Contracts, Matt Rogers [phonics reading books TXT] 📗

put you in touch with the necessary parties. Isn’t that what you want?’

‘It was,’ Mukta said, looking bored. ‘Now I figure it’s not worth the hassle.’

‘Why?’

‘Several reasons.’

‘Care to enlighten me?’

‘What’s the point?’

King shrugged. ‘Some basic level of respect. I made it up here, didn’t I?’

Mukta thought about it. King could see the gears whirring.

Do I make the age-old mistake of talking too much? the man was thinking.

But that’s the thing about age-old mistakes.

They keep getting made for a reason.

It’s awfully tempting to brag.

Finally Mukta said, ‘Fine. Here you go. This business is volatile. The girl’s not worth the hassle she’s created. And besides, I now have two prizes that are much more valuable.’

King stayed quiet.

Mukta said, ‘One of them is a laptop.’

Beside King, Perry visibly tensed.

Mukta noticed, and half-smiled. ‘Frustrating, isn’t it? You see, Oscar here is a terrible liar. I started playing around with the thing on a whim and saw the colour drain from his face. That told me all I needed to know.’

King said nothing.

Mukta said, ‘The second prize is you.’

‘Is it?’

‘I saw how fast you shot my bait. You’re a fuckin’ freak of nature, aren’t you? How much would your government pay to get you back?’

‘That’s a dangerous game to play.’

‘I know. You probably think I’m some dumb henchman. But I can tell when I’m out of my depth. It wasn’t in the job description to deal with super-soldiers. So I think I’m deciding, right here and now, to get out of the business. I’ve done enough of these. I’ve milked those negotiators for all they’re worth. I know they’re not happy with me. And I can’t be bothered dealing with live hostages anymore, so I’ll sell the laptop to the highest bidder and that’ll be that.’

He turned to look at his men. ‘I think it’s time to disappear, don’t you?’

One by one, they nodded.

‘Cashing out,’ Mukta said, bemused. ‘Never thought I’d see the day. As for you three…’

A pause.

A long, deadly, ominous pause.

‘…well, I guess you’re no longer any use to me.’

King sensed what was about to happen and screamed, ‘No!’ to try and throw Mukta off his rhythm, but the man was a professional.

He didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t even blink.

Just turned and raised his weapon and shot Raya Parker in the head.

Part II

67

Somehow, Slater drifted off.

He didn’t intend to. It was the last thing he wanted. In reality it was pure exhaustion, but it sure felt like falling asleep. His vision faded and his brain powered down and he gently slid down the doorway, inch by inch, until the whole thing smashed against his upper back as someone rammed it from the other side.

The jolt woke him up in an instant, and with a shock like a car jumpstarting he rolled away from the door.

The next impact broke straight through the lock.

The door flew open, its trajectory missing Slater’s unprotected face by inches. It swung on past and there was a man right there in the doorway, wielding another Kalashnikov. He was hopped up on either natural or artificial chemicals, and ready to kill with his bare hands if it came to that.

But it didn’t.

He was expecting Slater to be standing, and maybe half-expecting him to be stretched out on the bed, but he certainly didn’t think he’d be lying on the floor. Slater shot upwards from his back twice. One bullet struck the guy in the chest, and the other snapped his head back.

He was dead before he hit the floor.

Slater reached out with one foot, caught the edge of the door, and swung it shut. It didn’t close all the way, catching on the corpse’s shoulder.

He tried to sit up.

His chest pounded faster and faster.

He sunk back to the floor and grimaced, staring up at the ceiling.

Move! he screamed at himself. Just move!

He couldn’t.

The adrenaline he’d used to decimate the first wave had depleted him entirely. There was nothing left. He inched across the carpet on his back, dragging himself across the floor, painfully slow. He reached the doorway and extended a weak hand, fingers outstretched. He placed his palm on the corpse’s shoulder and pushed. It was like moving a five hundred pound weight. The guy didn’t budge.

Slater took a deep breath, then strained with all his might.

His face contorted into a grotesque mask of exertion, but he battled not to make a sound.

The body shifted.

First an inch, then half a foot, and then…

It was clear.

Slater reached for the door, willing his aching muscles to just hold on, and gripped the edge.

He closed the door.

And collapsed against the wood.

There wasn’t a chance in hell he was putting up any more of a fight. The next wave would kill him. There was a body directly outside his door, and if that didn’t signify it as a location of interest then he didn’t know what would. Then again, there were half a dozen more corpses scattered through the rest of the hallway.

He had to hope…

Time passed — seconds, or minutes, or hours. No way to know for sure. He was barely holding onto consciousness, let alone managing to keep track of the clock. But eventually there were more footsteps. Boots crunched shards of glass underfoot as a fresh party of rebels made their way into the building. He could sense them sweeping the corridor, searching all vantage points, clearing all corners.

He heard them move right past the door.

And then a pair of footsteps doubled back.

Slater held his breath. His vision had narrowed to a dark tunnel, and he was barely lucid. He raised his gun in a sweaty, shaking palm, but he couldn’t find the energy to take it all the way through its trajectory. It came up short, halfway toward pointing at the door, and then his hand dropped as he lost all ability to move.

The footsteps stopped right outside his door.

There was a lengthy pause.

Then a sound eerily similar to scratching.

Fingers against clothing.

His eyes half-open, Slater watched the door and waited to die.

Then he heard a muttered curse, followed by the