The Alex King Series by A BATEMAN (free ebook reader for ipad TXT) 📕

to assimilate what was happening, told herself there would be an opportunity at some point, but there was an over-powering sense of dread that she could not shift. Her legs became heavy and her breathing erratic.

Ahead of her, a narrow staircase was lit by a window high above. She could see clouds scudding across the blue sky. She looked at the stairs, a strip of well-worn carpet, almost threadbare and accented by grimy painted floorboards on both sides. She could tell the house had not received attention in many years. Perhaps even decades. But the wear indicated that it was in constant use.

“Downstairs, turn right, go into the room,” The Beast ordered. “And no funny business…”

Caroline wondered if he had learned his English from forties American gangster movies. She did as she was ordered, slowly. She would not give the animal the satisfaction of obeying meekly. He moved closer to her and prodded her back with the muzzle of the pistol. She grimaced as she smelled stale cigarette smoke and body odour on him. She entered the room, a large innocuous area which had been set aside as a dining area. A large pine table some twenty-feet in length and half as wide and surrounded by at least twenty chairs. The table was grimy but had been wiped after use. The room was otherwise featureless and windowless.

“Sit,” ordered The Beast.

Caroline pulled out a chair and sat down. The beast walked around the table and sat down as well, keeping the pistol in his hand and aiming towards her. He had relaxed his hand, placing the pistol on the table, his hand loosely holding the grips, but was far too distant for Caroline to attempt anything other than suicide.

 “Now what?” she spat at him.

“You shut up and wait.”

She did not have to wait long. Caroline looked up as a woman entered. She was strikingly beautiful, but predatory and severe. Her eyes were as dark as jet, her shiny black hair cut in a sharp bob. She looked different now though. Sad, where once she had exuded nothing but confidence. She had seen the woman once before. Until then, she had only seen her in magazines, barely-cohesive articles on the internet, or in a series of photographs from files within MI5. She had seen the woman in person in a derelict house. She had almost died, was still gasping for air and clearing her throat of muddy water when the woman had walked in. She had picked up the knife King had left for her, and for a moment, Caroline had thought she was going to help cut the bindings on her ankles. She had seen the look in the woman’s eyes, knew she was in trouble, but had been left far too weak from her ordeal to fight her off.

“Caroline,” she stated flatly, as she pulled out a chair and sat down next to The Beast.

“Helena Snell.”

“It’s Milankovitch now,” she corrected her.

“Congratulations. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring cake.”

Helena looked her up and down. “I wonder if you will still be so feisty after you have been forced to sleep with a thousand men?”

Caroline looked at her warily. “What is your problem? You had your husband killed, got caught out and want revenge?”

“I want revenge for my soulmate! Not that piece of shit you call a husband!”

Caroline nodded. “Viktor Bukov?”

“Yes.”

“So, where is he?”

“You killed him!” Helena snapped. “Or rather your precious organisation did.”

Caroline shook her head. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“Liar!” She pushed her chair back and it scraped on the flagstone floor as she stood up. She paced around, her arms folded, accentuating her slim waist. “Viktor was slaughtered on a rooftop by a sniper…”

“And what was he doing on the roof? No doubt attempting to assassinate another person on your death list.”

Helena glared. She had no answer. She had been waiting for him in the street below. It was to have been their last hit. They had almost been home and dry…

Helena smiled. “I think it’s time I showed you around,” she said. “Let you see what awaits you, if your boyfriend doesn’t make contact with me soon.”

“Why would he contact you?”

Helena smiled. “Do you know how the northern Sami and the Inuit use a wolf’s character trait against it? No?”

“No,” Caroline said quietly.

“Well, let me enlighten you. You see, the cold does many things to someone. Also, to the animals inhabiting the frozen wilderness. Feelings are one thing. The cold can numb the senses, dull the emotions. You are hungry, and there is food, but it takes so much effort. Nothing is easy. And therefore, nothing can be ignored. Every opportunity must be exploited. The wolf for instance, like your beloved Alex, well, it is in its nature to kill. It will use its skills to secure a kill, but it will also put itself at risk. This is in its nature. The opportunity cannot be passed up. And therefore, with a little ingenuity, the wolf easily becomes a target. Feared and revered, when it is known that a creature will exploit anything, it can be used against them. The wolf will be tricked, just by its very nature. And when you know that you are up against a wolf, well you have to use the wolf. You must use its tenacity, its persistence, its determination to trick it. You see, the hunters in the cold and unforgiving regions of the north use only two things to catch a wolf. An opportunity and a means of exploiting it. They take a knife and they sharpen it like a razor. Afterwards, they simply dip it in blood and allow the blood to freeze. They repeat this until the blade is heavy and thick with frozen blood. Then, they melt some ice, either with warm blood or their own piss, and then