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

‘phut’, another clatter, and another ricochet. King searched for a weapon, but only found three sheathed diving knives hanging up from their rubber leg straps. He snatched one out of its sheath and held it by its hilt, the blade facing downwards in a classic stabbing grip. This way he could still punch, parry and stab, as well as hook at his opponent. He edged back outside and could hear hurried footsteps on the steel grating of the staircase. King readied himself and walked collectedly to the edge of the platform, his legs gently lowering and shifting into a fighting stance from years of practice and instinct. Thirty percent of his weight on his front foot – ready to kick or avoid being swept – with seventy percent of his weight on his back foot – to drive the power of the kick home. He moved, shuffling left foot forward, so that he could have all his power behind the knife when he twisted his hips into it – like a reverse punch in karate – the move that the martial art was renowned for. Finally, his left hand led the way, ready to block or jab or grab, so he could follow up with the diving knife and its eight-inch surgical steel blade.

King estimated the running footsteps were merely a pace or two away, so he made his move, edging out from the corner to greet his attacker head-on. The man rushed on and King caught his arm and scythed the blade towards him but registering the panic upon the man’s face just in time to pull his arm back.

“Rashid!” he snapped. “What the hell?”

“King!” Rashid replied breathlessly, his face pained. “You’re okay?”

King looked at his friend and colleague, pulled him around the corner to stop them both being exposed to the gunman. Above them, the grate flooring had given way to solid sheet steel – the floor of part of the solid super-structure. “Yes, I’m fine. Did you see the shooter?” King was glad to see his friend. The fact Rashid was here lifted his spirits immensely. Rashid was ex-SAS and the youngest solider of Pakistani descent to become an officer in the British Army promoted from an NCO. Prior to his passing SAS selection and officer training Rashid had been a sniper and had proven himself to be a world-class shot. He had certainly been there for King in the past, covering him on several missions.

“See him? I wrestled the gun off him…” He held up a silenced Makarov pistol. King could not be sure if it was the same weapon he took from Daniel, but it looked identical. King noticed Rashid’s other left hand was nursing his groin. “But he kicked me in the balls and ran. It was lucky I kept hold of the gun when I fell and it put some distance between us, I think he realised his options were better to get the hell out of there,” he explained.

“Who was it?” King paused. “A neat little guy, preppy, American?”

“No, but I noticed him, too. Back on Spitsbergen and on the boat.”

“You were on the boat?”

“I’ve been in your shadow ever since you landed. Simon Mereweather sent me out two days before you, to back you up.”

“So, it was you who took my gun at the storage yard,” King mused, finally making some sense of it. Rashid obviously couldn’t get King out of there before the police arrived, so he did the next best thing and cleaned the scene. “Thanks.”

“No, that wasn’t me. I don’t know anything about that. I saw you nearly run over a polar bear on the beach, saw your smashed window and figured you’d been shot at.” He paused. “I had to take off, the police were on the scene within minutes.”

King frowned, the disappearance of his Beretta still not making any sense. He shrugged it off and grinned at his friend. “And you call that backing me up?” He shook his head. “You didn’t even bring me grapes at the hospital.”

“You weren’t really shot, were you?” Rashid paused. “I was trying to make enquiries and saw you walk back into the hotel in that fog white-out.”

King shook his head. “No. I was lucky, the bullet hit the gunstock and I took a bit of a spill off a shipping container.”

Rashid laughed. “I remember you pushing me off the top of one around the back of a mosque a few years back. I’d only just had surgery and you split my bloody stitches open. Finally, some bloody karma catching up with you…”

“Dickhead…”

“Anyway, it looks like you were a lot luckier than the man who pulled the gun on you on deck, at least.”

“You saw that?”

“I was working my way around from the other side of the boat. By the time I got around the bridge, you’d sent the bloke off for a swim.”

King nodded. “So, one out of three. I get shot at on Svalbard and a gun is pulled on me on the boat and you were too late both times? Do the world a favour, when the Security Service eventually fire you, don’t become a bodyguard and head out onto the circuit…”

“Well, that’s gratitude for you…” Rashid shook his head. “I save you from an Iranian agent and that’s all the thanks I get?”

“Iranian?”

“Yeah, you had a little staring contest with the bloke at the airport. I photographed him and had Ramsay run his face on the system.”

“Shit, I thought he was Russian.”

“Does it make a difference? The last time I checked, they were all still the bad guys.”

King frowned. “It makes all the difference. The Russians could be here simply because it’s just what they do. I don’t have a problem with the Russian people, just the old guard who have remained in government and in the intelligence services. And