Contracts by Matt Rogers (i like reading txt) 📕

thought there was an international porters’ conference being hosted there. Which doesn’t sound like they were clad in military fatigues, or more people would have noticed.’

‘So they’re hiding in plain sight.’

‘It’s relatively easy to do out there. Everyone’s focused on themselves and their condition, and it’s an alien environment for the average trekker anyway. They’re not going to notice anything out of the ordinary, because everything’s out of the ordinary.’

‘When was this?’

‘Four hours ago. Lunchtime.’

King stared into the valley. ‘So there’s probably a handful of the rebels lingering around, expecting us.’

‘I’d say so. Are you armed?’

‘We are now.’

‘With what?’

‘A couple of Sig Sauer P320s we lifted off our attackers. You wouldn’t know whether Perry would have access to…?’

‘Just because they’re American-made doesn’t mean it’s Perry arming them. Do you have ammunition?’

‘Four magazines each.’

‘Use them wisely. And aim steady.’

‘Will do.’

‘We uploaded an audio clip to the same part of the dark web where the rebels dumped the video. We had a team of psychologists who concocted the clip, but it seems the kidnappers bought it hook, line and sinker. We used a voice actor to sound abhorrently stressed, claiming he was doing everything in his power to get in touch with the right negotiator. He told them three of the best special risks insurers in the world were equally desperate to make sure this went off without a hitch. You know what that means, right?’

‘You made Raya seem more valuable, so they wouldn’t be so quick to hurt her.’

‘Yes.’

‘Which means, if Slater and I fail, everything’s going to escalate significantly, and she’s probably going to die.’

‘Yes.’

King paused to rub his brow. ‘Shit.’

‘I just put my career on the line because I have faith in the pair of you,’ she said. ‘Don’t fuck it up.’

‘We’ll try not to.’

‘It’s all of our heads if this doesn’t work. If the two of you lose yours, then mine’s on the chopping block for wasting such important assets.’

‘We won’t let you down, ma’am.’

‘Christ, don’t call me ma’am. Enough of that. I fucking care about you, alright? Come home safe.’

He paused, taking it in, and felt the weight of her words.

He said, ‘I will.’

He hung up the phone.

Hunched forward, put his elbows on his knees, and caught his breath.

He was tired.

He couldn’t mask it.

Slater said, ‘How fucked are we?’

King said, ‘Not as bad as I thought. They were at a teahouse down in that valley four hours ago. We won’t catch them tonight, but we’ll do it in the morning.’

‘She won’t make it until morning.’

‘Yes, she will. Violetta bought us time.’

‘How?’

Fighting extreme lethargy, King pushed himself to his feet. ‘By upping the stakes.’

He set off down the mountain.

45

They reached the Phorste Thanga guest house just as the sun dropped below the horizon.

Slater made it there first. The descent suited his healthy ankles better than King’s, and the pain in his arm had become so consistent and monotonous that it no longer had an effect on his stride. The guest house rested at the bottom of a declining slope, nestled into a dip in the trail. Past it, the path rose, continuing on the long journey to Everest and Gokyo Ri. The building itself was three storeys, made of brick, with green wooden window frames set at regular intervals across the levels. Beside it rested a cobblestone courtyard where trekkers could stop for lunch or a tea break.

Slater made it up three of the rough stone steps before a short Nepali man burst out of the building’s front door.

He was waving his arms hard, practically frothing at the mouth with nervous energy.

Shooing them away.

He pulled to a halt at the top of the stairs and shook his head.

Slater got the first word in, ‘Look…’

‘No!’ the man hissed. ‘Both of you get out of here, right now.’

King trundled to a halt beside Slater and caught his breath. He lifted his bad leg up a step, to take some weight off it. His face was pale — almost green, in fact. He wasn’t in good shape.

‘We have nowhere else to stay,’ Slater said. ‘We—’

The owner cut him off. ‘They are still in hills. From early today. I cannot refuse service, or they make life bad for me. Very bad. Before they leave they tell me what you two look like. They say if I take you in, they kill me and all the guests. I cannot have this happen. My family future at stake. If you seen here… there will be nothing left for them. No one will ever come here. I will be dead. Tourists, hikers … they die. All because of you.’

King said, ‘The rebels aren’t here. They’re gone.’

The owner sighed and bowed his head, as if contemplating what he could share.

Then he lifted his gaze again. ‘Just ahead. Few miles down trail. Many men stay back. They expect you to come. They wait and they ambush. You die. They know this terrain. You do not.’

‘We’ll manage,’ Slater said. ‘Can you feed us, at least?’

‘No.’

Slater pulled the Sig Sauer out of his waistband and aimed the barrel at the owner’s stomach. He kept it low, below the line of sight of anyone peering out the guest house’s windows. But he raised an eyebrow, asking the age-old question: Do you get the message?

‘Bring us food,’ Slater said. ‘Or you die right here.’

‘You will not do that,’ the owner said, keeping his voice low. ‘I know what you trying to do. They have girl. They try to keep it from me, but I see her. You’re good man, trying to help her. You will not shoot me.’

‘We’re good men who will collapse tonight if we don’t get food,’ Slater said. ‘We respect you, so we’re doing what you ask. We won’t force ourselves into your property. But we need to eat.’

There was no movement. The owner didn’t respond. He was still as a statue.

Which left Slater in a tricky situation.

He said, ‘Am I going to have to lead you inside at gunpoint and have you make us food with