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

lines, that showed when he was tanned. Amherst knew that under the man’s shirt was a network of scar tissue, each telling a story. A story about how he was still here, and others were not. He was a world removed from the career civil servant, and those two worlds were never really meant to meet.

King ran a calloused hand through his close-cropped dark hair. It was a new cut. Shaved at the sides and back, a little more left on top. It was the smartest Amherst had seen him. If he wasn’t mistaken, he may have shaved this morning, too.

“So, you want me to investigate?”

“Yes.”

“And the Finnish police can’t, because?”

“In short, there’s nobody up there,” Amherst said. “They sent one of their officers…” He turned over a piece of paper and read. “… Lena Mäkinen. Senior Constable, or Vanhempi Konstaapeli,” he said.

“That doesn’t sound very senior,” King replied. “Sounds like a patrol officer.”

“I gather it was a routine investigation. Our asset was killed by wolves.”

“Wolves?”

“Or a bear.”

“I think the bears are all hibernating.”

“Well, wolves, then,” Amherst niggled. “Something tore the poor sod up and left only a few remains.”

King shook his head and smiled. “And I thought it was all elves and reindeer up there. Fat guys in red suits sitting in grottos.”

“I expect there’s some of that up there, too. Or less so now that Christmas has passed, and all the tourists have cleared out.”

“Who was the asset?”

“An MI6 agent, or handler.”

King frowned. “Not an asset, then.”

“He was dispatched to bring in an asset. He didn’t show either.”

“What kind of asset?”

“A defector.”

“Defector?” King paused. “A bit John le Carré, isn’t it?”

“An old story for a modern era. We wanted what he had, apparently. It was worth a quiet exfiltration, some sort of financial or lifestyle payoff and a new identity.”

“And there’s little police presence up there?”

“That’s right.”

“How far north, exactly?”

“About as far as it gets in Finland. A few miles from where Russia, Finland and Norway intersect.”

“Chilly, then.” King agreed. “What did the coroner’s report come up with?”

“There hasn’t been one. The police were called, they turned up a day later. It was a removal and tagging job,” he paused. “In their eyes.”

“So, what do you want from me?”

Amherst slid the sheaf of papers all the way across the table with a stretch. “It’s all there,” he said. “Memorise and destroy before leaving the country. Your tickets are waiting for you at the Finnair customer services desk at Gatwick.”

King nodded. “Destroy all of these?” he asked.

Amherst nodded. “This is black bag. There are no formal records on this. MI6 have a contact in the area. He will liaise with you and aid with your investigation. You need to find out what happened to their asset and whether the hostiles got what they wanted. MI6 have another defector on route. The first defector’s number two. They have the same information and want the same arrangement. MI6 were playing them both, without the other’s knowledge. A safety-net. You need to meet them, provide them safe passage to Norway, where an exfiltration will take place. Details to follow.”

“Who is the defector?”

“A specialist of some type…”

“Some type?” King interrupted. “That’s pretty bloody vague.”

Amherst looked at him sharply. He didn’t appreciate insubordination, but as he looked into the man’s unnervingly steady eyes, he mellowed his expression. King reminded him of a German Shepherd his parents had once owned. Nobody could look into its eyes or it would growl. Linger too long, and it would snap. Amherst’s father had taken the dog away one night and returned without it. He wondered whether he would ever be tempted to do the same with King. But then he remembered Villiers’ anecdotal suspicions. Amherst dismissed the idea as abruptly as it had come.

“A debt has been called in,” Amherst said. “I’m doing this for both you and Caroline, as much as to aid our sister service.”

King remained impassive, but his stare was no less unnerving. The mention of his fiancée irked him somewhat. She was on sabbatical with Interpol. Six months so far and no sign of returning to MI5. They had gotten together at Christmas, but it had been different somehow. It had been passionate and a release for them both. But Caroline’s experience having been abducted, what she had seen and the people-trafficking links she was now trying to sever throughout Europe, had focused her solely on her crusade. He loved her, knew she loved him, but she had demons to slay. She wouldn’t be his Caroline again until she battled them and won.

“Europe? Last summer?” Amherst said. “MI6 did a lot of digging. The Russian’s will have too. Links have been made. They are convinced that their president was killed on the back of your operation last summer.”

“To get back one of your agents.”

“You went too far off the reservation. You had no official remit.”

“Do you want my resignation?”

“No, I…”

“Well, brass it out, then,” King interrupted. “Tell them it’s a load of bollocks and move on.”

“Politics isn’t always that simple.”

“Then it’s about time to remember you’re not a politician. You are the head of Britain’s defence. You hunt the terrorists, the spies and the foreign government organisations who would do our country harm. So, you lie about it. Deny it. Tell them to kiss your arse if you need to. But stand firm.”

“We need this done. I need this done.”

“I’m doing it,” King assured him.

“Well, good luck, then.”

King stood up, tucked the sheaf of paper inside his jacket pocket. He knew how unofficial this was, everything else came in various coloured folders, depending on the security clearance and sensitivity. King turned and walked to the door.

“Oh, and King…” Amherst took a pair