Hunter Killer - Alex King Series 12 (2021) A BATEMAN (fiction novels to read .TXT) 📖

the tool’s handy pliers to prise open the crate, he put the Leatherman back in his pocket and put the gloves back on. King checked once again for bears, then loaded the cases onto the rear seat of the snowmobile and secured them in place with the set of bungees which had been strapped across the pillion seat. Next, he bundled the parachute underneath a reindeer carcass that had been picked clean, he supposed by Arctic foxes and seabirds. The bones had frozen against the ground, and he had to heave it free, before ensuring the parachute could not catch the wind. He kicked and stamped on the crate, then tossed the plywood lengths across the tundra so that it wouldn’t be noticeable from a distance. It was the best he could do but reasoned it unlikely that people would venture this close to the remote coastline, the very essence of polar bear safety precautions.

King turned the snowmobile around in a gentle half-circle and started back up the slope. As he crested the hill, the skis met ice and snow and the belt-fed blades were once more at home. Sticking as closely as he could to his earlier tracks, he kept a vigilant eye on the coast to his right and the icy monoliths to his left in the shadows of the mountains. He was cold and hungry and wary of bears and looking forward to some hot food and the warmth of his hotel room as he unpacked and checked the equipment and explosives he would need for the mission. Anticipation and concerns about the objective had given way to excitement and adrenalin. He loved his work, enjoyed the challenges he faced and the feeling of worth he had adored since his recruitment all those clouded years ago when a tough Scotsman had handed him a lifeline in prison, and he had subsequently been recruited into MI6. He lived for the mission and never truly felt he was living unless he was operational. Caroline had seen it in him, knew what he was and what he needed to do. And, as he dodged a large male polar bear and checked over his shoulder as it chased him through the night, he knew it, too. He would no longer talk of retiring his skills, of settling down and starting a family. He wouldn’t be the person he really was that way. He would merely be existing and living a lie. King enjoyed not looking past the mission, of taking each moment as his last and striving to win. He just hoped that the task ahead of him gave him at least a fighting chance of survival.

Chapter Nine

 

As was the case living in Arctic conditions, King found himself overheated once he was back inside the hotel. Living in these extremes was always a case of being too cold or too hot. The clothing which made living in such places possible, made inside habitation uncomfortable. King had dropped the two bags of equipment and shed the jacket and gloves, his leather bomber jacket, undone the bib of the trousers and untucked his sweatshirt on his way up to his room. He opened the door and dumped the bundle of clothing inside as he heaved the bags into the room and closed the door behind him. Once inside, he kicked off the boots and tore off the trouser and bib set and the rest of his clothing until he was in just his chinos and a thin T-shirt.

King looked around the room, then checked under the bed, in the wardrobe and the tiny bathroom. Nothing seemed out of place, but he stood on the bed and unscrewed the smoke alarm, took out the tiny wireless pinhole camera he had installed earlier and opened an app on his phone, then placed the phone beside the camera for them to sync. As they were working the magic of Bluetooth, he picked up the phone and ordered some room service. It was just after ten-pm and he was tired and hungry and needed a good night’s sleep. A medium-rare reindeer steak and a basket of fries should settle his empty stomach and enable him to relax a little. The cold climate had sapped his energy, and he ordered a strong Norwegian beer and a slice of brownie to send him towards a good night’s sleep. He picked up his phone and scrolled through the app’s menu and headed to ‘last action’. He watched himself clumsily enter the room bogged down with the cases and extra clothing, then headed back into the menu and searched ‘previous action’. He watched the door open and smiled as he saw who entered and checked through what little belongings and luggage he had. He smiled again as he saw them rifle through his wallet and passport – both under the legend he was travelling under. He then watched them leave the room. King was not in the habit of leaving his wallet or passport behind when he operated overseas, but it had served its purpose. A breadcrumb of disinformation for his enemies.

“Interesting, but not unexpected…” he said quietly to himself. He closed the app and opened his newly set-up Facebook account. Ramsay had provided him with the login details and told him about the tracking pixel he had installed. King could see who had been looking at his account, that they had searched his photos and the limited number of posts and had flicked around what little they could see of his carefully displayed settings. It was enough to know that they were interested in him, but anything they had found tonight pointed to a divorced forty-something salvage diver who shared diving posts, pictures of reefs and sharks and oil rigs and displayed a potted history of college and university and work placements around the world. The friends displayed were all pictures of low-ranking MI5 admin staff who had volunteered a snapshot and the