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

gladly serve his country, the great Ayatollah, and the almighty Allah, and he would readily die for the holy trinity that was all three. However, he had been assured that in the event of his capture during the course of his mission, then his family and extended family would be arrested and would never be seen again. Such was the sensitivity of the mission, there really was only one way out for him and the head of the Iranian Secret Service, The Ministry of Intelligence of the Islamic Republic of Iran, had personally given him the means to do so – a two-shot .32 calibre Derringer pistol, small enough to sit in the palm of his hand, which he had smuggled into Norway and Svalbard in the same cut-out diving tank that he had used to smuggle the AR-15 assault rifle.

Shirazi surveyed the ocean ahead and watched the submarine break the monotony of the horizon, a sliver of black separating the greyness of both sea and sky. The vessel rose slowly, steadily from the water, becoming larger with every twenty or thirty metres of travel. He did not hear the gunshot above the whine of the engine, but he felt the sting of hot copper and his left leg gave out completely. He struggled to remain balanced in the unsteady craft and the wave of pain shot through him, the epicentre of which was his left hip and buttock, although the nerve endings from his knee to the small of his back pulsed as if he had been electrocuted.

He released the steering wheel and struggled to pick up the rifle. Using just one hand he wielded it clumsily behind him and rattled off a dozen rounds in the direction of the approaching boat. He had merely glanced at the wound, but he already knew he was finished. A large calibre weapon with expanding hunting ammunition. He would need a trauma team and a hospital to work on him, and without that, he did not have long.

This is it. This was how it ends… thought Shirazi. Well, so be it and so shall I be unto Him… He pulled the throttle control backwards and mouthed, Allahu akbar, silently.

God is great…

Chapter Forty-Six

 

“You’ll never make the shot! Not with open sights,” King had said sharply. “I’ll get you closer!”

The rifle had recoiled sharply as Rashid had squeezed the trigger. They were still four-hundred metres distant and travelling at thirty-five knots in a three-foot swell, and the young former SAS officer had still made the shot. Shirazi had jerked and slumped and clambered back to his feet, holding the rifle in his right hand.

“Who says?” Rashid smiled as he worked the bolt, took up aim again and waited for another shot.

“Smart arse…” King turned to Grainger and jerked his head for the man to come to him. “Can you take the wheel?”

“Certainly.” Grainger stepped into King’s position and ducked his head as bullets sprayed near them from Shirazi’s AR-15. “Are you hit?” King asked, taking hold of the Beretta, and checking the magazine and breech.

“I… I don’t think so…” He glanced down, patted his arms and sides. “No, all good!”

Madeleine was hunkered down on the deck near the twin engines. She looked pale. King asked if she was ok, and she nodded. King said, “Madeleine, get your kit ready to deploy.” She nodded and opened the case she was clutching. King turned his eyes back to the boat.

“I can take him down now for sure,” said Rashid. “We’re close enough for me to aim at his back, dead-centre…” He ducked as Shirazi fired wildly, but the bullets tracked a long way in front of them and to the side. “Say the word and I’ll take him down…”

King watched the submarine ahead of them. They were now only two-hundred metres from Shirazi, and the man had killed his engine and was drifting. “Slow down,” he said to Grainger. “Approach at five knots, no more.” Grainger nodded and throttled back. “Come hard to port,” said King. “Then pull hard to starboard so Rashid remains on target. I’m going to board him.”

King tore off his jacket for ease of movement. The Makarov tumbled out of his pocket and he tapped Rashid to make him aware, then placed the weapon at his feet so he would have a rapid-fire option once he’d fired the rifle. King shivered against the cold. Shirazi was only fifty metres away now and fumbling with the rifle. Ahead of them, the submarine had fully surfaced.

“Shirazi!” King hollered. “Put the weapon down and place your hands on your head!” The man continued loading the magazine with 5.56mm ammunition from his pocket. “Drop the weapon!” King grit his teeth in frustration. Beside him was one of the best snipers he’d ever encountered, and the Iranian had until he raised the weapon to live, but King wanted what the man knew. “Shirazi, it’s over!” The Iranian inserted the magazine and put his hand on the charging handle.

But he didn’t get to pull it backwards…

The .30-06 rifle jumped in Rashid’s hands and Shirazi fell out of sight into the hull of the RIB.

“Grainger, get alongside!” King shouted and got ready to leap across.

The RIB nudged the other boat, Grainger pulled the throttle backwards all the way into reverse, then back into neutral as the boat lurched to a complete stop. King leapt into the boat and aimed down at the Iranian, kicking the assault rifle aside. He kept the weapon on him, but Shirazi merely smirked back at him. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, and he was already looking pallid, or perhaps it was the Azerbaijan blood in him.

Shirazi coughed and spittle and blood speckled his chin. “The crew had died a horrible death, a sickness of some kind, apparently…”

King nodded. “Then there’s a chance the crew