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

he’s in it up to his bloody neck, so he’d better make it good!”

Eventually, the response appeared on the screen.

Noventa: They were convincing. The woman was injured quite badly. Law enforcement wouldn’t allow an agent to work in that condition.

“Fuck it, I can’t multitask,” said Big Dave. “I’m typing here and talking to you!”

“Why, what’s happened? Why the hell are you typing?”

“Noventa pulled a knife on me. It’s my own fault, I should have checked. I checked his drawer for a gun, but didn’t think he looked the type to carry a flick knife, much less have the bottle to use it…”

Fortez: What kind of injury?

Noventa/Big Dave: Recovering from a broken leg. Don’t let that put you off, as I said earlier, she is part of a team. My guess is disgruntled law enforcement and ex-soldiers.

“Shit, I don’t know how to play this,” said Big Dave.

“Can Noventa type? What’s wrong with him?”

“No, we had a struggle for possession of the blade, he lost. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Soon?” Ramsay asked tersely.

“Ever. I punched him in the face and his neck didn’t agree with it.”

“Bloody hell…”

“Dave, listen,” Caroline said clearly into the phone. “Thorpe’s on the way over to check for watchers. You don’t want to let her know what’s happened…”

“Caroline!” Ramsay snapped. “We’re a bloody team!”

Caroline shrugged, glaring back at him. “Then tell me she’ll be okay with Dave killing our lead asset…”

Fortez: It seems curious they would seek you out.

Noventa/Big Dave: Nah, I think it shows they know their shit.

Fortez: Shit?

Noventa/Big Dave: Stuff. Know their stuff.

“Christ, he’s only typed three lines and it even sounds like him,” Ramsay commented and then said into his phone, “Tone it down, you don’t sound anything like Noventa.”

“Sound? I’m fucking typing here!” Big Dave snapped back at him.

“It’s your digital signature, it reads like you, and not him…”

“Bollocks…”

Fortez: I think I’ll pass.

“No…” Durand said quietly.

Noventa/Big Dave: That’s a mistake.

Fortez: It is mine to make.

Noventa/Big Dave: Consider me out. I’m closing down the site and wiping the emails. You’re on your own, old man. They’ll likely come for you in your sleep. They aren’t the type of people to mess with, and I had to agree to them taking the contract to leave the meeting alive. They’ll think you stiffed them, and that’s what I’ll say when they come for me. You’re on your own.

“Bloody hell!” Ramsay screamed. “Dave, what the hell are you doing?” he shouted into his phone but was met with the sound of the calling ending abruptly.

“Wait,” Caroline said. “He’s gone all in. Cards on the table…”

Fortez: You dare to threaten me?

Ramsay and Durand stared at the screen, but Caroline walked back to her chair, her leg aching terribly. She sat down carefully, dropping the last few inches, and breathing out heavily. She started to count quietly. “One… two… three… four…”

Fortez: Noventa?

“Five… six… seven… eight…”

Fortez: Noventa, are you there?

“Nine… ten…”

Noventa/Big Dave: I’m here.

Fortez: OK. Do it. I’ll send the details through. But if there’s a problem I’ll hold you responsible…

 

Chapter Twenty-Eight

 

The Aurora Project Rigs

100 miles south of Svalbard Archipelago

 

King left Grainger in his office and made his way down to the dive centre to check on his kit. He felt aggrieved at having Daniel’s pistol taken from his own pocket on the ship. He hadn’t noticed anything obvious, anybody to stand out amongst the crowd. Newman, the man he had down as CIA, hadn’t been in the rec-room at the time, or at least King had not spotted him, and the man who had attempted to stare him down at the airport hadn’t been seen since. Although he was sure he had been the gunman at the storage site, for the simple reason that Newman and Daniel had been on the beach. But ultimately King felt no further ahead, and somewhere out there someone had been armed at his expense. Twice.

The dive centre was located on the lower deck, but still a hundred feet above the ocean. The entire floors, or more accurately the open decks of the platform were constructed from galvanised steel grating to allow for the huge waves and to make scrubbing down easier. Dive tanks were chained up inside a cage and both dry-suits and wetsuits hung from solid-looking racks in an open-fronted metal shipping container. A door led off to a briefing room and shower room, and there were clipboards hanging on hooks, which King supposed were dive logs, as well as bunches of keys with floats on them which King presumed were for the stack of RIBs, or Rigid-hull Inflatable Boats on the lift platform below. Above him, the ceiling was the same heavy-duty grating that he stood on. He was aware of somebody’s presence above but could not make out whether they were male or female. He was sure they were watching him but doubted they would have any better view of him than he did of them. There was at least forty feet between them. Turning his attention back to his two cases that had been stacked alongside others, he ignored whoever was above him and crouched down beside the cases and checked on the locks.

The sound of the silenced gunshot was unmistakable. The clang of a bullet striking the grating, the ‘phut’ of the moderated gunshot and the clatter of the ejected shell casing on the metal floor came all at once, and King heard the ricochet of the bullet as it zinged out to sea. He dived to his right, but the shooter anticipated this, and the second gunshot came instantly, but the bullet was thrown off its well-aimed course by the metal grating. King darted left, then right and threw himself into the briefing room. Behind him, another