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

boat, but the pain was far worse than he had anticipated. He had taken short breaths enabling him to hyperventilate on the approach, readying his lungs for as much breath as he could load them with, and to thoroughly oxygenate his internal organs for the extreme drop in temperature. He couldn’t afford to lose time on the surface, fighting for breath or acclimatising to the searing cold in vain. He was in a fight for survival. He needed to enter the water and swim downwards, but as much as he needed the air inside him to feed his heart and lungs, he was too buoyant and fighting against simple physics. He blew out about half his breath, the bubbles temporarily blinding his vision, and powered downward with all his strength. At eight feet he caught hold of the hatch wheel in the conning tower and gripped for all he was worth. The speed of the submarine’s descent was terrific, and it was all he could do to hold on. He needed to equalise the pressure in his ears by clenching his nose and blowing until the pressure inside his ears popped, but as soon as he achieved this, he was needing to equalise again. He had underestimated the light factor, too. The clean quality of the water meant that visibility was good, but the light at twenty feet and counting was getting darker with every foot travelled. King equalised again, his head feeling light and his lungs fighting for breath. He could not feel his hands or fingers and as he threaded the metal clip through the hatch, he could barely see to snap the clip together. Without feeling, he heard the metallic click in the water, echoing in his ears. The tracker was in place and he pushed off hard and stroked for the surface. Only now, with his lungs devoid of air, he had no buoyancy, and every stroke was an extreme effort, and every second was a second more than he felt he could be there. With ten feet to go, he could no longer fight the desire to snatch a breath, and with that, he started to black out.

King didn’t see the bubbles or the figure swimming down to him, and nor did he feel the hands upon him, the desperate kicks to get him back to the surface. He didn’t feel the hands pulling at him, nor the firm rubber side of the boat. Rashid struggled in after him, pulling himself in as Madeleine and Grainger heaved on King’s limp arms, but he took what he thought would be his final breath and pictured Caroline, the image rushing to him more clearly as he took in precious air and the saltwater kiss of death never came…

King looked up, confused. He had expected the breath to be his last. He was shivering and became aware of painful touch as both Madeleine and Grainger pulled on layers of clothing and put on Grainger’s own warmed pair of gloves as they turned their attention to assisting Rashid with dressing him. King stared up at the grey sky. He was shivering less, but he felt drunk and what he felt was an existential experience – a visitor to his own body and a voyeur to the scene around him. He closed his eyes, the image of Caroline coming to him more clearly. She was laughing, her hair blowing in the wind atop a cliff, the sea shining behind her. He had been a fool to leave her in her fragile state, recuperating from her ordeal. How could she ever forgive him? She was vulnerable and needed protecting and looking after.

Chapter Forty-Seven

 

Lake Como, Italy

 

“You don’t look how I expected,” said Fortez, gesturing her ahead of him.

Caroline was dressed in a white linen dress with a thin, grey cashmere cardigan and white linen gloves. She wore a white, silk headscarf and it was contrasted greatly by her oversized black Gucci sunglasses. Big Dave had commented that she looked like Audrey Hepburn and that she should perhaps travel by Vespa. She had told him that the crutches might hamper that. She placed the foot of the crutches carefully on the gravel pathway and started out ahead of him. “Don’t let the crutches fool you,” she replied. “Injuries are an unfortunate part of the business we’re in. I will soon be healed, and the mark will soon be dead.”

“No, I wasn’t referring to your injuries, just that you look so beautiful and elegant. It’s difficult to imagine you in such a role.” He paused. “And Milo Noventa told me you are part of a formidable team,” Fortez said. “And yet you show up alone. Rather reckless, given the business you are in and the obvious injury.” He nodded for the guard to stay with them. The man had earlier searched Caroline professionally from ankle to crotch to breasts and under her arms. There was nowhere she could be concealing a weapon in her outfit, and he had allowed Caroline to see the Beretta 92FS in the holster on his right hip for good measure. “I assume your partner is nearby?”

“I don’t have a partner,” she replied. “I employ ex-soldiers, just like your rent-a-muscle here. But mine are undoubtedly a far more professional breed.”

“The security agency only employs ex-soldiers with combat experience,” Fortez corrected her, smiling at the guard, and sharing a condescending expression with him like the lady had meant no offence. “I am well-protected, am I not, Marco?”

“Sì, Signor Fortez,” the guard answered ruefully.

Caroline smiled and nodded, pausing at the top of the terrace to admire the view. “Yes, but with respect an Italian ex-solider is not up to the same standard as an ex-British soldier, and certainly not up to the standards and experience of the SAS or SBS, and those are my team’s credentials. And believe me, you will need a team like mine, given the