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

section in the bottom. The weapon, and others like it, had been taken from Israeli commandos who had been killed in a failed attempt to assassinate Iran’s top nuclear scientist. The irony that the assault rifle – made by the Americans and used by their lap dogs in the Middle East - was being used in an operation to arm Iran with nuclear weapons was not lost on Shirazi, nor indeed on the intelligence chief who had hand-picked him for the mission.  Shirazi had regretted missing the British agent at the storage depot, and unashamedly missing him again a second time on the rig because of the kafir protecting him. But now, he was of no consequence because his mission would soon be over. The submarine commander and his crew would soon complete their task and rendezvous with him, where they would return to Iran and the glory that awaited them. Heroes of the people of Iran and of the Supreme Leader – the Grand Ayatollah. And, of course, the almighty Allah.

***

Madeleine looked down at them pensively as they disembarked the work boat and climbed the ladder from the inflatable pontoon to the first deck of the rig. Grainger had been correct in his prediction that the linking pontoons would be unshackled, deflated, and stored in each rig. The swell was only running at three feet or so, but King could see that walking a kilometre along the links of inflatable pontoons would be a hazardous affair. Another foot or more of swell and Grainger had been adamant that the docking pontoon would be lifted, too.

“I have what you asked for, but I’ll probably lose my position in the research team when they find out,” she said tersely. “Now, tell me what the hell this is about.”

King smiled. “You won’t lose your job, I’ll see to that,” he replied. “Now, show me how to use it.”

“It’s not as simple as that!” she scoffed. “I…” She stopped as an alarm sounded above them.

“That’s curious,” Grainger said. “That’s the security alarm.”

“Is that rare?” Rashid asked.

“I’ve only ever heard it in practice. Even when things have kicked off between love rivals or gotten out of hand after long periods of separation or being couped up together, it’s usually been sorted out internally. We have a security team, but it’s run like an internal fire team and made up of volunteers. Only in the security team’s case, they are theoretically only called upon when there is a direct threat to life.” Grainger walked past them and lifted the hatch on a red box. He retrieved the telephone receiver and started to talk.

King turned to Madeleine. “You were saying?”

“Right, yes. The codes need entering into the software before and after they are initiated…” She looked at King, who was staring at something behind her. “What now?”

King watched the RIB power away from the second rig. It was barely a spec at a thousand metres distant, but it left a clean, white wake in the greyness of the ocean, and the bright red of the craft was framed not only by the grey water, but of the mirror-image sky. A fleeting red speck in a monochrome backdrop. “Where the hell is that going to? There’s nothing out there…”

“There’s been a fatal stabbing,” Grainger said gravely as he returned. “The suspect has stolen…”

“A RIB and fled the rig?” King interrupted.

“Yes, how did you know?”

King pointed behind him and Grainger turned and stared. “Oh, that’s vexing…” He turned back to King and said, “A security party is being assembled, but all the other RIBs on Rig Two have been slashed or punctured.”

“It’s the Iranian,” said Rashid. “It has to be.”

“But where can he hope to go?” Grainger trailed off. “Oh…”

“Exactly,” King said flatly.

“Would someone just tell me what the hell is going on?” Madeleine exclaimed.

King turned to Grainger. “What’s the fastest boat on this rig?”

“The rescue RIB. Twin one-fifty engines, thirty-foot long.”

“What type of craft is the one fleeing?”

“Sixteen-foot with a single one-hundred horsepower four-stroke Evinrude engine. All of the engines are Evinrude. It was a sponsorship deal.”

King nodded, calculating the disparity in engines versus the lightweight advantage of the smaller RIB. The rescue RIB would have the advantage, but after the weight they would be taking with them was allowed for, it would not be an easy race. He turned to Rashid. “Did you get a rifle in Svalbard?”

“Of course. It’s the law. Not many places can say that.”

“Is it on this rig?”

“I’m on it,” he replied, seeing where King was going, and sprinted across the grating to the stairwell.

“Grainger, I want that rescue RIB.”

“And I’m on that…” Grainger went back to the telephone and picked up the receiver.

“Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on?” Madeleine protested.

King pushed past her and stood at the edge of the deck. He signalled for the skipper, who ducked outside of the wheelhouse and frowned up at him. “Change of plan, I need my equipment!” King turned back to Madeleine. “Just be ready to move. And are you sure that’s all the kit you need?”

“Of course.” She paused. “I only need to…” She frowned as she realised that King was no longer looking at her, nor paying attention. “What?”

“Grainger! Who is on the second RIB?” He pointed at a flash of red tracking down the fading wake of the first craft.

Grainger put down the phone. “Nobody knows. It came in from Rig Three, moored briefly at Rig Two, then took off after the first RIB. The rescue RIB is now cleared for launch.”

“Cleared for launch?” King said, then watched a mechanical arm lowering on the other side of the platform. He ran around the gangway and watched as the craft was lowered from the centre of the rig. He looked back as Rashid