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

it shut, the mesh hitting the woman in the face. The door did not clip shut. Natalia got to her feet but did not look back as she ran down the row of cages. Out of her periphery, she saw the gorilla charge at the mesh as she passed, heard the great smash of metal, the hinges bearing the brunt of three-hundred or more pounds of angry beast. She reached the airlock, typed in the code, but pressed the wrong digit and the unit sounded a short bleep. Two chances remaining. She could hear more cages rattling, the solid crash of metal as the gorilla smashed against the cage again. She glanced backwards, saw the bulge of the mesh. She turned back to the keypad but faltered and cursed as the bleep sounded again. Natalia could hear the cages rattling, the noise consuming her. She realised she had not breathed for the entire time. She could hear own pulse thudding in her ears. It was almost enough to drown out the noise of the cages.

Almost…

Natalia got the code entered and to her relief, the door hissed open. She turned to see the gorilla smashing out through the cage, its hand severed and bleeding. It looked up to see her and started to charge down past the cages. Behind it, Natalia caught sight of the woman stepping out from her cage. She had turned towards the noise and was walking tentatively down the corridor. Each step seemed laboured, and she swayed unsteadily, her equilibrium clearly off kilter.

Time stood still as she waited for the light to change. The gorilla reached the door and started to smash its fist and bloodied stump against the Perspex. The blood smeared and streaked, and the look of anger on the animal’s face was insurmountable. The woman had reached the end of the corridor too. She stood alongside the frantic gorilla at the door, placed her fingers on the glass. The gorilla did not look at her, or even acknowledge her existence. She had cocked her head again, trying to sense her rather than see her. Natalia heard the whoosh of the airlock, looked up and saw the green light and breathed a sigh of relief as she bounded through and the door closed behind her, putting another door between herself and the hell on the other side. She could hear screaming, realised it was her own voice. She looked at the clocks, saw by the site clock that she was down to five minutes left in her window. She looked back at the bank of monitors, then down at the CCTV receiver. She could see it was a digitised unit. She snatched the USB out of the front and gripped it tightly. She still had her mobile clenched in her gloved hand, and it was still filming. As she ran for the second air-lock, she could see the timer running. It would make for chaotic viewing, but she doubted she would make it out alive to give to her contact. She would have to bank on the time window being a conservative estimate. Perhaps whoever had arranged this, had factored in some leeway. She certainly hoped so.

Inside the air-lock, Natalia picked up the spray cannister like she had been instructed and sprayed liberally all over the gloves, boots and suit. She paid extra attention to the helmet and hood. Satisfied she had been completely doused in the chemical, she ripped at the tape on her wrists and ankles and kicked off the boots. She tore off the gloves and removed the helmet. The air tasted better without the filter, and she breathed deeply, her heart still pounding. She unzipped the suit but winced when she reached her stomach. She looked down, horrified to see a section of the yellow rubber had been torn. She got the suit off, reached her fingers inside her cardigan and touched the wound. Natalia looked at her fingertips, suddenly feeling nauseous when she saw them glinting in the light, bloodied and wet.

 

 

36

They had separated. Ramsay had gone down to the bar with the aim of chatting casually to the waitress, who had been a free source of information. He would make a point of tipping her when she brought his drink, ask about the hotel and try not to look at her breasts. That had been Caroline’s advice. Eye contact, sincerity and make it clear he wasn’t hitting on her. He was twenty-five years her senior and his wedding ring had practically grown into his ring finger.

Caroline had gone down to the bar, where she was going to drink coffee and simply watch the world go by. She would scroll on her phone, apparently uninterested in her fellow guests, but take film and photos of anybody of interest. She would send them to Marnie, who would be in her own room connected to the Wi-Fi and comparing the photos to MI5’s Russian personnel database. A hard-won asset that the Russian’s had no idea had been compromised. In the meantime, Marnie would also be working on unlocking and viewing the flash drive.

King had taken the bundle out from under his bed and placed it on the bed for Rashid to examine.

Rashid unwrapped the coat to reveal the Sami’s rifle, the barrel and magazine removed.

“This will be handy,” he said.

“Right up your street.”

“Ammo?”

“Just the five rounds.”

“Not even enough to check the zero.” Rashid looked deflated. “How am I going to know if it shoots straight?”

King shrugged. “Well, happy bloody Christmas…”

Rashid pulled a face. “You know what I mean.”

“The Sami was around a hundred yards from me when he took his shot. I was reaching for that USB drive and he damned-near took my hand off. I reckon a hunter will zero to minute of accuracy at one-hundred metres, no more than one-fifty. It’s a three-oh-eight, it can take deer, black