Ciphers by Matt Rogers (ereader with dictionary .txt) 📕

got further than I thought. What was it, thirty on one? You’ve done very well. I saw Rick Whelan’s body in the lobby before. Now that’s impressive.’

King said nothing.

Slater said nothing.

Walker seemed hesitant about the anticlimax. He said, ‘Well, that’s what the power of friendship gets you, doesn’t it?’

Silence.

The man said, ‘You had so many opportunities to shoot me. But you both wanted to protect your buddy.’

‘You’re alone,’ King said.

‘But I won.’

‘Against us. But we didn’t exactly start at a hundred percent.’

‘That’s a shame. You still lost.’

Walker levelled the MP7 at King’s unprotected face.

‘Thought it would be harder than this,’ he said.

Slater said, ‘It is.’

A gun barrel touched the side of Walker’s head.

King didn’t recognise the newcomer.

But he realised that Slater did.

70

Detective First Grade Jim Riordan tightened his grip on his service weapon.

Slater had seen him creeping through the shadows from the stairwell, a split second before Walker manhandled him. Slater had run through the odds of success if he tried to keep fighting Walker in his compromised state, compared to admitting defeat for a few vital seconds as Riordan closed the gap.

He’d made the right call.

Now, Riordan said, ‘Put that down, my friend.’

‘You first,’ Walker said, keeping the MP7 pointed straight at King’s face.

‘You don’t want to die here.’

Walker thought about it. Realised resistance was futile. Dropped the submachine gun to the carpeted floor.

‘Jim,’ Slater said, looking at the detective. ‘Listen to me.’

Riordan looked him in the eye, keeping the barrel touched firmly to the side of Walker’s neck.

‘Shoot him,’ Slater said.

‘I need to bring him in,’ Riordan said. ‘To answer for all of this.’

‘He’s not the man behind it.’

‘Who is?’

‘We’ll get to that.’

‘I can’t kill him.’

‘You’ve never played by the book,’ Slater said. ‘Sometimes it landed you in hot water. Most of the time it didn’t. This time, it won’t. We’ll take the blame.’

‘I have my line. I won’t cross it.’

‘If you don’t, we will.’

‘I’ll arrest the both of you if you try that. Killing him is the easy way out.’

Slater said, ‘Jim. Listen to me. You don’t understand. Shoot him.’

‘Or what?’

Walker said, ‘Or this.’

Spun, fast as lightning, and smacked the Glock off-course before Riordan could fire a shot. Because there was a world of difference between a genetically gifted phenom and a street cop. Riordan was hotheaded yet principled, steadfast in his vigilante-style morality, but Walker was something else.

So Walker wrenched the Glock free and turned it around and shot Jim Riordan in the forehead before the detective could even flinch.

Thankfully, Slater was genetically gifted, too.

He had Walker’s dropped MP7 in his hands before Riordan’s corpse had hit the ground and now he angled it upwards and held the trigger and sent five consecutive shots into Walker’s groin. Unrivalled pain hit the man in a chilling wave and he collapsed, defenceless, and Slater finished him off by putting a solitary round through his head.

The gunshot reports resonated through the office floor, petering out into nothingness.

Slater stood over the two corpses, panting.

King sat still beside them.

King said, ‘Christ.’

Slater put a hand out to steady himself, gripping the top of the nearest cubicle. His head swam, but reassurance sank in that Walker was out of the equation. A truly devastating adversary. Neither of them had realised until he’d overwhelmed them.

‘Are we losing a step?’ King said.

Slater looked around. ‘I don’t think so. I think we’re just in over our heads.’

‘I don’t know, Slater…’

Slater looked at him. ‘You think anyone else would have managed to do what we just did?’

‘You think there’s anyone left? My ribs are…’

He trailed off, searching for the right word, then lifted a palm gently to his ribcage and applied a touch of pressure. His face creased in pain.

‘My ribs are fucked,’ he concluded.

‘Your nose, too,’ Slater said.

King’s septum was broken, and the skin was already ballooning.

Slater listened to the silence.

Complete.

All-encompassing.

The aftermath of war.

Then he looked down at Walker’s body.

‘I think we’re done here.’

‘He wasn’t Black Force,’ King said. ‘He was ordinary SAS. And he beat us both.’

‘Did he?’

King gave him a questioning look.

‘He’s dead,’ Slater said. ‘We aren’t.’

King shrugged.

‘And he might have been in the SAS, but you and I both know he could have made the cut for Black Force. They just didn’t know.’

King nodded.

‘There’s always going to be people like him,’ Slater said. ‘We’re not the only gifted combatants on the planet. And we’re not getting any younger.’

King clambered to his feet.

Slater put a hand on his shoulder, and gripped it tight. ‘You okay?’

‘Of course,’ King said. ‘I’m alive, aren’t I?’

‘That’s the way.’

King peered toward the middle of the floor, over the cubicles, searching for one in particular. ‘You think he’s still there?’

‘I think so. He’ll be licking his wounds. He’s smart, but he’s not tough.’

‘Then we still have work to do.’

He spat a gob of blood on the carpet between his feet, wiped his mouth, and strode away.

Slater saw the animalistic determination in his eyes.

71

It had been a rough night.

King wasn’t in the mood for games. He’d been kicked, punched, very nearly shot dozens of times — the only thing that had come between himself and a lead-soaked death was his reflexes.

Slater’s words rang in his ears.

We’re not getting any younger.

Maybe so, but he figured he was getting smarter. Experience was a valuable asset, and right now experience was telling him to begin the recovery process. Ribs healed, cuts turned to scars, bruises vanished. Pain receded. Then he could get back to work.

First, he had to get the lights back on.

He barely noticed Slater following in his wake. He hustled down one long carpeted aisle, then veered left, then right. He came to the empty cubicle Slater had thrown Gavin Whelan into, and sure enough the kid was there, lying on his back, his face contorted into a wince.

For the first time King noticed the dark blue light filtering through the second floor had turned a shade lighter.

The tendrils of dawn creeping into the sky.

King didn’t have time to sit around and wait for Gavin to feel better. He stepped