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

trying not to be rude, but they’re shutting those things down as quickly as they empty. I imagine they’ll start chaining them down soon.”

“How cold is it out there?”

“Minus thirty,” he replied. He pointed to a row of red lights towards the ice hotel. “Those are saunas, and can you make out the piles of snow?”

Caroline struggled to see against her own reflection in the glass. “Yes,” she said eventually. “Just.”

“The snow has been loosened and sieved so people can run out of the sauna and dive into the piles.”

“Oh my god!” She laughed. “Forget that!”

King smiled. “It might have been a thought, had we not been on official business and there not be so many people around.”

She rested her head against his broad shoulder. “What are you like?”

He put an arm around her and pulled her close. “Sometimes I just want to get off the treadmill.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I thought my sabbatical with Interpol would be a bit like that,” she paused. “I was hell-bent on seeing this trafficking thing through, but it’s just another perpetual situation that will never change, never be any different. Like what we do for MI5.”

“Same shit, different day,” King mused.

“Something like that.”

“So, this must be the woman Alex King has gone all soft for…”

They both spun around, but King had recognised the voice before he had started to move. The silence in which the man had entered the room was unnerving. Hard floors, yet no noise. It took a while to master. But then King remembered the man had once been the best there was. Maybe he still was.

“Caroline, this is Peter Stewart.” King looked at him and added, “Peter, this is Caroline Darby.”

Stewart walked over and extended his right hand. Caroline shook it and smiled. “Alex has told me a lot about you,” she said neutrally.

“All good?”

“Not at all.”

“Well, he’s probably right.”

“I’m sure he is.”

Stewart released her hand and looked back at King. “Sharp one, this.” The comment could well have been construed as humour, but nobody kidded themselves. “How about a drink, then?”

King nodded. “I’ll get them in. What are you drinking?”

“Scotch, of course,” Stewart said. “Neat and warm.”

“Let’s go to the bar, then. It’s a bit quiet in here,” replied King.

“I thought that’s how you liked it,” the Scotsman said sardonically.

“Not when I’m trying to spot the players.”

“There’s no players,” Stewart said as he followed them out of the room. “Just a lot of scared people trying to book themselves on a coach, and a few curious thrill-seekers who want to see what two-hundred mile an hour Arctic winds looked like.”

“Two-hundred miles per hour?” Caroline asked, somewhat incredulous.

Stewart ignored her and said, “There’s someone of interest coming in. From the power station on the Russian side. There’s no hard border here. No more than a rusted fence put up in the fifties. From a look on the map, there are only three places where crossing makes any sense. My money is on just one of them. It’s the most obvious. Fitzpatrick knew this, but he had worked out an exact rendezvous point with the first defector. We’ll have to cover the other two.”

“And Fitzpatrick wound up dead,” King said sharply. “So, don’t tell me there are no players up here. That Sami hunter tried to kill us. And he tried to kill me earlier, or at least tried to scare me off. And he was with another man. That’s two hostiles.”

“Well, one more possible, at least,” Stewart corrected him.

King caught the waitress’s eye and she came over. He ordered Stewart’s Scotch and a coffee for Caroline. An Americano. He settled on a tall ginger ale with ice. Despite the cold outside, the hotel was overly-warm. Stewart frowned at their orders but didn’t say anything. He’d always drunk alcohol no matter the operation. King had never seen the man drunk. He must have been immune or weaned to Scotch from the teat.

“Yes,” King said as the waitress left with their order. “Shame we couldn’t question the Sami.”

“Well, you should have put him down swiftly,” Stewart countered. “Getting soft, from what I see,” he added, glancing at Caroline.

“Or perhaps it suited you better for him to die?” King said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just musing.”

“Muse away,” Stewart said tersely. “But if you’ve something to say, laddie, then best get it said.”

King said nothing as the waitress arrived with their order, but he watched Stewart intently. Had he rattled him? He hoped so. The waitress set down Caroline’s coffee first, then Stewart’s Scotch. King held out his hand for his drink and took a deep mouthful. The room was hot, and the air was dry. The waitress asked for his room number and King shook his head like it didn’t matter. He wasn’t about to give his room number away in front of Stewart. He gave her a twenty-Euro note and told her to keep the change. He doubted it would amount to much considering the hotel’s prices.

“What’s your plan, then?” King asked.

“I thought MI5 were handling this?”

King shrugged. “Sure, we’ll take it from here. I’ll get you booked onto the coach.”

“Nice try.”

“Can’t have it both ways,” Caroline interjected. “Your man was killed, MI5 are on the scene, for whatever reason or political agenda, so like Alex said; we’ll take it from here, enjoy the ride back.”

“She gets sharper,” Stewart said to King, swallowing his Scotch in one gulp.

“I’m right here,” Caroline glowered.

“Clearly,” Stewart said as he stood up. “We must do this again sometime…”

“Not likely…” Caroline sipped her coffee, turning away to look at the fire.

“I suggest we use your resources to cover the bases,” Stewart said. “There’s enough of you milling around here to have someone on all the possible locations.”