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

have done so would have been futile. But Caroline had gotten away. She had done what nobody else had. She had escaped. Now, she was not only driven by justice, but by her own guilt at having walked away. The Georgian police had moved in, women had been rescued, but he knew that the investigation would have stalled at their end. Caroline’s connection with Interpol, having been seconded to them earlier in the year had given her an insight into what the international facilitator could do. She saw that she had a chance to make a difference, and King knew the cost of not trying. He had walked away from death and despair. He had performed his tasks for Queen and country, but he had lived with the fallout ever since. He carried guilt, carried the memories of the things he had seen along the way. Could he have done more?

Undoubtedly.

“I think it’s a good idea,” he said. He touched her hand. “I know you need to do this.”

She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him closely. Her breath was warm in his ear and her perfume, the way it clung subtly to her body, stirred him. He pulled back and kissed her, but he could already tell she was in Georgia. She was with Interpol, planning her first move.

“What will you do?” she asked. Her eyes were moist, and they glistened like diamonds, but it was more than that, there was renewed vigour, more life behind them. As if his consent, or at least acceptance of it had lifted her.

“Well, if MI5 are handing out sabbaticals, I think I’ll take one of my own,” he said. He watched the television screen for a moment. The Russian president was waving at the top of the steps about to board his plane back to Russia. He had conceded nothing. The recent biological attacks killing former KGB agents turned British informants had been vehemently denied. Deals had been restructured to secure pricing and supply of natural gas. It had been an awkward accord, but all the King could see was that Russia had taken a big slice of cake and eaten it in front of the rest of the world.

“Sabbatical? You?” Caroline said, almost laughing. “Where would you go? What would you do?”

King watched the man who had raped Helena Milankovitch turn and step from view into the airplane. Maybe fate always played a part in life. Maybe action and consequence were inextricably linked to fate. He watched the door to the plane close, the ticker-tape on the bottom of the screen round-up a summary of the Russian president’s visit. Could this one man have led to Helena having people killed, of taking Caroline prisoner? Of taking over the concessions of the other men who had been a part of it? Of the girls trafficked, heinously abused and dehumanised? And now, Caroline was a part of it. She had lived a nightmare, was going off to live many more in her quest to redress the balance and look for justice, a stop to this outrage. One man’s actions a dozen years ago, destroying and claiming so many lives all these years later.

King watched the plane taxi onto the runway. The ticker-tape highlighted the success of the president’s visit. King just saw a series of scraps the Russian’s had tossed a country who had to be seen to keep face but was desperate for what they could get in a post-Brexit world. A world where the alliance between the countries it once surrounded itself with were uneasy towards its new-found independence. Russia increasingly took no notice of NATO, America or indeed, the rest of the world. It was a country with no allies, no friends, and nor did it care. It was a country that bullied the world but heeded nothing. A country whose president merely shrugged at the footage of ballot-box discrepancies and of blatant vote rigging. A president who intimidated the opposition. Who failed to sanction investigations into the disappearance of his political opponents. A leader who merely did as he chose, dared countries to respond and taunted governments at their lack of resolve. A man who considered himself untouchable.

“Do you believe in fate?” he asked.

“Sort of,” she replied. “I suppose there’s a case for it.”

King nodded. “Do you believe it catches up with you?”

“What, like cheating death?”

“I suppose,” he said. “The cards get dealt. I’ve known some of the best operators in the field catch an unlucky bullet. I’ve seen rebels with no training, discipline or skill fight and live through hell on the battlefield. Sometimes it just boils down to fate.”

“You’re sounding distinctly profound tonight,” she said, digging him the ribs with her elbow. “Are you worried I cheated fate? Worried that my true destiny lies in Georgia?”

King smiled. “No. I think you’ll take care of yourself.”

She edged a little closer, rested her head on her shoulder and watched the television. The Russian president’s plane was nearing the end of its taxi to the runway. A picture of him appeared in the top righthand corner, the ticker-tape relaying his position on the discovery of biological nerve agents that killed the two Russian KGB defectors.

“So, tell me more of this sabbatical idea,” she said softly.

“I thought I’d go to Russia,” he said.

“Russia?”

King nodded. “I hear it’s a beautiful country,” he said. “Might be worth it.”

“I guess so,” Caroline paused. “But don’t go worrying about fate. I don’t think you can change it anyway. When your time is up, your time is up.”

King knew that was all too true. But he had commanded a degree of fate. He had served it up to many people over the years. Some deserving; others less so. Maybe you couldn’t beat fate, but you could guide it towards others.

“I agree.” King stared at the picture of the Russian president on the