Contracts by Matt Rogers (i like reading txt) 📕

But he didn’t do it.

Instead he said, ‘Okay,’ and trudged down the slope through the snow.

The insurgent followed, keeping at least a dozen feet between them at all times.

King could sense the barrel aimed at his back. So he went slow, which was easy considering the circumstances. He was dead tired and it was hard to breathe. The wind died off as they sunk lower into the natural valley between the peaks, and then they were surrounded by clusters of rocks and boulders, all coated in powdery snow.

Obscured from the sight of any trekkers’ who happened to reach the top of Gokyo Ri behind them.

King could feel how alone he was. It was palpable, and it’d get to him if he let it. It’d transform into doubt, plaguing him with the knowledge that even if he got wounded and survived, no one would ever find him.

Behind him, the rebel growled, ‘Here.’

King looked around.

And then he saw it.

The mouth of a shallow cave. It was hard to spot amidst the maze of rocks, but the shadows caught his eye and he realised every answer he’d been seeking rested in that gaping maw.

‘Inside?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

King only had to take a couple of steps forward before he saw them.

Two silhouettes, maybe twenty feet inside the cave.

A small woman, and a large man.

The man was holding her out in front, and had a handgun pressed into the side of her head.

King trudged the final few steps through the snow and stepped into the mouth of the cave.

There was just enough sunlight to make out the curly blond hair.

King said, ‘You could have just told us at the start. It wouldn’t have changed anything. You’ll still get your money.’

Oscar Perry kept his mouth shut. His eyes were rabid, almost animalistic. The shadows were deep, but the sun was at the appropriate angle to illuminate him. His clothes were dirty, ripped in a few places. He had a tight grip on the handgun — another Sig Sauer P320 (probably the same shipment) — and his finger inside the trigger guard.

Raya looked okay, all things considered. She was tall for her age, pale and lean. Probably paler than usual due to the bloody bandage wrapped around her hand. The shock of losing a finger would take some time to wear off. She wore hiking gear and had deep bags under her eyes. Her hair was slick with sweat and grease. She was shaking.

King took another step forward. ‘You wanted me here to talk. So let’s talk.’

Perry still didn’t speak.

He didn’t take his eyes off King.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t make a sound.

Just watched.

King took a final half-step forward, and behind him the rebel said, ‘Hey.’

King looked over his shoulder casually, both eyebrows raised. Like, What’s the problem?

The rebel opened his mouth to say something.

King blew his forehead apart with a single round.

He’d drawn his own P320 with half his body facing away from the insurgent, so the guy had never seen it coming. The body hit the cave floor with a wet smack, but King didn’t see it because at lightning speed he whirled around and had the gun pointed between Perry’s eyes before anyone could even blink.

Reflexes, he thought.

They’ve saved me more times than I can count.

Perry barely reacted. He still didn’t say a word.

‘Now let’s talk,’ King said.

‘Not to me,’ Perry said.

The words came out croaky. Like they were his first of the day.

Like he’d never been prepared to speak.

King said, ‘What?’

‘He was waiting for you to do that.’

‘Who?’

‘I’m being told to stand here.’

‘Oh.’

‘This gun is empty.’

A barrel touched the back of King’s neck.

65

Slater lowered the empty plate to the carpet next to his bed.

The motion made his heart speed up.

He lay back and tried to focus on digesting the food. There was little else worth paying attention to besides listening out for intruders. There was an invisible ball of lead on his chest, pushing him deeper into the thin mattress, turning his bones to deadweight. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t concentrate. Could barely breathe.

It had been three hours since King left. By now, he should be at the summit. It was all playing out up there, far out of reach, too far for Slater to offer any kind of assistance — not that he could help anyway. He needed to descend now — reach a lower altitude so his body had some hope of recovering — but he couldn’t do it alone.

And by now, the insurgents would know he was here.

Alone.

Compromised.

Vulnerable.

They’d want to do it quietly. No point ruining their country’s tourism industry by going into a trekkers’ safe haven with all guns blazing. Far easier to slip into the room without disturbing the other patrons and put a suppressed round through the top of Slater’s head.

He just had to hope the owner stayed true to his word.

If not, they’d overwhelm him.

Then he heard it, and his pulse quickened. He fought it back down and listened hard, struggling to a seated position in bed. Everything hurt, but he didn’t pay attention to it. He focused everything on what he’d heard.

A footstep.

He wouldn’t have suspected anything if a civilian had come stomping into the corridor, but this person was making a deliberate effort to stay quiet. Much like the owner had done nearly an hour earlier. Slater had switched to operational mode thirty minutes ago, figuring his next encounter would be with someone brandishing a loaded weapon.

Another footstep.

Then another.

Right outside his door.

He braced himself.

Slipped a finger inside the trigger guard.

Aimed the handgun at the door.

Exhaled.

Ready.

Then there was a rapid flurry of footsteps, and an almighty crash, and a door flew open, and a suppressed gunshot coughed and echoed through the rooms.

Not Slater’s door.

Not Slater’s room.

They’d gone for 108, just down the hall.

Slater breathed out, and the adrenaline hit him in a wave, as he imagined it would. He knew that was the trigger he needed. He also knew time was finite. Stress chemicals didn’t last forever. You could only stay wired to the eyeballs for a narrow window