Sharks by Matt Rogers (best book series to read TXT) 📕

only so much that can be conveyed in a snapshot. A photo can’t translate the energy, the aura. There’s a palpable difference between a jumpy man and a poised man. Walcott had two gun barrels staring him in the face, but he didn’t flinch. In fact he didn’t react at all. He wore a tailored suit with a matching vest underneath the jacket. His shoes had been recently polished. His hair was perfect, blonde and smooth and swept to one side as artfully as if he was gracing the cover of GQ. He had to be fifty, but he looked thirty-five thanks to a rigorous skincare routine.

The suit material was expensive and hugged his frame tight. It was a hot day, the air fetid, but he didn’t even look warm, let alone breaking a sweat. He put a lot of effort into staying in shape, and Slater doubted it was all show muscle.

Under the suit he looked hard.

Calloused.

A world away from what they’d imagined — a scion who’d inherited his grandfather’s fortune without recognising the privilege, taking it all for granted.

This was a man who took nothing for granted.

Walcott said, ‘I’m not going to kill you, so I’d appreciate lowering the guns. I’m not going to talk to you otherwise.’

King said, ‘You’re not going to kill us?’

‘That’s right.’

Slater said, ‘I think you have this all wrong.’

‘Do I?’

‘Yeah,’ King said. ‘Take a moment. It might sink in.’

Walcott didn’t move a muscle. He took a moment, just as they instructed, then he shrugged. ‘Okay. I’ve done what you ask. Nothing’s changed.’

Slater said, ‘I wouldn’t underestimate us.’

‘I don’t underestimate anyone.’

King said, ‘Your bare hands say otherwise.’

‘You think I pull my own triggers? You think I leave anything to chance?’

‘Some things,’ Slater said. ‘If you left nothing to chance you wouldn’t have left this place so open. We walked right in.’

‘And where’s that got you?’

‘Aiming a gun at the man we’re looking for,’ King said. ‘That’s where it’s got me. Can’t speak for my friend here.’

Walcott said, ‘So shoot.’

‘We want answers first.’

‘You won’t get another word out of me until you lower those weapons.’

Slater said, ‘Is that right?’

True to his word, Walcott said nothing.

King said, ‘You’re coming with us.’

Walcott didn’t budge. In fact, the edge of a smile played at his lips. His confidence was different — he was absolutely sure of the outcome.

King didn’t like it one bit. He suppressed a cold invisible finger tickling at the base of his neck.

Slater took a step forward.

Walcott stared daggers at him and imperceptibly shook his head.

It wasn’t a command.

It was a warning.

Please don’t do that, Walcott was telling him. For your own good.

Slater ignored it.

King said, ‘Stay where you are.’

Not to Walcott.

To Slater.

Slater said, ‘Not like you to get spooked.’

King didn’t take his eyes off Walcott. ‘You can talk now. We’re listening.’

Walcott was practically a statue.

King said, ‘I’m not playing games.’

Silence.

It drew out. It was more than lowering their weapons. Dropping their guns was a physical submission, and you showed one ounce of weakness in this game it’d chew you up and spit you out like all your talent and training meant nothing at all.

Because it doesn’t, King realised. Not really.

Running and sparring and conditioning and shooting was all simulation. Simulation doesn’t equal field results. It puts you in good stead, but at the end of the day if you can’t execute in crunch time it’s all for nothing.

Walcott suddenly got fed up.

‘Okay,’ the man said. ‘You two aren’t getting it. You see that window behind you?’

‘You think I’m turning around?’ King said.

‘No. But the daylight streaming in on your backs should make it pretty damn obvious.’

King didn’t answer.

Slater said, ‘I’ve about had enough of this.’

‘Me too,’ Walcott said, and lowered his chin half an inch. The faintest of nods.

The faintest of commands.

A tiny red dot appeared on Walcott’s unblemished forehead, then disappeared milliseconds later. King and Slater wouldn’t even have noticed it if they weren’t zoned in with all their focus, the primal parts of their brains ice-cold and paying attention to every last inscrutable detail.

Slater put it together in a millisecond.

Only one place a guy could get that sort of angle, that line of sight.

Walcott had a man on top of one of the silos.

Walcott said, ‘It’s a big window. You might think it’s smart to duck, or juke to the side. You two seem pretty athletic. It might be fifty-fifty. You want to risk fifty-fifty on getting your brains blown out your ears?’

Quiet.

In a connecting office, a wall clock ticked.

Slater heard every second pass.

He lowered his gun. Kept his finger in the trigger guard and the barrel aimed at the floor, ready to raise and fire at the slightest inclination. In no way a surrender. Just a compromise.

King saw it out of the corner of his eye. ‘Don’t do that.’

‘What a reversal,’ Walcott said. ‘You two swing back and forth like a pendulum. Who’s the daredevil now?’

King said, ‘Shut up.’

‘Gladly,’ Walcott said. ‘Same deal. You don’t get another word out of me until that pretty Glock gets aimed at the floor. I just thought I’d make it very clear. You needed a push.’

He folded his hands in front of him, puffing out his significant chest, and waited.

King waited.

Slater waited.

King lowered his gun.

Walcott said, ‘That’s better.’

‘Your man out there might hit one of us if we do anything drastic,’ Slater said. ‘Maybe one, definitely not both. You’re dead if we don’t like what you have to say.’

‘My man was in the Australian SAS,’ Walcott said. ‘He’s been around the block. One of you is guaranteed to die, you can be sure of that. I don’t think either one of you is ready for that. Losing a brother.’

‘You think we’re brothers?’ Slater said, highlighting the obvious difference in skin tone.

Walcott smiled. ‘I know you are.’

He knew exactly what to say and when to say it.

Slater gave him that much credit, at least.

Slater said, ‘So what happens now?’

‘Now we talk,’ Walcott said. ‘Are you two the ones trying to kick off a civil war in