Contracts by Matt Rogers (i like reading txt) 📕

silence and let the transition to a resting state happen naturally. There would be no confrontation tonight. They were the teahouse’s sole guests. If struggle and battle and conflict would come, it would come way down the line. Briefly he wondered how he’d manage to put up a fight at this level of physical depletion, but that was a problem to be dealt with later. There was no use stressing over it now.

Slater said, ‘You going to do the honours?’

King fished the satellite phone out and called Parker.

He picked up on the first ring.

Must have been nervously anticipating the call, King thought.

Parker said, ‘Yes?’

‘Give me the code.’

‘You’ve got it?’

‘It’s right here in front of me.’

‘3057.’

King reached out and fidgeted with the combination lock until it displayed the correct four digits.

Then he popped the case open.

It was empty.

30

Slater heard King relay the news, and then the tinny discharge of cursing from the other end of the line.

Parker droned on for half a minute, and then King said, ‘Understood.’

He hung up the phone.

Slater clasped his hands together and said, ‘Where the hell does this put us?’

‘Nothing’s changed,’ King said. ‘Parker admitted this was all his own fault, thankfully. He said he’ll get in touch with the relevant parties and let them know exactly what’s now out in the open.’

‘Does that mean ten HQs are going to have to relocate?’

‘Probably. It’s not our problem.’

‘It is if they can’t pack up in time before they’re compromised.’

King slammed a palm on the table, taking Slater aback. When he looked up, there was intensity in King’s eyes.

‘I know that,’ King said through gritted teeth. ‘You think this is any easier for me? I’ve always hated this shit. Now that we know the laptop’s missing, I’d rather be back on home soil protecting the hundreds of people that are probably now in danger. But we’re out here, doing this, and we have to stick to it because those are the orders. So let’s go get Raya and then get back home before everything falls apart.’

‘It’s not the end of the world,’ Slater said. ‘Not yet. We don’t know how bad it is. For all we know, the file didn’t even save. And even if the laptop’s password-protected, I doubt whoever has it has the software and hardware to get into it out here on the trail. If I had to guess, they’ve got it in their possession, but they’re waiting until they’ve dealt with Raya to crack it. Or sell it to someone who can.’

‘That’s just a theory.’

‘So is the suggestion that they’ve got into it. They’re all theories. We don’t know for sure. So we focus on the trail, and forget about everything else.’

King hunched over the open briefcase, staring at the indent where the laptop used to rest. He almost put his head in his hands, but seemed to think better of it.

Slater said, ‘This changes nothing.’

‘There’s too much happening,’ King said. ‘It’s hard to keep track of all of it at once.’

‘Get the girl back,’ Slater said. ‘That’s what matters.’

‘It’s all well and good to tell ourselves that, but there’s more at play here. I’m sure of it. If Parker has nothing to do with it, I’m convinced he’s still keeping something back from us. None of this makes sense.’

‘You’re tired,’ Slater said. ‘Don’t get me wrong — so am I. But now’s not the time to be dissecting all this new info. We’ll talk about it in the morning.’

‘And now?’

‘Now we eat, and rest.’

‘I don’t rest well.’

‘I know. Neither do I. It’s hard not to overthink this. But it’s what we need.’

The elderly woman returned with mugs of tea, and placed them in front of King and Slater respectively. She smiled and nodded, the universal gesture of goodwill, and they smiled and nodded back.

Then a Nepali man stepped inside, emerging from the dark.

If Slater had to guess, he figured the man was a porter. Small, and serious, with dirt caked into the lines on his forehead. Slater put him at close to fifty, but he could have been thirty. Age and appearance didn’t always correlate out here. Some had harder lives than others. He had a strange complexion, with mottled skin and eyes that bulged out of their sockets. He didn’t blink. He surveyed the scene, and then turned to the host.

He barked something in Nepali at the woman, who barked back. They were both equally hostile, snapping at each other in tones that no doubt contained thinly veiled insults.

Then the guy scowled and walked straight back out into the night.

But before he disappeared, he gave Slater and King a long stare with those unwavering, bulging eyes.

Then he was gone.

Slater turned to the woman. ‘What did he want?’

‘He sometimes come through village. He work for himself. Try to get job on trail. No company to organise. I always say, does not work. But he still try.’

‘Tries to get jobs?’

‘He always alone,’ she said. ‘He try to find job carry bag. If he get job, no need to give cut to trek company. But no-one trust him with their bag. So he never get job. He only harass … my customer.’

Slater and King nodded their understanding in unison.

But, deep down, Slater couldn’t shake the overbearing feeling that something was off.

He remembered the way the man’s gaze had lingered.

He looked at King.

Who looked back.

‘Same deal,’ King said. ‘We don’t know. So there’s no use worrying.’

They ordered their food, and half an hour later the woman returned with heaped plates of fried rice and dal bhat. They ate in the echoing silence of the teahouse, stewing over where they were, what they were doing, what might happen in the future.

At least, Slater was.

He couldn’t see inside King’s head.

The night enshrouded the building, and it got completely dark, and the clock ticked onward.

He and Slater tried to make small talk, but it wasn’t their forte.

The host came to collect the plates, and Slater caught the woman’s eye and said, ‘Excuse me, ma’am. Would you happen to