carried what looked like a folded brochure and an envelope. He walked unhurriedly, apparently without a care. King knew the man would have much on his mind, not least the situation he now found himself in, but he would be concentrating on the layout, committing it to memory.

Grant reached the car and got inside.