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

folded it incorrectly, many times, but every time the same so that her destination was marked exactly by the point of the corner. At a glance, she had a mark that nobody would have considered. But she could see the spot clearly and she realised she was close. Three kilometres. Just three thousand metres and she would be safe.

Or so she hoped.

47

 

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll come with you.”

“You stay here. We’re on this.”

Stewart watched incredulously as Caroline swung her leg over the snowmobile. “And where is she going?”

King shook his head. “Peter, just leave it.” He turned around and watched as Caroline fired up the machine and took off, tentatively at first, but gaining in speed as she headed down the track that spiralled around the hill on which the entire complex was built. “This is an MI5 operation. Things have changed. I want you on that coach in a couple of hours.”

“Fuck off!” Stewart spat at him. “I’m getting changed, and I’m coming with you. Get me a snowmobile hired while I’m getting ready.”

King looked at the man, shivering on the top step. Tantalisingly close to the warm foyer; uncomfortably cold in the early dawn. “You’re staying. And then you’re leaving. Like I said; things have changed.”

Stewart spun around and squared up to him. “Don’t forget who you’re bloody talking to!”

“Nor you.” King glared at him, his glacier-blue eyes colder than the outside air. “I mean it. MI6 have a right mess going on up here, and we’re cleaning it up. MI6 aren’t going to have a presence while we do so.”

Stewart scoffed. “A lifetime working for the firm and now you’re talking like you were never there!” He shook his head. “Where’s your bloody loyalty?”

King grabbed him by the collar with both hands, turned his torso and moved his right leg side on. As he had anticipated, Stewart’s knee to his groin in response glanced off his thigh. He pressed down with his hands and moved forwards a step, pushing the man backwards. Stewart was off balance, over extended and had nothing to reply with. “My loyalty ended the day I knew they were trying to kill me,” he growled. “And my loyalty to you ended the day I realised you were working against me to feather your own nest!”

“But you pulled a gun on me!” Stewart rasped, King’s knuckles tight in his throat, his grip like a vice.

“I let you live,” King replied quietly.

“But…”

King glanced behind him, then turned his attention to the reception desk at the end of the lobby. It was unmanned. He pulled Stewart towards him, then dropped his right knee and shoulder, twisted and lifted all at once and Stewart sailed over King’s shoulder and crashed down hard on the top step, his right leg taking all the impact against the tread of the step.

Stewart screamed, an agonising wail. He started to pant, the pain so intense and his expression one of both shock and disbelief.

King pushed the door open and strode up to the desk. The manager was seated in the back office, nursing a coffee, his forehead resting in his other hand. It had been a long shift. Three guests had been killed, many more superficially wounded, rooms in the ice hotel had been emptied and accommodation found in the main hotel, complimentary drinks distributed, and normality restored as best it could be. And now somebody was at his desk again.

“A guest has taken a fall down the steps,” said King. “I think he’s broken his leg. He’ll need triage. I suggest those two Russians working for you will have the necessary training. And he’ll need a place on that coach.” He pulled down his glove and looked at his watch. Behind him, cases were stacked in readiness and a few early risers were at the breakfast buffet table in the main restaurant. “That’s another ninety-minutes, so you’ll need to make him as comfortable as you can. Do you have any strong painkillers?”

The manager put down his coffee and dialled a number on the switchboard. “We have some strong codeine. People break their limbs all the time… snowmobiles, skiing, the ice...” He spoke quickly into the receiver, turned back to King and said, “Our first-aider is on the way, and I’ve asked for Nikolai, he was extremely competent with the… incident, last night.”

“Good,” King paused. “I’ll go and reassure him, you get him the attention he needs.”

King walked back across the lobby and into the foyer. He could see that Stewart had struggled to prop himself up and sit on the top step, but he wasn’t getting any further than that. He pushed the door open and gave Stewart a wide berth. He didn’t fancy taking a trip himself.

“You bastard…” the man said quietly. He breathed short, shallow breaths to quell the pain. “You utter, fucking bastard.”

“Yeah,” King said. “But when you’ve heard it from your own mother, it means nothing coming from you.”

He took the steps carefully then reached the snowmobile and swung his leg over, settling into the seat. He turned the ignition key and pressed the start button.

“Watch your back!” shouted Stewart venomously. “You bastard!”

King did not seem to hear as he gave the machine a load of throttle and sped off in a flurry of ice and snow.

48

 

Caroline pulled into the clearing and switched off the snowmobile’s engine. The silence was eerie. The moan of the engine had filled her ears, numbing her senses. The stillness of the sparse forest was uncanny. She swung her leg over and stepped off the machine. She checked that the pistol King had given to her was still in her pocket. It was chambered and had been left with the hammer forward. It was ready