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

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said. “Lift up your shirt and show me.”

He did so, high and slow. He turned around, so she could see his back. “Is that okay?” he asked.

“Unarmed?”

“I am unarmed. But there’s a Sig nine-millimetre in the glovebox. This is South Africa after all, but I didn’t want to spook you.”

“A sound idea,” she said. “I’m surprised you’re alone.”

“We’re based up in Pretoria, the embassy, that is. I’m all there is down here.”

She shrugged. “Fair enough. Tell me, who was your contact from MI5?”

“I haven’t spoken with anybody. The SIS section chief called me and passed on your details.”

“And they were?”

“A Security Service agent in distress. Caroline Darby, thirty-seven, blonde, five-seven, approximately ten-stone, athletic build,” he paused. “Abducted by two men. Both of them down. I am assuming they’re both dead?”

“They are.”

“Weapon?”

“A nine-millimetre Beretta. Their own.”

“Nice.”

She took the pistol out from her waistband, held it loosely in front of her. “You’re not telling me more than someone could already know just from standing here,” she said. “The driver knew my name. That indicates that between MI5 and the South African Security Service, there has been a significant leak.”

“But I’m here.”

“And so were they.”

“I’m not carrying credentials. Basic security.”

“Yeah, that goes for them,” she said, nodding her head towards the car. “They knew my name, and others could do so just as easily.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Hey, that’s fine. But I got a call from Pretoria telling me to get down here quick-smart and they gave me the coordinates and a description. You’re in the shit, MI5 have no assets out here and you need Six to help you out. Beats me what Box are doing out here. You’re a long way off your own turf.” He turned and walked back to the Land Cruiser, then looked back as he caught hold of the door handle. “Good luck on your own…” he trailed off as Caroline raised the weapon and aimed it steadily at him.

“You’re a little too close to that Sig for my liking,” she said. “I’ve had quite a morning and haven’t even had breakfast yet, so don’t do anything you won’t live to regret.” She had his attention, but she was still no closer to trusting him. This was a pre-arranged point where the men had decided to kill her. They had clearly been working for someone, and that person could well know details like the location they had been taking her to. She waved the pistol, indicating him to step away from the vehicle. He did so, reluctantly. “How long have you been with MI6?”

He shrugged. “Ten years,” he said.

“An embassy man?”

“Pretty much.”

“So, you’ve seen operatives come and go in the dark, small hours? Provided them with sanctuary, equipment or information?”

He shrugged again. “Dark deeds. My job has sometimes been that of a facilitator.”

“All over?”

He nodded. “Europe, Middle-East, Asia,” he paused. “As well as several African countries.”

She fished her phone out of her jogging pants pocket. She thumbed the screen, settled on a picture of her and Alex. A selfie overlooking one of her favourite bays in Majorca. The place King had asked her to marry him. It summed up their relationship perfectly. Alex had supposedly been recuperating in Majorca from an injury. He had taken himself off to buy the ring while she had taken a long swim. He had taken down two Russian agents and held a Russian terrorist for an MI5 snatch-team to whisk him away. A clockwork mission, and he had proposed to her within the hour.

“Have you ever seen this man in your time with MI6?” She held the phone out for him, lowered the pistol and kept it tight on her hip. She wouldn’t miss, and he wouldn’t get to the weapon before she could empty the magazine into him. Some couples played tennis together, others did this sort of thing.

He stepped closer cautiously, looked at the photo. His mind was racing, searching for a time, a place where he could put the face into context. He looked at the man’s features, concentrated on his eyes.

The eyes, the window to the soul.

“Jesus,” he said.

“You recognise him?”

He nodded, looked at her curiously. “I know him,” he said. “People in certain departments called him The Reaper.”

20

There is always a trail. There is always a point where discovery of a crime weaves a trail to the truth. Whether that trail can be followed is another thing entirely. Right now, there were two bodies. Bury them and the risk of discovery would lead to an investigation. Burn them in the vehicle and the investigation is merely hampered. But it is what it is. It shows premeditation either in the committing of the crime or in the attempt to cover it up.

Cape Town had numerous opportunities that could be exploited. Like bending with the wind. Do as little as possible, and it would be better than devising an elaborate plan. The principal opportunity rested in the many townships. Many were lawless places, some being complete no-go areas. It had been arranged using local criminals and a generous sum of money, for the two bodies to be dumped in a quiet place on the fringe of one of these no-go areas. A place where the police knew that the chances of a conviction was so low, it would barely warrant an investigation in the first place. The usual suspects of rapists, drug dealers, thieves and murderers would be brought in and if the charges could be made to stick, it would mean a few more scum off the streets. Karma convictions. Maybe not the crime they had done, but they would get the time they deserved nonetheless. The