Hunter Killer - Alex King Series 12 (2021), A BATEMAN [urban books to read TXT] 📗

“It depends,” he replied, thinking of Cuba and an experience he had there not so long ago. It hadn’t worked out too well for somebody else. “Some species are simply curious, while others are downright dangerous. I don’t like getting in the water with bulls and tigers, but we dive in buddies and avoid dawn and dusk as much as possible. That’s the common feeding times.”

“I doubt sharks are even in the water half the time,” Daniel commented dubiously.

“I have a test that always works. If you do it, then you will never fail to know if there is a shark nearby,” replied. “It works in every ocean.”

“Really?” Daniel frowned. He looked at Madeleine. “Do you know about this?”

“No, I can’t say I do.” She frowned, looking somewhat bewildered yet interested, nonetheless.

King smiled. “It’s easy, really. What you do is when you arrive somewhere, make your way down to the shore and dip your finger in the ocean.” He paused, looking at them both in turn. “Now, take your finger and place it in your mouth…”

“Your mouth?” Daniel asked incredulously.

King nodded. “Now, here’s the thing. If it tastes salty, then there’s a decent chance that a species of shark is nearby…” The other two looked at each other, then Madeleine started to laugh. Daniel didn’t quite see the joke, nor the truth in King’s statement. Regardless, King had had enough of the food and the company and had plenty to go and check on. He drained his beer and stood up. “Lunch was on me,” he said. “I’ll let them know at the desk to charge it to my room. Please, enjoy some dessert. But I’m afraid I have some calls to make, but imagine I will see you both later…”

Chapter Sixteen

Back inside his room, King inspected the bullet damage to the rifle. Karlsson had cut some of the synthetic material away in her effort to extract the bullet. He could see from the bulge on the other side, and the way the colour had drained from the black composite that the bullet had been close to penetrating and passing through. Another calibre up the ballistic chart, or ten metres closer for that matter and the outcome would have been entirely different. He loaded the rifle, applied the safety, and propped the weapon beside the bed. He wasn’t a fan of unloaded weapons. Next, King checked the pinhole camera again, but he hadn’t received any unwanted visitors. The room should have been made up, but as the occupants of the hotel had nowhere else to go, and the flights from the mainland had been cancelled, his room was available until the fog cleared and the boat from the port of Longyearbyen could set sail. King checked under his bed and pulled out the two samsonite cases containing the explosives and detonators. The cases were secured by double four-digit combination locks. King had been told the codes before leaving for Norway and steadily turned the dials, the lids snapping open when he had completed the combinations. He slid his index finger inside the lip of the lid, ran it across until he found the secret internal catch, then unhooked it and cautiously opened the lid. The catch was attached to a grenade and although it wouldn’t have detonated the packages of plastic explosives, it would have killed, or maimed anyone inside the room. King repeated the process with the second case, then breathed a deep sigh of relief. He hated grenades and he despised boobytraps. One had to remain so alert in their presence.

King studied the explosives, the RDX detonators and the detonation cord. There was also Velcro, glue, and duct tape – all the things needed to hold things in place. Because of the nature of the detonation there were electronic timers, spare batteries, and a roll of tools he would need including screwdrivers, pliers, snips, a boxcutter and spare blade and a wire stripper. King weighed up the necessity for the grenade boobytraps and decided to remove them. The samsonite cases were difficult enough to damage, and the combination locks provided tens of thousands of possibilities, but a probability of zero in solving. The grenades were not only unnecessary, but simply too random for King’s liking. When he was called upon to kill, he did so with a heavy heart, and in most cases through the sights of a gun or with his hands or a knife. When these methods were not possible or appropriate, he targeted with an explosive device or chemical agent, but only when he could be sure that there would be no collateral damage. King checked the split pins holding the spring-loaded levers down on the grenade bodies, and opened the pins up making it difficult to remove them by accident. He then tore off a strip of duct tape, tore the tape in half lengthways and fastened it around the grenades, which would hold the levers in place even with the pins removed. Then he stored them in his leather bag. He cursed himself for losing the Beretta but was more puzzled why it had not turned up in Karlsson’s search at the scene.

King sat down on the bed, his back screaming as a jolt of pain shot through him. He was still aching from the fall from the snowmobile, let alone the terrific impact from the bullet into the rifle stock and the fall from the top of the shipping container. He thought about the size of the rifle stock and how far through the bullet had penetrated. The hard synthetic composite material had stopped the bullet and he knew that a wooden stock would have told a different story. One he probably wouldn’t have been around to hear. The choice of calibre had surprised Karlsson, but King already knew the rifle would have been an assault type. The calibre just didn’t fit for the island and the