Outlaws by Matt Rogers (phonics books TXT) 📕

So he opened his eyes.

And there, with his mind completely empty and his thoughts completely still, he searched for the first thing to think about.

He found his answer.

It lit up his frontal lobe, bursting forth from his subconscious.

He stood up, slightly unsteady on his feet after what could have been hours of motionlessness. The sun was far higher in the sky. He realised it was close to midday. It somewhat unnerved him. It meant he’d been in a trance-like state for nearly five hours. His stomach grumbled in protest. His limbs felt stiff and heavy.

But his mind was clearer than ever.

He walked back to the hut. Alexis was still there. Fresh ingredients dotted the kitchen countertop. She’d been into town.

She put down the kitchen knife and turned to face him, her expression guarded. He could see how much this meant to her, and he admired the restraint she was showing not to voice her own opinion on the matter. She knew he needed to decide for himself, and no one else.

He had.

She said, ‘Did you decide?’

He said, ‘I’ve given this everything. I’m done.’

13

Donati said, ‘She’s nobody.’

King let the silence drag out deliberately. He studied the surveillance photo closer. He guessed the image was taken somewhere in Moscow. King had been to Russia’s capital before — the architecture of the shops in the background and the general vibe of the surrounding pedestrians fit the bill. It was certainly somewhere in Eastern Europe. Outside of that he couldn’t be certain, but it made sense for it to be Moscow. The dossier appeared to contain information pertaining to the negotiations Donati was set to enter.

So she wasn’t nobody.

King said, ‘She looks like somebody.’

Donati looked up from the dossier, meeting King’s gaze. ‘You really don’t trust me, do you?’

‘I barely know you. I’m impartial toward you.’

‘It’s none of your business who she is,’ Donati said, and then seemed to relent. ‘But I respect you, and I want you on my side, so I’ll clarify. She really is nobody.’

Donati placed a fat thumb on the top corner of the image, highlighting one of the pedestrians in the background. The rest of the photo was blurry because of the woman taking up the foreground, but enough details were visible to make out his features. The guy was in his fifties, with a paunchy belly and a grey receding hairline. He wore a grey suit over a white dress shirt that seemed to prop up his sizeable gut. Outside of that, he looked like any ordinary white-collar Russian.

Donati said, ‘He’s somebody.’

‘Who is he?’

‘The Chief Financial Officer for Zima Group.’

King knew almost nothing about Donati’s forthcoming negotiations — it wasn’t his job, so he simply hadn’t worried about it. But he’d overheard snippets of conversation throughout their short time together, and pieced together a framework. Zima Group was Donati’s biggest rival, a multi-billion dollar conglomerate that owned and controlled almost all the port facilities in Eastern Europe.

King shivered.

He had bad memories of a port in the Russian Far East.

Years ago, trouble in Vladivostok had brought him out of retirement.

He quashed that down, and focused on what he knew about the future. Donati was en route to Moscow to negotiate with Zima Group about a potential merger.

King said, ‘Okay.’

Donati shifted his thumb an inch to the right, so it came to rest on the shopfront directly behind the paunchy man. There was nothing remarkable about the building — low, one-storey, shoddy, rundown. There was no signage visible. It could have been anything.

Donati said, ‘That is the reason I have this photo.’

‘What is it?’

‘One of Moscow’s most notorious fetish clubs.’

‘Oh.’

King scrutinised the image. The CFO was most definitely leaving the building in question. The small door behind him was in the process of swinging shut. It was hard to discern features from a CCTV feed across the street, but King thought he could see something close to guilt on the man’s face.

King said, ‘What goes on in that particular fetish club?’

Donati said, ‘You don’t want to know. Nothing illegal. Just… perverted.’

‘So this is for blackmail?’

Donati said, ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

‘You seem to think I have a problem with everything.’

‘You seem cautious. And wary.’

‘Guilty. I like to know things. Doesn’t mean I disapprove.’

‘He’s a piece of shit,’ Donati said. ‘I’m going to use this to get a better deal. They’re all corrupt over here. It’s a prerequisite for being an oligarch. I refuse to play by their rules, but if they’re doing some shady stuff in their personal lives, I’m not above using it.’

‘Trust me,’ King said. ‘I know what oligarchs are like.’

He refrained from adding, I suspect you’re the same, deep down.

Because he didn’t know for sure.

And until he had actual confirmation, everything else was irrelevant.

Donati said, ‘Do me a favour.’

King raised an eyebrow.

Donati said, ‘I get your shtick. You’re morally righteous. You’re inquisitive. But this is a murky world. I made a compromise with that information I just gave you, but when we touch down I can’t waste time explaining every little thing you’re suspicious of. I’m paying you to keep me alive. Is that clear?’

It was the first time the man had been firm with King.

King was unperturbed.

He said, ‘That’s fine.’

‘We land in Moscow in eight hours. At Sheremetyevo. It’ll be ten-thirty p.m. over there because of the time difference. I have town cars waiting to take us to our hotel. We’re staying in the penthouse suite of the Zvezda. They’ve ensured we’ll have total privacy — part of the asking price. Once we touch down, I’ll alert our arms dealer, and he’ll meet us at our suite with the weapons we ordered.’

‘What did you get?’

‘Glock 17s,’ Donati said. ‘And a few MP5s, just in case shit hits the fan.’

King nodded. ‘Works for me.’

‘Anything else you need to know?’

‘There’s two days of meetings, right?’

Donati nodded. ‘We’ll get a few hours of sleep tonight, then it’s straight into business. My biggest fear is travelling to and from Zima’s HQ. As