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

Natalia caught herself, realised she had started to urinate. Just a trickle, but she stopped herself, the sensation taking her back thirty-years to a time where she felt safe and loved and secure. Her legs were heavy and leaden, she willed herself to move, but could not. She did not know how long she stared at the screen, but she knew she had lost vital minutes, and her fear of being caught now was on an entirely different scale to her first fears. She knew that she could end up here, whatever this hell was.

She had been instructed to use video only. Stills could be taken from the film later, and she could not change the phone’s settings while wearing the gloves. She filmed the television monitors, using the zoom function to give greater perspective. She filmed the last two screens longer for dramatic effect. Then she felt voyeuristic. The feeling sickened her, and she lowered the phone. She knew what she had to do, but it was at odds with what she knew she should do. She could no longer see her watch and could not take the phone off its camera setting while wearing the gloves. She looked for a clock on the wall, then relaxed when she saw eight. They were labelled: Site, Moscow, Vladivostok, Washington, London, Paris, Los Angeles, Canberra. She frowned at the significance but looked at the clock labelled “site” and realised she was well over halfway through her window of opportunity.

    But what should she do? She had instructions to film the facility and map the location using the GPS of her smartphone. She imagined that her predecessor had some information that had whetted the appetite of an outside agency but hadn’t documented the smoking gun. She looked again at the bank of television monitors, a thought coming to her. If they wanted evidence, then what better than the subject of their trials? What better way to get somebody’s attention than take a witness? She watched the man and the woman on the screen. What better way indeed?

34

 

“So, my mini bar takes the hit?” Neil Ramsay paused. “The accounts lot are going to love that, and it makes it look like I’ve got a bloody drink problem.”

Rashid laughed. “It’s a juice,” he said. “And besides, from what I’ve seen, MI5 is fuelled on alcohol. You’d have a bigger problem if you didn’t drink!”

“But there’s wine gone as well,” he replied tersely.

Ramsay had a large suite and it had been the obvious choice to act as a meeting room. Rashid was perched on the desk, an apparently expensive bottle of orange juice in his hand. King leaned against the wall and had reverted to a cup of tea. He sipped his half-decent cuppa and smiled at Ramsay’s protests. Marnie sipped from her glass of white wine, the object of Ramsay’s protestations. She had flushed at her cheeks and was looking embarrassed.

“Make the most of it, Marnie,” Caroline laughed. “He’ll ask housekeeping not to restock it tomorrow. If I hadn’t had too much already, I’d join you.” She was seated in a chair, pouring creamer into a cup of coffee. She’d found some cappuccino sprinkles and was juggling the cup, creamer and sprinkle sachet, the cup balanced between her knees.

“Oh, sod it!” Ramsay opened the mini bar and took out a miniature of brandy and a bottle of soda. “But nobody has any of that organic chocolate… it’s ten-euros a bar!” He twisted the caps and unceremoniously poured both bottles into a glass. He took a sip and relished the taste. He looked up at King as he sat down in the chair next to Caroline. King remained stoically against the wall. “So, what have you found out?”

King shrugged. “It’s not quite as simple as that,” he said. He told them about Peter Stewart, his association with him in MI6 and their eventful journey up to the hotel. He glossed over much of his MI6 career. It was out of the bag now, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last he heard about it. He had already started to think of an exit strategy. An archipelago in Indonesia or Malaysia, maybe. Somewhere he could disappear and live inexpensively. But would Caroline be willing to cut herself off? He glanced at her across the room. She had managed to construct a passable cappuccino. He loved her. Hoped she loved him enough to leave it all behind. He shrugged off the thought. He needed to finish this first.

“Simon Mereweather filled me in about Director Amherst’s penance,” he said stiffly.

King smiled thinly. “I know,” he said. “It’s my fault…”

“No more than mine,” Rashid interrupted. “I was the new boy, but I did my share to upset the Russians. And I guess that is what has upset MI6.”

“And it’s not like Alex had a choice,” Caroline chimed in. “What was he meant to do? Sit around and wait? It’s not like the service got any rescue operation in place before you recruited Rashid to help. Frankly, I think about what was done early doors and it makes me want to find a new career…”

Ramsay held up his hand. “MI5 had things in place,” he said a little contritely.

“Sorry to play Devil’s advocate, but from the transcripts, wasn’t it Deputy Director Mereweather’s plan all along to get Alex to work off grid?” Marnie paused, looking at everyone. She looked like she’d started something she wished she hadn’t. “Otherwise, why else would he have presented him with the letter? The news and instructions? Like a clockwork mouse. Wind it up and watch it go…”

King smiled. He didn’t know Marnie, but he liked what he saw. She was a smart cookie. “Well, I’m glad that’s out there,” he said. “I knew why he did what he did. And I think he knows it too, which is why he’s mopping this