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

six or seven shots at the engine, allowing several inches for travel. He got his answer to whether he had hit as the boat’s engine pitch changed and black smoke started billowing skywards. Shirazi dropped the rifle onto the deck near his feet and checked the coordinates on the GPS handset before working the throttle again. He was so nearly there.

***

King had worked the trim and tilt, adjusting the engine’s angle of tilt with the twin propellers’ revs and the rescue rib was slicing through the water cleanly, the bow hunkered down as if weighted down and the throttle was at full power. They had been steadily gaining on both boats, but he could now see that one of the craft had stopped with engine trouble.

“Give me the pistol, Rashid,” he said. “And get the rifle on the person in the rearward boat.”

“Do I take him down?”

“Not yet, mate…” King tucked the Makarov pistol into his pocket, the silencer making it difficult, but he got it in butt first. Not ideal, but it was where he needed it.

He throttled back and kept the RIB in a position where Rashid had a clean arc of fire and wouldn’t be firing across their own bow. They were one-hundred metres out, and even with the rifle’s open sights, Rashid wouldn’t need a second bullet.

“Hands in the air!” King shouted and the man complied, carefully but confidently. “Don’t move a muscle, my friend doesn’t miss!”

“You’ll be buying me flowers next,” Rashid murmured quietly.

“Prat…” King said under his breath and eased the RIB forward, making steering and throttle adjustments with the swell to keep Rashid and the rifle on target. He looked at the man, studied his features. Apart from having him down as American and assuming him to be CIA back on Spitsbergen, there was something familiar about him. As if seeing him gave him an easy sense of Déjà vu.

“I was gaining on him, but he hit my engine,” the man commented, giving a shrug.

“Who are you?” King asked. “You broke into my room back at the hotel in Longyearbyen. Had yourself a good nose about. But you didn’t spot my camera.”

“Right.” He shrugged. “I guess those are the breaks in this game…”

“So, who the hell are you, then?”

“My name’s Newman.”

“That’s what you said on the boat, but I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. David Newman. Cover is simpler when it’s the truth.” He paused. “I guess you could say we’re on the same side.”

“That’s doubtful…”

Newman shrugged. “Most of the time, anyway.”

“Is the man in the other boat Shirazi?” King asked impatiently.

“He’s Iranian, but I didn’t have a name. He killed a member of the Aurora crew and stole the boat. Where he’s heading, there could only ever be one method of picking him up. Which doesn’t bode well for you…”

“Meaning?”

“Well, they’ve obviously got what they came for. And judging by your little war party, you know it, too.”

King stared at him. He did not like the man’s eyes, nor his confidence. He supposed he reminded him of himself. The man was certainly not to be underestimated. “What’s your exfil?”

Newman lowered his hands and Rashid fired into the control panel mere inches from his arm. Newman hurriedly shot both hands back into the air and Rashid had already worked the bolt. “Jesus!” he glared back at them. “It was meant to be one of our own subs. But they’re all tied up milking the glory out of a little skirmish with a Russian submarine north of here. Seems like the hunter became the hunted and was then promptly rescued by their former prey. Washington has a tremendous victory on so many levels and will be using it for years.”

“I haven’t seen the news,” King replied sardonically.

“I have your pistol,” Newman said agreeably. “Whatever happened back at the yard with all the shipping containers between you and the Iranian, I was going to get you to hospital, but got out of there when the cops showed up. I thought the pistol might complicate matters for you.”

“That was definitely him then?” King stared at Newman coldly. “Thanks,” he replied without emotion.

“I’m reaching for it now…” He lowered his hands and slowly pulled the compact Beretta out from his pocket. He tossed it to King, who caught it in his left hand, his right still on the wheel. Rashid’s aim did not waver. “I’ll come with you to lend a hand…”

King shook his head and hammered the throttle forwards. Newman was left staggering for balance as his boat rocked wildly in their wake .

“Good call,” Rashid said. “I don’t trust that guy.”

“I know that man,” King replied. “But I just can’t figure out from where or when.”

“It’ll come to you.”

King nodded. That was what he was worried about, but at least the man was behind him now. Ahead, the RIB was still a speck of red in the monochrome, but King was at full throttle and had the trim and tilt working well, the bow slicing cleanly through the slick water.

Chapter Forty-Five

 

Shirazi struggled to reload the AR-15 and keep the RIB on course. The bow was riding high – he did not know that the trim and tilt lever altered the angle of the engine planes and brought the front of the boat down, allowing the boat to ‘plane’ smoothly – and he was fighting the attitude of the tiny craft and unable to use full throttle. When he turned, he could see a boat behind him. A thousand metres ahead of him, the Tareq-class submarine was surfacing. Commander Keshmiri Pezhman had been adamant that the vessel would only remain surfaced for five minutes. He needed to make the rendezvous, or he would die at sea. There was no returning to the Aurora rigs, no chance of being captured. He would