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

King watched the Audi approaching. He had chosen the stretch of road for its long approach in both directions. He hadn’t known which direction Helena would come from, but he knew the car. He had been adamant she tell him that. And so far, she was obeying his instructions. The Audi stopped. The lights flashed twice, and then it moved on slowly and steadily. No sudden movements or change in speed or direction. It entered the dusty and rocky layby and stopped. The road wound entirely around the top third of the mountain affording an uninterrupted view of the Black Sea. The layby would have made a wonderful vista stop. But not at this time of the morning. The rising sun was reaching the lower peaks, casting its golden hue on the sea and the town below. It was Sunday. And apart from two dedicated cyclists, intent on testing themselves against the challenges of the mountain pass, King had yet to see anyone else.

Helena got out of the car and as instructed, placed the keys on the ground. She took a step forward.

“That’s far enough!” King shouted. He held Romanovitch’s pistol by his side.

Helena kept on walking.

King raised the pistol.

“I said; that’s far enough!”

“Show me my sister.”

“Let me see Caroline.”

Helena swept a hand towards the car. It’s windows heavily tinted, and the windscreen taking the full glare of the rising sun. “See her for yourself…”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Don’t tell me how this works! I tell you how this works!”

“Go back to the car and bring her to me.”

“The same,” Helena replied. “I want to see my sister before this goes any further.”

Helena was fifty-metres from King and ten-metres from her car. King kept the pistol on her, but she was entirely unfazed.

King had never felt fear, nor anticipation like this. He was so close to getting Caroline back safely. He just had to remember he was dealing with Helena. It was like petting a cobra.

“Don’t move,” said King.

He edged backwards to the car and opened the boot-lid. Catherine was still bound at the wrists and cramped from the confined space. King could care less. She had tricked him, shot him and tried to strangle him.

He was past compassion.

Catherine limped with stiff legs in front of King, with him guiding her by the shoulder. She was wincing at the daylight, blinking and straining to see her sister. She said nothing. It wasn’t much of a reunion.

“Now get Caroline.”

Helena looked at her sister and smiled. It was a sly and impassive expression, like a weary and tormented older sibling gave when their tormentor was getting the punishment for something they hadn’t done.

“She’s not here…”

King pushed Catherine to the ground and raised the pistol. He could see there was no love lost between the two women. She wasn’t going to make a human shield, she was more likely to get in his way.

“You think I would come up here, with the directions and instructions you gave me and not take a counter measure?”

King said nothing, but he saw a flicker in her eye. Her expression changed slowly, recognition dawning. She looked past King, but he wasn’t new to this. He wasn’t going to turn around. And open himself up to a look behind you pantomime trick.

Helena was ashen. She took a step backwards. She was a hell of an actress. But King knew even she wasn’t a good enough actress to drain the colour in her face.

“Alex!”

King couldn’t help himself, spun around to see Caroline running down the edge of the road. She looked exhausted and was favouring a leg. She was soaked in sweat and encrusted with dust. There was blood smeared across her face where she had wiped it away from her nose. She was holding a small pistol in her right hand.

He turned back to Helena, but she already had a gun in her hand. A stainless steel snub-nosed revolver, glistening in the morning sun.

King had his pistol half-raised. Or fully raised, if he were to shoot her knee. But she was close, and the revolver looked steady.

“Counter measure…” King said quietly.

“Not even close,” she said.

She looked up at the mountainside and held up her hand. She made a chopping motion and pointed to Caroline, who had almost reached King. Helena scowled, looked at the mountainside again and repeated the chopping motion. She turned back to King, uncertainty in her eyes. He could tell it was an emotion she wasn’t used to.

“Counter measure,” King said. “My guy beat your guy,” he paused, stared at her intently and smiled. A cruel, mirthless smile. He added, “Again.”

“No!” Helena fired the revolver.

She was incandescent with rage, and it affected her aim. The bullet sliced through the air an inch from King’s ear and he was already dodging to his right to put himself between the gunfire and Caroline. He heard another gunshot and returned one of his own, but it went wide, and Helena was still standing. The reports of the revolver were loud and crisp and as King caught sight again of Caroline, he could see Helena in his periphery adjusting her aim. Caroline fell forwards and hit the dirt hard. King threw himself down, slid close to Caroline on his belly and spun around, holding the pistol in a two-handed grip. He took aim and fired.

Miss.

He aimed lower, central body mass.

A larger target.

Concentrate.

Only three rounds left.

Catherine had got to her feet and was running for cover. She crossed in front of King and he lost sight of Helena in his sights, couldn’t shoot without hitting Catherine in the back. Helena tracked her aim across to Caroline, no longer fearing King, only intent on killing the person he loved. She wanted to hurt him more than killing him. She fired