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

King shrugged. Despite Caroline’s sabbatical, her one-tracked ideal, he wasn’t so sure anymore, but wouldn’t have answered any other way. “You?”

“No. But I like it that way,” she replied. “For the most part,” she added. “We all have needs, of course.”

King nodded. He wasn’t sure if she was dropping hints, or if he had misread it. He chose his usual approach and said nothing. He’d decided long ago that he couldn’t get in the shit any deeper if he said nothing. She stared at him, her eyes softening.

“We’d better get going,” he said.

11

 

He had the edge. Tracking your quarry was one thing but knowing exactly where your quarry would be was quite another. And that was worth everything. Of course, getting there would be difficult. He did not have a huge time advantage, but he did have local knowledge. He would have to travel a little further east for his tracks to remain out of view, but he would do so at full speed. He would not have to slow for an amateur snowmobile rider. His muscles were well-acquainted with the controls and buffeting that would have to be endured at riding at full-speed, and his controls were lighter to use. An older machine, though certainly no slower. Well-oiled and maintained, the parts worn enough to work easily to the touch.

The myriad of islands would work well for him. Keep his tracks from view. He knew his way in the winter, knew his way by boat in the summertime, too. He knew where the rocks were hidden, protruding above the lake ice and just under the snow. Perilous for most, and that was why they travelled in huge tracts of three or four straight lines. But he could weave his way through and gain precious minutes. He had already started out ahead of them, which would give him enough time to set up his hide and watch them through the scope of his hunting rifle.

12

 

King’s arms ached as if they were on fire and his legs shook with the constant grip his thighs maintained against the edges of the seat. His thumb felt as though it would fall off at any minute. He eased off the throttle and the machine slowed dramatically. As he neared Lena’s stationary machine, he applied the brake and pulled up alongside. He cut the engine and the silence was overwhelming.

“Who discovered the body?” he asked loudly, his ears ringing. He removed his goggles and pulled down the hood to adjust his beanie. It was easier without gloves, so he removed them and put them down on the dashboard, which housed the speedometer, rev-counter and fuel gauge.

Lena removed her goggles also. Steam cooled in the air around her face, misty and pulsating as she breathed. “A trapper,” she said. “A Sami.”

“What else did he say?”

“Nothing,” she replied. “He called it in. I suppose we were lucky he did that much.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “The Sami are integrating with Finnish society, but some are still traditional. There are families out here, entire tribes even, who live in tents and keep up with their reindeer herds all year. Nomads. Others live wild, off the grid. This trapper phoned it into the central police number and reported it when he reached a large enough settlement.”

“You don’t find it strange that he did that and disappeared?”

“Not really. He may well have been bear waking, wanted to avoid questions, as it’s illegal.”

“Bear waking?” King asked, pulling his snow goggles back on. Already, his skin was freezing.

Lena nodded as she did the same and adjusted her hood. She stepped off the snowmobile and crunched through a top layer of softer ice. “See?” she pointed to her boot, an inch into the ice. “It is warming!”

King laughed. The thermometer on his instrument panel showed -22°C.

Lena smiled. “Bear waking is the term used for killing hibernating bears. It’s dangerous work.”

“Sounds it, what with the bear being asleep and all,” King said incredulously. He stepped off the machine and adjusted his clothing. He brushed a hand subconsciously against the pistol in his pocket. “Sounds more dangerous for the bear,” he added.

“Well, it is more dangerous than it sounds. First, the hunter must find the bear’s resting place. Usually a hole dug out of the first fall of snow. The hunter does this by locating a suitable place, then listening for the bear’s breathing or heartbeat through a specially prepared stick, that they insert into the ground and hold to their ear. When they find the bear, they must then dig,” she paused. “Very carefully. A charging bear will explode through the snow and ice, a three-hundred kilo animal that is scared, and most pissed off.” She unhooked the hunting rifle from her shoulder and worked the bolt. King saw the flash of a large brass cartridge leave the magazine and slide seamlessly into the breach. The stainless-steel bolt locked forward as she locked the bolt action down. “But you can’t just shoot into the hole or the roof of the cavern. That would mean far too much digging. You need to coax the bear out. Prod at it with your hand, or even a foot if the bear is deep. Wake the bear and get them to come after you. Time it right, and the hunter puts a bullet down through its head as it leaves the tunnel you have dug. Time it wrong…” She cradled the rifle and took a step in the snow. “And the bear gets a mid-hibernation meal. Like a home delivery,” she smiled. “A bear is good meat and the fur is invaluable in winter.”

King followed but said nothing. He had entered the caves of the Tora Bora with nothing but a knife, a pistol and a pair of night-vision goggles. He had been hunting Taliban commanders at the time. Men