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

the moonlight on the water. “You could put your fellow teammates at risk.”

“Not a chance.”

“You can barely sit without it causing you significant pain,” Thorpe replied.

“I’ve overdone it, that’s all. I need Giuseppe Fortez out of the picture.”

“Because your judgement is clouded. It’s understandable, the man has a contract out on your partner, but that’s still no reason for you to be here.”

“Alex is on a mission, he isn’t able to put a stop to this himself.” Caroline paused. “And he’s operational, therefore out of contact. When he returns, he may well have let down his guard. The Security Service owe him a duty of care. In my book, that extends to putting an end to Fortez and his contract. If we don’t, then Alex will stop Fortez when he finds out…”

“By killing him? Because that seems to be the man’s answer to everything. It’s just as well he’s out of the picture, then.”

Caroline sipped her coffee and rested back in the chair. She knew she wasn’t fit for duty – she’d never intended to return – but she was damned if she could take being lectured anymore. “You did well today,” she said.

Thorpe, clearly caught off guard by her response, frowned. “Meaning?”

“At Milo Noventa’s place.”

“Meaning?”

Caroline shrugged. “Meaning, you were there for the team.”

“I merely advised the best way to get rid of Dave’s DNA in a compromising situation,” she replied guardedly.

“Oh, I didn’t take it like that,” Caroline sipped another mouthful of coffee. It was cooling quickly, the night air chilling rapidly. “I thought you took over, used your specialist skills and experience and ordered us to sanitise the crime scene.” She shrugged. “Naturally, we did what you told us to, after all, Neil Ramsay bought you in as an expert in your field and we all look to you for the legal angle. Just to stay the right side of the law, that is.” She paused, looking quizzically at the ex-detective. “I must admit, I was surprised by the turn of events…”

“Are you serious?” Thorpe stared at her coldly, failing to hide her anger.

“It’s strange how things can be remembered. Especially in tribunals or a court of law.” Caroline shrugged again and smiled. “Or forgotten. It pays to stay on the right side of people. Especially those with whom you work.”

Thorpe shook her head as she chuckled quietly. “We really should start again,” she commented flatly. “But I suspect it’s probably too late for us.”

“Never say never,” Caroline replied breezily, then looked up at her. “Okay, maybe we should. If you want to start over, then perhaps you could do me a favour?”

“Okay…” Thorpe replied warily.

“You’re right,” she said flatly. “I’m not up to fitness, and I have overdone it somewhat. I brought along just one crutch to save face. And I walked unaided far too soon. I am in pain, and yes it could affect my judgement. I need some seriously strong pain killers, which I would appreciate you getting for me from a pharmacy. I have also arranged for another crutch to be sent out and it’s arriving tomorrow at the post office in Menaggio at around ten-AM. It will need signing for, but if you could get it for me, I would really appreciate it. I don’t want to make a fuss and I guess, if you could get it and I simply have it to use, then I won’t lose face in front of the others.” She shrugged. “I’d really appreciate your help, and discretion.”

Sally-Anne Thorpe looked back at the sliver of moonlight and said, “Alright, I’d be glad to help.”

“Thank you,” Caroline replied sincerely. She eased herself out of the chair and picked up the empty cup. “I’m going to my room now,” she said. “It’s too cold out here to sit watching the view, beautiful as it is.” She shuffled across the veranda, taking easier steps once she loosened up. She looked back and said, “Thanks, once again, Sally-Anne…”

Chapter Thirty-Six

 

Barents Sea

 

King had woken to a thick blanket of fog outside the porthole window of his room, the outside lights from the deck creating an orange hue in the darkness. Grainger had collected him at five-AM and together with Rashid, they had taken a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, with toast and bacon and some strong tea in the refectory, where food seemed to be served around the clock. They had then taken a medium-sized rib to one of the salvage ships moored to a buoy a mile from the rigs. Grainger had explained that when the conditions were calm enough to moor, they always did so with a one-mile safety buffer. It made sense, given that so many people remained on the rigs. In rougher weather, the boats pulled clear and headed back to Longyearbyen port, and the seven rigs would be self-sufficient until the conditions were once again favourable. It was a world, an existence King had never given a thought to. Naturally, he had seen footage or pictures of the rough seas lashing at the oil rigs of the North Sea but had never thought any more about it. He had heard of Aurora before the meeting with Mereweather and the man’s eccentric father but did not know the scale of the green energy company’s research.

“Here, drink this…” Grainger placed two cups of coffee down in front of King and Rashid. “We’ll be at the site soon.” He sat down beside them at the fixed table. Everything was fixed. The tables, the chairs and the cupboard doors all had thick rubber bands and hooks holding them closed.

King nodded thanks, although he wasn’t a coffee drinker. Rashid sipped from his gratefully. “So, how do we work this?” King asked.

“I’ve told them that I intend on testing the submersible while the rest of the salvage teams get assembled and organised back at