The Alex King Series, A BATEMAN [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

the papers in her hand to waft, as though in a breeze. “Whether or not they took more shots, and why they left only one casing at the house is not something I can comment on. I only deal in cold, hard facts. And that was what I saw. Snell was either engrossed in his paper he had been reading and didn’t notice the other two shots, or maybe he was asleep. All I know is that I was chosen for my expertise, and my expertise in this matter has drawn a conclusion.”

Amherst looked at King. “Fair enough?”

King shrugged, sipped some more tea.

“So, what about South Africa?” the Home Secretary asked. “Sounded like a complete and utter balls up.”

“I was compromised,” Caroline said sharply. “I was greeted by an imposter who knew the name of my contact. I was abducted.”

“A bit dramatic,” Amanda scoffed. “You look safe and well.”

“I killed two men to escape.” Caroline glared.

Simon Mereweather held up a hand. “Need to know, Agent Darby.” He looked back at Amherst. “Miss Darby was later ambushed a second time, the prisoner she secured release for and the South African Secret Service agent escorting her were both killed in the attack. She was lucky to get out alive. South African intelligence have more leaks than a sieve and somebody knew her every move. They knew she was coming and they knew why she was there. I think we can conclude from this, that the identity of the sniper would have been that much closer if the prisoner had been able to talk. There is no doubt in my mind that the man who shot the prisoner and killed his brother, who practiced in the South African bush, is the same sniper who is behind the killings on this list,” Mereweather paused. “Whoever their contact is in the SASS, they sacrificed a serving agent. The SASS are livid and starting a thorough sweep of their seals. We can’t expect further cooperation from them, and neither should we want it until they clean house.”

Amherst nodded. “And you were compromised down in Cornwall, I hear,” he said to King. “They bombed your house, I believe?”

“Someone shot at me. My cottage was blown up afterwards.” King glanced at Caroline, who had raised a hand to her mouth. The colour drained out of her face. He’d told her he’d been compromised, that there had been a fire, but had not had the chance to come back to the conversation. Her exploits in South Africa had been at the forefront of their brief conversation. “As yet, we don’t know who the gunman was.”

“And nor will you, I imagine,” commented Sir Hugo. “Not if he got away.”

“No, he didn’t get away, Home Secretary,” Mereweather said. “King killed him.”

“Really?” Sir Hugo Hollandrake looked surprised. “He looked at King, but looked away when King held his stare. “So, it may be possible to get an identification after all?”

Mereweather nodded. “Neil, do you want to contribute?”

“Certainly, Simon,” Ramsay replied. He opened a note pad and glanced down. “We have entered his DNA and fingerprints through the Police National Computer, but so far no match. We have Interpol looking at their database. King said the man appeared to be East European or Russian, we’ve extended our interest to the FSB, but we’ve heard nothing from Moscow so far.”

“How do you know he was from eastern Europe or Russia?” The Home Secretary asked. “I thought you killed him?”

“We had a brief chat,” King said. “It wasn’t a clean kill. It seldom is.” He looked the Home Secretary in his eyes, but the man diverted to the floor. He’d never met a man like King before, probably hoped he never would again.

“Well, if we’re relying on the Russians, we’ll be waiting a while,” said Amherst. “They’re still smarting from last year and the exposure of members of their leadership and in particular, ex-KGB and FSB operatives who attempted to commit terrorist activities on these shores.” Amherst glanced up. “We’re not sure they’re our friends anymore.”

“They never were,” King said.

“Expert, are we?” The Home Secretary asked, somewhat sarcastically. He looked at King again, and once again, could not hold his stare.

King smiled, but it was a cold, emotionless expression. His eyes were the coldest grey-blue imaginable, like a wolf’s. “I know more about Russian intelligence and the lengths they will go to maintain an east-west divide than anybody in this room,” he replied. “And more about the Russian-backed operation that the director has just mentioned than anyone else here, except for Caroline, of course.”

There was a silence, long enough to be uncomfortable.

Hollandrake gathered his papers together. “So, we may not get an identification.” He stood up. “Well, this all seems to be a waste of time,” he said. “I didn’t think MI5 were the right outfit for an investigation like this. This is more of a police case. I will take my findings here today to the Prime Minister and afterwards, if she agrees, we will engage Special Branch and the police. Ms Darby can continue with her liaison with Interpol, she seems to have a good working relationship with them.” He looked down at King. “But I fail to see your contribution to any of this. You are obviously a rough-tough soldier type, with a past I’d prefer to know nothing further about, but you’re of no service on this case.” He turned to Director Amherst. “Reassign him, will you? From what Ms Cunningham has detailed in her report, he is by no means an investigator. And knows nothing of forensics either.” He glanced back at King. “And it wouldn’t hurt you or your chances of continuing to work here by buying a decent suit and tie and making a bloody effort. Who in god’s name wears jeans to a meeting with the Director General and the Home Secretary?”

King said nothing.