Outlaws by Matt Rogers (phonics books TXT) 📕

really going to let innocent people die?’

‘I’ve given it my all.’

‘You haven’t. Not yet.’

‘I don’t have a choice?’

‘You don’t.’

‘You really want an operative in the field who doesn’t want to be there?’

‘You may not want to do the job,’ the old man said. ‘But you want to survive. If we drop you in a war zone, you’re going to fight your way out regardless.’

‘I didn’t sign up to this to be a slave.’

‘But you signed up. So now you’re ours.’

‘Is this a concrete decision?’

The man stared. ‘What part of what we said made you think it wasn’t?’

‘I thought you might like to think about it. Reconsider.’

‘Your girlfriend,’ the old man said. ‘Alexis Diaz. She’s a civilian. She knows what you do. She knows … the truth about how this country gets things done.’

Slater didn’t try to bluff his way out of it. He figured they deserved some level of respect.

He nodded.

The old man said, ‘The only reason you are alive is because you’re of use to us. Serve your country, complete the tasks we need you for, and then we might reconsider neutralising you for treason. That’s the best you’re going to get.’

Inside, Slater raged.

Outwardly, he said, ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Do we have an understanding?’

‘We do.’

‘Don’t try anything brash,’ he said. ‘We’ll be watching.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘You would,’ the old man said. ‘You’ll think about it day and night. But you won’t do it. Because you know what we’re capable of.’

Slater went quiet.

The same man bent down, picked up Slater’s Glock, and tossed it back. ‘Your driver will meet you at the same place he dropped you off.’

Slater caught the gun and returned it to its holster.

Addressing all four of them, he said, ‘Are you going to tell me who you are?’

The man on the far right said, ‘No.’

Slater half-nodded.

He sensed his cue.

He turned on his heel and strode out of the ruins.

Back to the boat.

38

As the time inched past midnight, Slater stepped out of the Navigator for the final time.

The return journey had mirrored the trip there — he’d motored the dinghy back to the banks of the Hudson, clambered into the back of the SUV, and sat silent for the whole ride.

There’d been much more to think about this time round.

He and the driver didn’t offer each other a gesture of farewell. There was little point. They would never see each other again. Slater got out and went into his lobby, fully aware that he was probably in someone’s crosshairs.

He found it hard to care.

Nihilism plagued him.

Am I destined to do this forever?

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Like a pendulum.

An enemy of his country, then a loyal warrior for it.

An endless cycle.

Unless he killed the cycle.

Unless he got out, and stayed out.

He rode the elevator up, wondering what he’d find. Wondering where the allegiances of his closest colleagues lay. King first, then Violetta a distant second. Outside of that, he had no work relations.

He felt utterly alone.

He reached his floor, and made straight for King’s apartment. He knew they’d be in there. There was nothing in his own dwelling except himself and his thoughts, and he wanted to spend as little time in his own head as possible.

For now, at least.

He only knocked once before the door swung open in his face.

It wasn’t King.

It was Violetta.

She was genuinely concerned, her features marred by stress and guilt and fear. She said, ‘Did they hurt you?’

He looked himself over, as if it wasn’t obvious that he was untouched. ‘Yeah, they shot me five times. Can’t you tell?’

She said, ‘Sorry. I’m just worried.’

‘Don’t be,’ he said.

He brushed past her and made for the living room.

King was sprawled across an armchair, lazily squeezing a metal grip trainer between his fingers. It was an unconscious pastime Slater had seen him steadily become addicted to over the course of the last year. He sat still, absent-mindedly staring into space, his giant forearms rippling with veins as he compressed and released the handles. There was no way you’d be able to tell he was crushing two hundred pounds of resistance in his grip.

He looked up as Slater entered. ‘How’d that go?’

Slater paused. ‘Not great. You don’t look so good either.’

‘Poor timing all round,’ King muttered.

‘What are you talking about?’

He sensed Violetta materialise behind him, catching up after he’d brushed past her. ‘King has a job.’

Slater wheeled on the spot. ‘Are you serious?’

‘It has nothing to do with you.’

‘Sounds like it does,’ Slater said. ‘A convenient solo op. You’re getting him out of here so he can’t talk to me?’

‘What are you talking about?’ King said. ‘That’s a bullshit conspiracy.’

‘I’m sure you know all about how that meeting went,’ Slater said. ‘Did Violetta bring you up to speed before she said you need to get out of the city?’

Violetta said, ‘He doesn’t know how it went. I don’t either. We don’t even know who you met.’

Slater looked at her and rolled his eyes.

She said, ‘I’m serious. You think you two are the only ones they’re keeping in the dark?’

‘So you report to…?’

‘A middleman.’

Slater went quiet. Frankly, he didn’t have any evidence she was lying — they’d be going round in circles if he remained steadfast in his disbelief. So he backed off. ‘Okay. Fair enough.’

‘How’d it go?’

‘They said no.’

The atmosphere tightened.

No one spoke.

King said, ‘What does that mean?’

Slater turned to face him. They stared each other dead in the eyes, which said a whole lot more than words could. All the nuances, all the uncertainty, all the determination — Slater knew King could see it.

King said, ‘You’re thinking about running. But for now, you’re still employed. So why don’t you take this solo op, if you really think it’s a conspiracy to whisk me away?’

‘I know nothing about it.’

‘Neither do I,’ King said. ‘That’s the way this job works. Or have you forgotten that already?’

You could cut the air with a knife.

Violetta said, ‘I’m going to leave you two to talk it over. Jason — pass on what you know. There’s a ticket