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

and gravelled for the summer and they keep it smooth and textured as an ice road in the winter. You won’t find any clear roads in the winter… see?” He pointed at the road ahead. “This is about a foot thick. It’s scraped and prepared, but they don’t salt and grit it like in countries further south. There’s no point. Not enough grit in the world. So, they drive everywhere on ice roads.”

“So, there is only one way in and out of The Eagle’s Nest,” King mused. “I don’t like that.”

Stewart nodded. “No, but you need to think outside the box. On a snowmobile, there are no restrictions. Not even lakes.”

“What is the plan for bringing in the asset?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“The ball’s in your court, then.”

“Great.”

“Didn’t work out well for Fitzpatrick either. Hope your plan is better than his.”

“What about the other asset?”

“Other?”

“The asset coming in is number two. What happened with number one?”

Stewart shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe the wolves got him, too?”

“Fitzpatrick was meant to meet you. Tell me more.”

“Fitzpatrick was the handler. He liaised with the asset, built trust and arranged for them to come over to us. Using assets from other sources, he also gained the trust, or at least the cooperation of another. Somebody he kept in the dark, used as a spare. This person would have been cut off had the first rendezvous taken place.”

“Not good for them,” King mused.

“Big boys’ games…”

“Big boys’ rules…”

“So, the first asset doesn’t show,” Stewart paused. He squinted through the dull light, the snow and ice monotonously going on forever. The trees had thinned the further north they travelled. “He tried a secondary rendezvous, but no go. Fitzpatrick was to meet the asset, bring him to me and I was going to do the exfil. But Fitzpatrick didn’t show.”

“How long did you give him?”

“More than enough time. I had enough fuel to return. I set the cut-off by the fuel gauge. I went when it put me at risk.”

“Fair enough,” King said. He’d been there, too. He’d waited for people who would never show. He’d learned the hard way once. That had been the only lesson he’d needed.

“I didn’t buy the wolf thing,” Stewart said. “Sure, the man was torn apart, but I think only to cover the fact he was murdered.”

“I saw cut marks on what was left of his intestines, lacerations consistent with a sharp knife. Nothing in nature could have cut so cleanly. He was gutted, I’m sure. Someone had wiped the blade on his clothing, too. It smeared the blood and made a faint cut. It was a razor-sharp blade.”

“We can only assume the asset met his end before they got to Fitzpatrick.”

“What sort of man was he?”

“Why?”

King hesitated as they drove perilously near a cliff edge. He hadn’t been aware of any gradient on the drive, but as the road wound around to the left, there was only a stretch of steel barrier separating the road from a drop of several hundred feet. He caught sight of the snow-filled gully beyond. It looked like an abandoned mining project. But then he figured it would have to be a summer-only operation. He looked back at Stewart. “He tried to hide something,” King said. “He’d dug into the icy crust. Hid something. His fingers were ruined, he’d ripped the nails out trying.”

“What was it?”

King shook his head. “I don’t know. Possibly a USB flash drive. It was orange and looked like it was a waterproof tube. I dropped it when I was shot at. Damn-near took my hand off. About an inch in it. Might well have hit whatever it was.”

Stewart frowned. “Shame.”

“About my hand?”

“No, you tit. Shame you didn’t hang around to pick it up.”

“Yeah, well, bullets can have that effect.”

“But not on Fitzpatrick, evidently.”

“Exactly,” King paused. “I think the man was pinned down by sniper fire. I think he was done-in. He didn’t waste time begging for his life or running for it. He hunkered down and tried to hide something important. That takes guts and a strong thought process. He was a family man, but he was an intelligence agent right up to the end.”

“He was a desk jockey. He had basic training, but he worked in analytics and embassies, he wasn’t a field agent.”

“Well, maybe he should have been.”

“I think he was a solid chap. I think he did his job well. I haven’t heard anything negative. He had a wife and two children. He wasn’t in debt, no more than a mortgage, anyway.” Stewart shrugged. “You never know how somebody will perform until it’s time. Our fathers and grandfathers proved that when they fought Hitler’s Germany.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Aye, lad,” Stewart paused. “Well, even though you’re a wretched bastard, the unloved son of a crack whore, maybe your grand-daddy did you proud!” He laughed raucously. “Perhaps he had a VC? A real hero?” He seemed pleased with himself. “Trust me,” he said. “Sometimes not knowing who your father is can be better.”

“How so?” King stared at him. He knew Stewart had a mean humour. He wanted to punch him right now. He never had, but he’d come close several times over the years.

“Well, the older I got, the more I thought mine was an arsehole. Sort of ruined my childhood.”

“I feel for you,” King said without empathy. “Are you looking for sympathy?”

“There’s a thought.”

“Try the dictionary, somewhere between shit and syphilis.”

“Class.”

King rubbed his eyes. The gloom was lifting, but the darkness until now had made it difficult to wake up fully. He could understand the suicide rate. It could become wearisome. “It’s getting light,” he said.

“Marginally,” Stewart said. “Another hour and it will be full daylight, but only until about three o’clock.”

“Full daylight?”

“Well,