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

survived the deadly fight which had landed him in prison. He had survived his incarceration too, and the ex-soldiers in there who would look to even the score. And he had survived his recruitment into the shadowy world of MI6 and the life they had channelled for him. He had survived against the IRA, secret wars against Russian spetsnaz and the FSB, the Taliban, Al Qaeda and most recently, the evil that was ISIS. He had survived even when his own people had turned on him. His luck was good. But was it luck? Did he possess a sixth sense? He wouldn’t say he did. But he had learned to trust his instincts. He had learned as a child, to trust his intuition. When he had a thought, he simply went with it. He didn’t double guess himself, and he never deviated from his chosen path.

King had felt his instincts start to doubt face value. And when that happened, it was enough for him to run with it. He unlocked his phone and typed out a quick message to Simon Mereweather. It seemed a simple request, but he had no idea how political it would be. He would just have to wait and see.

30

Tokia

South Africa

“I don’t know how you swung that,” Kruger said.

Vigus Badenhorst had been permitted a shower, had changed into the clothes he’d been sentenced in and had been begrudgingly given coffee and some biscuits by Governor Boesak at Caroline’s request.

Caroline walked beside Kruger and Badenhorst followed a metre or so behind. He looked bewildered, had sobbed and could not seem to believe his good fortune. He had only been in Pollsmoor for a little over seven months, but clearly it had claimed him.

It had taken two hours to process the prisoner. Several forms were signed, faxed, refaxed, signed and countersigned. It had taken another hour to talk through the deal with him, and no matter how insistent Caroline had been, she could not persuade the man to continue the interview within the walls of Pollsmoor Prison. He remained adamant. He wanted out. It would go no other way.

Caroline glanced at Kruger as they reached the top of the steps and squinted in the brightness of the South African sun, and a crystalline blue sky. “He has information concerning the sniper. Interpol and Scotland Yard’s Special Branch are convinced that the man who wounded Vigus Badenhorst, and killed both his brother and their employee is the same man who has assassinated the four men on the kill list.”

“Is it not a bit of a stretch?” Kruger asked, somewhat dubiously.

“Timings,” she said noncommittedly. “It’s all in the timings.”

“Then you have someone in mind?”

She nodded. “But only because of the timings. Absence at the time of the assassinations, absence at the time of the Badenhorst shootings.” She slipped on a pair of black Gucci sunglasses and looked back at Vigus. “Now we need to fill in the gaps. See if it is more than mere coincidence.”

“I will tell you everything,” Vigus Badenhorst said, somewhat meekly from behind them. “But only when we’re clear of this cesspit.”

“Then where?” Kruger asked. “We could go to service headquarters in Cape Town,” he suggested.

Caroline wanted to avoid being on the agent’s home turf. She needed to keep control of Vigus. Interpol was running this aspect of the case and she could not afford to get bogged down in bureaucratic disputes. Besides, from her experience this morning, she knew that the South African Secret Service was leaking like a sieve.

“My hotel would be the best bet,” said Caroline. “They have some spare rooms, or did when I checked in last night. And it will give you a chance to get the SASS report on the incident before he flies back with me. You’ll forgive me for not wanting to go into your headquarters. You’re getting information from him regardless.”

Kruger merely nodded. He slipped on a pair of Ray Ban aviators, which he had been wearing stylishly tucked into the vee of his shirt, possibly unstylishly worn open four buttons down.

“Fly back? Where?” Badenhorst asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Kruger added. “Where?”

“To London,” she said. They had reached the Land Cruiser, waited while Kruger unlocked it with his key fob. “And then on to Lyon in France to help Interpol and relay the information you have on this sniper to other law enforcement agencies. Numbers one and two on the kill list were American software and social media billionaires, so the FBI will want to follow up as soon as possible. Either at their New York office, or through Interpol with American staffers.”

“I don’t want to go to…” Badenhorst started.

“You’re mine now,” Caroline interrupted. “Or Interpol’s. You’ll do what we say and go where we tell you.”

“For how long?” he asked, dejected, the enormity of his cooperation deal dawning on him.

“Until it’s done,” she said. “And then you will be flown back here for your cooperation with the South African wildlife agencies and their fight against the ivory trade.”

Kruger laughed. “Well, if you want to dance, ‘bro, you’ve got to pay the band!”

“Nicely put,” said Caroline as she got into the front of the vehicle. She discreetly picked up the Sig pistol and slipped it back into her handbag.

“I’ll move this,” Kruger said, picking up the assault rifle from the rear footwell and sliding it alongside Caroline’s leg. She nudged it against the centre console. “Not that you could make it ready with one arm,” he smirked, but seemed to realise it was in poor taste when Caroline pulled a face. He glanced in the rear-view mirror. “Sorry, bad joke.”

Badenhorst shrugged. “It won’t be so bad when I can get fitted for a prosthesis,” he paused. “Not that I have any money for a good one now. But I’d rather have this,” he paused and held up