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

forwards and his hat had gone. Which was just as well, because the man had nowhere to wear it. Steam was lifting from the cavity, clearly visible through the scope. Rashid imagined it was already cooling considerably in the cold air.

Rashid chambered another bullet and scanned the treeline for further targets. For that’s all they were to him. He couldn’t see any, but he would be able to return to the snowmobile without setting foot out of the trees. He looked over to the woman.

“I’m Rashid,” he said.

She got out tentatively from behind the tree she had been sheltering behind and dusted the snow off her. “Natalia Grekov,” she replied. “There are others,” she said quickly. “We must get out of here.”

Rashid nodded and got to his feet. “You look cold and tired.” He picked up his pack and took out the thermos. He handed it to her and she snatched it, unscrewing the cap and drinking straight from the flask. It was hot, but she coped with it. “We’ll get you food and more to drink when we get back.”

“Who’s we?”

“An extraction team,” he said. “From the department I represent. To get you out safely and retrieve what you’ve brought for our government.” He nodded. “This way, quickly…”

51

 

Caroline dared not move. She had found herself in a gulley with trees on each side. She supposed in the spring it would act as a culvert, taking the vast quantities of water as the snow melted. But right now, it was frozen solid and acted as her lifeline. The sniper could not see her, but nor could she see the sniper. She had no idea whether he was moving calmly down the hill towards her to take a close-up shot or was still hunkered down and playing god at the top of the hill.

She held the Walther tightly. She knew the tiny 7.65mm bullet packed a punch up close, but what range would she have? She had never used one before and was aware that it was not as powerful as a 9mm, which she had trained with in both the army and with the small arms course in MI5. Although strictly forbidden from using firearms on operations on British soil, in recent years MI5 had increasingly taken part in operations abroad and the small arms course had been hastily put together by SAS instructors at Hereford to give Security Service personnel enhanced security abroad. But the course had not factored in firearms some seventy-years-old in design. It had concentrated on modern security and law enforcement weapons such as the Sig P225, the Glock 19 and Smith & Wesson M&P 9. A couple of old service Browning Hi-Powers had been thrown in for good measure as a comparison into how far technology had moved on. Caroline had carried a Browning in Afghanistan and had been familiar with it. Other UK units had used Sigs, but army intelligence had kept the older weapon for some reason. Possibly budget or logistics. Or maybe because most intelligence officers worked in an aircraft hangar and barely ventured out of the base. But Caroline had been into the field more than most, and she had used her SA80 rifle many times. She later admitted to King that she had fired a lot of bullets and wasn’t sure if she’d hit anybody, but she was sure as hell she’d made the enemy keep their heads down.

This was different though. Out in Afghanistan she had been part of a unit. She hadn’t been under-gunned either. Whoever was shooting at her now had a rifle and she felt she had nothing more than a pop-gun to respond with.

She knew that she should keep moving. She could not afford to let her enemy pin her down. She crawled along the gulley, the pistol held in front of her as she used her right elbow and left hand to crawl, keeping low and trying to watch the hill above her as she made progress. The gulley led into the trees and she knew that if she could get further away from the clearing, then it would be near impossible for the sniper to see her through the layers of trees. It would not only provide her with cover from a bullet but would take her out of view altogether. If she could get there, she could be home and dry. Or at least safer. She still had no transport and was over five miles from the hotel with the temperature down to minus thirty and the threat of the storm on the way. But right now, getting out of the line of fire was all that mattered.

52

 

There was only one way to sensibly do it. Park the snowmobile a substantial distance away, far enough that the noise did not give away his position, and approach from the east. Behind the sniper and work his way down stealthily. He carried his knife but was armed with nothing more. But that hadn’t stopped him before. He had faced worse odds. If he could get close enough for a kill, then fine. If he couldn’t do this, then maybe he could get close enough to shout for Caroline to run and he could face off with the sniper, hope to get close enough using the trees for cover, but at least he would have saved Caroline. Or at least given her a chance.

Sensible. Measured. The best course of action.

And then there was the other way.

King gave the snowmobile as much throttle as he dared, damned-near full revs as he hammered up the peak. He was travelling close to sixty-miles-per-hour. The rooster tail of snow following him sprayed more than fifty-feet in the air, showering his trail behind him like a fresh snowfall. He had memorised the map, but there was no accounting for rocks or trees, so he steered by the