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

She took her mobile phone out of her other pocket and checked the time and GPS coordinates. She was directly on target. The clearing was small and sheltered by a cluster of knolls to the east. She looked up to the peak of the first hill. It was some two-hundred metres to the summit, with pines and firs dotted across the face. She slipped the phone back into her pocket and took out the Walther. The tiny pistol was compact and heavy, and fitted in her gloved hand. She would be able to use it with her glove, unlike King, who had not been able to wrap his index finger inside the trigger guard with a gloved hand. With the weapon held by her side, she studied the terrain ahead of her. It did not feel good.

During her time in the army, Caroline had served in Afghanistan in army intelligence. She had been on many patrols and missions. She had walked into ambushes and she had lain in wait, ready to see who showed up to a weapon cache or to arm an IED. She had been on both sides of the first volley of fire, and she had grown to trust her instincts. This felt wrong, and she wasn’t going to wait and see how it panned out. She needed to reposition herself, find somewhere with more cover from which to observe the clearing. She walked back to the snowmobile and swung her leg over the seat. She tucked the pistol back into her pocket and reached for the ignition key.

The gunshot rang out. Loud and dull, the echo of the high-velocity round breaking the sound barrier, ringing off into the forest around her. She felt the impact of the bullet striking the engine cover and plastic fairing and metal sparks flew up in front of her. The bullet passed through, throwing up a dusting of ice particles a few feet to her left. Caroline screamed and looked to her right. She pressed the starter button, but it just whirred away electronically. She rolled to her left to use the machine as cover as the second round hit the saddle and soft leatherette and stuffing showered down onto her. She had seen the muzzle flash further up the hill, high and to her right. She rolled and ran, sliding and skidding on the hard snow as she made her way into the treeline. She darted left, right, right again, then left… Another gunshot and snow puckered up to her right. She darted left again, right, right, then left. Never a uniformed zig-zag. A competent marksman would be able to anticipate the turn, give them enough lead. She made the treeline, kept going. She heard another gunshot but did not see or hear the strike. She reached another tree, dodged behind it and dropped to the ground. She rolled and looked up. There were many trees between herself and the treeline. That was good. Those same trees would be blocking the sniper’s point of aim and arc of fire. She got the Walther ready in her right hand, then changed her mind and fumbled for her mobile phone. She needed bare fingers to work the touchscreen. She tore her gloves off with her teeth, pocketed the gloves and started to dial.

49

King felt the vibration of his phone in his pocket but could not stop the ascent he was making up the side of a steep hill. The snowmobile was working hard, and he was standing up out of the saddle, jockey-style, his calves gripping the sides of the seat as he worked the machine through a gulley hemmed in on either side by jagged rocks. He was at a point where it was make or break, so he thumbed the throttle all the way and the snowmobile headed skywards like a rocket at an acute angle of approximately seventy-degrees. He was about to slip off the back of the machine when it reached the summit and became airborne. King threw his weight over the handlebars and the snowmobile dropped back down, settling on the snow as he released the throttle. The machine glided to a halt.

The phone stopped vibrating but started again almost at once. King tore off his gloves and dug his phone out of his pocket. He could see it was Rashid’s number, although he never assigned a contact to a number. He only had ten numbers stored, and all of them related to MI5.

“Yes, mate?” he answered.

“Forget the other two RVs, there’s movement here.”

King hesitated. “What’s happening?”

“Someone has shown up in the clearing. I think it’s a woman. Build and movements, like.”

“How is she acting?”

“Unsure. Nervous. Constantly checking their ‘six,” Rashid paused. “And there were gunshots earlier. A short burst. Semi-auto, not a hunting rifle. By the way she’s checking behind her, I think she’s been pursued.”

King hesitated for a moment. If the woman in the clearing was the defector, then being in the open would compromise her safety. But if Rashid was in an OP, then he would be perfectly placed to surprise any hostiles. But then he thought of the five meagre rounds he had given him, and the uncertain range the rifle had been zeroed for. “What’s your status?”

“In a hide. Cocked, locked and ready to rock…”

“With bugger-all firepower if it all gets a bit shooty…”

“Suggestions?”

“Get down there, get them out. If you heard an automatic weapon and that genuinely is the defector, you could be in the shit if you fire on any hostiles.”

“On it.”

“I’ll get there,” said King. “I’ll approach from the northwest.” King could hear Rashid breathing heavily. He could hear feet crunching on the ice. “Good luck.”

King ended the call and the phone vibrated instantly in his hand. He pressed the answer