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

with Sergeyev once. They were enforcers for the Bratva. They worked along the Black Sea resorts at the same time Helena Milankovitch was there.”

“Coincidence,” Rashid countered. “All these Russian shits know each other. And they move on each other’s territory all the time. They’re backstabbers. Just because they are both dead, it doesn’t mean King had anything to do with it. It’s a dangerous lifestyle.”

“CCTV showed King was there.”

“Where?”

“This Monteverdi place.”

“So?”

“So, the man was there.”

Rashid shrugged. “He was there, big deal! A lot of people would have been there. It’s Tuscany. It’s a popular tourist spot. Half the middle-classes go there to drink prosecco and become cultured twats for a weekend. See some shitty leaning tower and reflect how good it is that the all the chavs still go to the Costas.”

“You’re a loyal friend.”

“Only type of friend in my book,” Rashid said, glaring at him. “Unless they have footage of King popping some guy in the head, deny it and move on.”

“Now, look here…”

“Deny it!” Rashid shouted, interrupting him. “And move on… Caroline is in trouble and King is working the angles, the only way he knows how. He’s buying her time.”

“And we’re looking for Helena. To find Caroline,” Ramsay protested. “Find Helena, find Caroline. That was your input, I’ll remind you!”

“Stop!” Marnie shouted. She stood up and walked over, hovering between them. “Let’s take a moment. We have her secret bank account. We have traceability, a link that she paid a South African government agent to set up his colleague and organise a hit. In doing so, he endangered a British government agent. But what use is all that? Botha is dead. There’s no material witnesses and nobody to prosecute. The South African’s aren’t going to come forward because they passed up one of their own. Had us do the dirty work in return for questioning him and gaining access to his computer. This investigation has dried up. We need to concentrate on location. And we have that with this place in Georgia. A location where Helena’s laptop has been recently.”

Ramsay considered this for a moment. He placed his coffee cup down on the table and looked at Rashid. “Have you heard from King?”

“No,” he lied.

“And do you think Georgia is the next logical step?”

Rashid nodded. “I do. We know Helena was in Sweden, and we know that King went there, as instructed in the letter. But we don’t know what happened in Georgia, or how important it is, but if the laptop was there, the IP address used, then we need to check it out.”

Ramsay turned to Marnie. “All right then, cancel the tickets to Stockholm. Get us on the next flight you can find to Tbilisi. Unless there’s somewhere closer?” he paused thoughtfully, looking at his watch. “Okay. Let’s meet downstairs for breakfast in half an hour. That will give you enough time to get some tickets booked. I’ll check in with Thames House, let Simon Mereweather know what our next line in investigation is.” He walked to the door, let himself out as Rashid finished his cup of tea.

Rashid drained the remnants, placed his cup down on the table and smiled. “Close?”

“Close.”

“Well, I’m glad he went for Georgia,” he said.

“It would have been awkward telling him I’d already bought them,” she smiled. “God, I was worried, began to wish I hadn’t listened to you.”

“I’m glad you did.”

She walked over to him, stood barely half a pace away. “Well, you were extremely persuasive…”

Rashid moved in close, bent down and kissed her. She responded, her tongue slipping inside his mouth, both searching. She pulled away first. “Oh god,” she said. “You’ve made me cheat on my fiancé!”

“I haven’t made you do anything. You wanted to. You just didn’t know it until last night.”

Marnie sighed and nodded. “Neil said half an hour,” she said. “And I’ve already bought three tickets to Tbilisi.”

Rashid wrapped his hands around her and guided her to the bed. He gave her a firm shove and she fell backwards and giggled. “More than enough time,” he smiled. “For me, that is.”

“Great, just what every girl wants to hear…”

53

 

With no time difference between Sweden and France King arrived in Bordeaux International airport at a little after midnight. He cleared passport control quickly, and with just a carry-on leather overnight bag, he was through the airport and at the Hertz car hire desk within twenty-minutes of touching down.

He hadn’t slept on the flight, couldn’t remember the last time he had. He was tired but was comfortable driving the two-and-a-half-hour drive, stopping at a service station and truck stop for a pot of tea and some pastries just outside of Bayonne. Fuelled and quenched, he drove the Renault hire car to the furthest and quietest part of the car park, switched off, reclined the seat and fell asleep almost instantly.

He hadn’t slept well, waking each time a large articulated lorry activated its airbrakes manoeuvring at slow speeds at the fuel stop. But he had been tired, dropping back off to sleep almost as quickly as he had awoken. At seven he drove back to the service station and washed quickly in the filthy toilets, grabbing a cup of tea to go on his way out. He stopped at the tobacco kiosk and bought a gas lighter and a medium-sized flick-knife. He pocketed both. They were useful tools to have, although he hoped he wouldn’t need them. He only had around five miles to travel and figured that he would be early enough to catch her, but not too early as to descend upon her at an unsociable hour and risk finding her uncooperative at the intrusion. That was if she was still around, hadn’t been found or disappeared.

King parked the car just down from the chalet. He watched, waited