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

it did when King put three 9mm bullets into the lock and kicked again. The shots rang out and already dogs were barking, lights switching on and there were a couple of shouts further down the street.

He didn’t have much time. He stepped through the doorway. Kept the pistol aimed in front of him as he swept through, well-practiced and fluid. Although, the stakes had never felt higher. He carried a small tactical torch in his left hand, the pistol in his right, with his right wrist resting on his left. The weapon and torch swept through together, the beam acting as much like a pointer to shoot at as it did to light the way.

The flat was small, and King had covered and cleared it inside two minutes. He switched on the lights and switched off the torch and pocketed it. He tucked the pistol back into his waistband and went into the bathroom. He was aware that if Caroline text messaged him from here, then she would probably have done so in the secure surroundings of the bathroom. A door you could close behind you without arousing suspicion. He looked through the bin, checked the cabinet. He could see the men’s razor and toothbrush that Caroline had mentioned in her text. He took the towel off the radiator, checked it over, then dropped it on the floor as he walked back outside. There was nothing of any significance in there.

The kitchen was different. He could see the blood splatters on the floor. Just a few specs, but enough for his heart to pound against his chest cavity. Was it Caroline’s? There was no way of knowing. Not until it could be tested for DNA.

“What the hell?”

King spun around, saw Ramsay standing in the corridor. He lowered the pistol. He had drawn it and aimed it with twenty years’ practice and it showed. Ramsay’s eyes were wide with fear and his face pale.

“Come in, don’t be shy,” King said,

“Where did you get that gun?”

King shrugged. He pointed at the floor. “Blood. You need to get it tested. I suspect it’s Caroline’s.”

“Oh, Jesus!” Ramsay took out his phone, thumbed the screen and dialled. He stepped back outside and started to speak quickly.

King saw another man hovering near Ramsay. He looked uncertain what to do.

“John Adams?” King asked. He’d tucked the pistol back into his waistband and covered it up with his jacket.

“Yes. King?”

“That’s me,” he said. “Have you got it?”

“Yes, but…”

“No buts. Put it on the table.”

“We were assigned to the surveillance.”

“Then why did you stop?”

“Our remit was to observe the target going to work, and allow your agent to gain entrance to the target’s flat. As it was, it was a damned near run thing. I got through to your agent in time, but she must have passed her on the street.”

“And you didn’t check that she was okay?”

Adams shrugged. “I thought we were job done. We were off to the next OP.”

King snatched up the package and walked past the man. Walked past before he punched him. He met Ramsay in the corridor. “Have you got it?”

Ramsay nodded. “Look, Alex, there are official procedures you’re negating. Anything you record will be inadmissible in court.”

“I’m not after evidence,” King said. “I’m after confirmation.” Ramsay followed King down the steps and along the path. King turned back to him. “What are you driving?”

“Dark grey Vauxhall,” he said. “Over there.”

They crossed the road together. Ramsay was on edge, he walked around to the boot of the vehicle. He glanced both ways and King sighed. It was evident that the man was not a field agent. Ramsay took out the bag and handed it to him. “We’ll arrange its return later.”

King nodded as he took the bag. He didn’t say anything else, simply walked back to his BMW and dropped it onto the passenger seat as he got inside. He glanced across the street at Ramsay. The man was standing by his car and talking on his mobile phone. No doubt, arranging for a forensics team to come and go over Amanda Cunningham’s flat.

King could hear distant sirens. There was a blue, strobe-like phosphorescence in the distance. It would be the police in response to the gunshots. King saw Ramsay take out his identification wallet. He would be getting ready to Section D the police when they arrived. Keeping the discharge of a firearm quiet was going to take a bit of selling, but King would ditch the weapon when he was done. There wouldn’t be anything to tie it to him.

He started the engine and pulled out onto the road. Drove a few streets before he pulled in, leaving the police behind him. He opened the briefcase Adams had given him and switched on the display within. The tracker planted on Amanda Cunningham was indicated with a code written on a post-it note. Typical MI5 tech. King punched in the code and a dot appeared on the screen. It flashed slowly. King adjusted the screen and could see it was static dot on a map. South of his position, near the river. He knew the area. It wasn’t the best part of town. He pulled back out into the road and followed the tracker, but he already knew that it would lead to Amanda, and not necessarily Caroline. But blood had been on the floor of Amanda’s flat, and this was the only lead he had to go on. Right now, he would bet his life that the blood did not belong to Amanda Cunningham.

52

 

Caroline was coming round. She felt groggy and her jaw ached. Her neck was stiff, just taking the weight of her head, as she moved her chin from her chest, sending shooting pains down her spine. She was aware she was seated, the