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

garlic and caper mayonnaise all over the salmon. “Shan’t be worrying about my breath tonight, then.”

“Bollocks.” Rashid tore off a chunk of bloody meat and chewed hastily. “Well, can’t blame a man for trying.”

She frowned as he wiped some steak through a smear of dark, almost black sauce. “What’s that?” she asked.

Rashid chewed and swallowed, took a sip of his orange juice before he answered. “It’s a sauce made with local beer, berries and thickened with the blood from the reindeer after it was slaughtered, sort of a speciality around here.”

“Oh, dear god…” she grimaced. “What does it taste like?”

Rashid shrugged. “I guess if I were to chew black pudding a hundred times and wash it down with a Guinness, we’d be getting close.”

“Oh, that’s gross!”

Rashid nodded. “Pretty much,” he said. He ate the next mouthful without the sauce and picked at something that looked like spinach and thyme. “That’s not much better, either.”

“What was that?”

“Moss,” he said.

“Moss?”

“Fermented moss,” he clarified.

“How is it fermented?”

Rashid waited for her to take a forkful of smoked salmon. It was flaky and not gelatinous like Scotch smoked salmon. Satisfied she was still chewing, he grinned and said, “It’s fermented in the animal’s gut. When the beast is being slaughtered and butchered they empty the stomach contents out and fry it in butter.”

Marnie looked like she was going to be sick. She picked up her glass and drank down her mouthful, swallowed hard and wiped her lips with her napkin. The knife and fork went down. She was done.

“Well, that settles it,” she said. “There’s no way in hell your mouth is going anywhere near mine tonight.” She looked up as King and Caroline entered the restaurant. Caroline glanced at them both, but quickly ignored them. King didn’t even look. Marnie looked back at Rashid. “They’ve just come in,” she said.

“I know,” he said tersely. She hadn’t seen him look up. “Look, but don’t stare.”

“King didn’t even notice us,” she said.

“Yes, he did,” Rashid said. “But he wouldn’t have let you know he had.”

“So, how do we play it?”

“Play it?”

“Yes.”

“We have dinner. Then we have a drink in the bar. Then we go to bed. Separate beds, and on separate floors by the looks of it.”

“You only have yourself to blame,” she said. “That trick with the receptionist for one, that abomination on your plate, for another. So, like I said; how do we play it with them?”

“And like I said; dinner, then drinks and then bed. Separate ones, of course.”

“And that’s it?”

“What more do you want?”

“Meaning?”

“You’re not a field agent. You ignore them until it’s evident you don’t have to. You are here to unlock data, if or when that time arises. I’m here for support. Muscle. But until either of them lets on, we just enjoy the hotel and the glorious unlimited expense account, curtsey of the British public.”

“That’s it?”

“You can study the other guests, the staff. If you see anything suspicious, at any time of night, just come to my room…”

She laughed again. “You’re a sod, do you know that?”

Rashid smiled. “I have a fair idea.”

28

 

Caroline closed her eyes for a moment as she sat down. When she opened them again and stared back at King across the table from her, she couldn’t have looked more content. He shared her expression. Their lovemaking had been frantic the first time; tender and caring the second, and more adventurous after that. They were in that wonderful state of contentment from both the physical exertion and release, coupled with bonding and rekindling a sense of closeness that had been lost in separation.

Their waiter handed them menus without a smile and asked what they’d like to drink. Caroline chose a gin and tonic and asked for a jug of water with some cucumber. King asked for a local beer.

“This is a shock,” he said. “Or a surprise, at least.”

Caroline reached out and placed her hand over his. “A pleasant surprise?”

“Of course.”

“Simon Mereweather called me back in, said the sabbatical would have to wait.”

“So, it’s a temporary thing, then?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong; I’ve missed you like crazy. But it just feels unfinished.”

“It will do,” he replied. He hesitated while the barman bought the drinks over on a salver. He struggled to unload the two glasses, the tonic bottle and the jug of water, fighting with the balance of the silver tray. He poured all the tonic into the glass, then turned and walked back to the bar. King continued, “You’re too involved.”

“I’m what?” she asked, somewhat hoity.

“You’re too involved,” King repeated. “You were abducted, subjected to cruelty, but you witnessed some terrible things those other women were put through. Added to that, the knowledge that it could well have happened to you. Had you not escaped, had my game with Helena Milankovitch not played out favourably, then your fate could have been very different indeed. That is what’s driving you. It’s personal. And you’re too involved to be subjective.”

“Well, don’t hold back…”

King shrugged. “I say it how I see it.”

“Diplomatic as ever.” She picked up her glass and sipped. “God, I was missing you up until just now.”

“You know it’s true, that’s why.” He reached over and held her hand this time. “I’ve missed you like crazy, I want you to come back to MI5 permanently. But, if you’re not finished…”

She sighed. “But I think I am,” she said. “And you’re right. You’re a smart-arsed bastard sometimes.” Her expression softened. “The people trafficking, and sex trafficking industry won’t change. Somebody will always take the place of the people we put behind bars. In many cases, in Russia and Eastern Europe, the governments, and