CHAPTER 32
King was helpless to do anything but watch as a pair of military-style trucks rolled into the clearing. He recognised them as Hawkei PMVs. Australian Defence Force vehicles. Big, brutish, fast. Designed for the battlefield. Probably purchased by Lars unofficially, through back-door systems, for a hefty fee. Clearly, they had been waiting for the call to enter. This entire event had been a set-up from the beginning. With grim realisation he figured Lars had kept him alive towards the end just to demonstrate that his plan would succeed.
It didn’t take long to load the steel crates of anthrax spores into the back of the Hawkeis. With both drivers, Lars’ forces numbered fourteen in total. They were a mixed bunch. Some black, some white, all stern and silent. They were paid to follow commands, and that was what they did without question. Lars ordered them around until every last piece of anthrax was inside the vehicles. Then he crossed to King and patted his face demeaningly.
‘Guess I won’t see you again, champ,’ he said, his tone sardonic. ‘Good catching up.’
‘How much have you made from this?’
‘Close to two billion dollars.’
‘I still don’t understand why you stooped this low.’
‘Because you’re going to die in here, and no-one will ever know who you were or what you did. I’ll retire on a beach somewhere and sip piña colada’s for the rest of my life. And they say crime doesn’t pay…’
‘You’re batshit crazy.’
‘Guess we’ll have to agree to disagree. Have fun with dying.’
He turned on his heel and strode out of the warehouse. Kate let out a whimper, unsure of what was to come. King wanted to reassure her everything would be okay.
But he knew it wouldn’t.
On the way out, Lars signalled to two of the mercenaries who King guessed were the most obedient. The pair who would be more than happy to carry out his wishes. He spoke within earshot of King and Kate, so they heard every word.
‘You two want to stay back and finish them off?’
‘Pleasure, boss,’ one of them said. He was a bald man in his late forties with acne scars and a permanent scowl. The other guy was older, probably closer to sixty. King could tell they were both military vets. They carried themselves with the gruff demeanour of men who had seen a lot.
Lars got into one of the Hawkeis, followed by the other twelve men, who split themselves evenly between the two vehicles. Just like that they were off, carting an unknown quantity of one of the deadliest biological agents on the planet.
King bowed his head and knew there was no escape. He couldn’t break free. The rope was too thick, too tight. The two men left staring at them would do what they wanted, and then they would die. There was nothing else to be done.
‘Ex-army?’ King said as the pair strode into the warehouse.
The older guy cocked his head and let out a harsh laugh.
‘Look at this guy,’ he said to his friend. ‘Trying to be all friendly.’
‘American bastard,’ the bald guy said. ‘And his little slut.’
‘Bossman won’t stop talking about you,’ the older guy said. ‘Said you used to be some kind of assassin. Most dangerous man on the planet, apparently.’
‘Flattering,’ King said.
‘I don’t believe him. Look at you. You’re fucking useless.’
‘How are you going to kill us?’
Baldie looked around. ‘Well, there’s no-one else here, is there? So, anyway I want.’
‘Always wanted to do something like this,’ the older one said. ’Never gutted anyone before.’
Baldie turned to him and raised an eyebrow. ‘The girl?’
A sneer spread across the old guy’s face. ‘Why not? Let’s make him watch!’
King felt his blood run cold. Rage flooded his system. He strained against the rope with everything he had, but even his immense strength could do nothing to budge the bindings. The mercenaries noticed. They started laughing in unison.
‘All your macho toughness isn’t working, is it?’ the bald guy said. ‘Untie the bitch.’
The old guy walked up to Kate and kissed her on the forehead. He began to work out the knots in the rope around her, taking his time, moving slowly. Tears ran down her face, but she made no sound. King could see she was fighting to remain calm, even in the face of such horror.
When the bindings fell away she attempted to make a break for it. She got off to a running start, but the old guy snatched her arm and threw her viciously onto the floor. Her head smacked on the concrete and she whimpered in pain. The pair of them moved in.
Baldie pulled at her thin shirt, trying to tear it off. Kate let out a scream, a primal yell of fear and terror and disgust.
King had never felt such anger in his life.
He bucked and writhed like a madman, veins pumping, teeth bared, trying to do anything possible to stop what was about to happen. The older guy turned and made eye contact with him, and let out another cruel laugh. He relished the rage he had caused.
King closed his eyes and forced the tears back into their ducts.
He felt nothing but unbridled fury.
Then there came a loud bang from somewhere outside. He recoiled at the sudden noise and opened his eyes. It took him a second to realise what had happened. The older guy flew off his feet and slapped the floor like a rag doll, landing in a rapidly-growing patch of crimson. King looked down and saw the man’s leg fountaining blood. The liquid spurted out at an alarming rate. He knew the guy’s femoral artery had been severed. He would bleed to death, that much was certain.
As the man screamed, another bullet sent Baldie’s head snapping back, punching him square in the forehead. He splayed back across the ground, next to his friend. Dead from a single shot.
The old guy had left his gun on the table, which meant he could only watch as a woman in police uniform strode in through the open roller doors.
‘Kitchener,’ King said.
She took one look at the scene and wordlessly raised her gun, pointing the barrel at the older guy’s face. His features were bunched up in agony.
‘Don’t,’ King said, stopping her in her tracks.
She looked at him.
‘Untie me,’ he said with ice in his voice.
The old guy went pale and started dragging himself across the ground, moving with the fervour of a man who realised his predicament had turned dire. He hurried away from King. His leg poured blood as he crawled.
Kitchener moved behind King and worked at the bindings for a few seconds. She hadn’t spoken throughout the ordeal. She knew what he was about to do.
No words were necessary.
As soon as the rope came loose King felt a wave of relief flood through his system. He was free to do as he pleased. Claustrophobia rarely affected him, but in that instance he’d felt like imploding from sheer frustration. He didn’t wish to think about what might have happened had Kitchener not shown up.
He followed the trail of blood across the warehouse floor. The old guy hadn’t made it far. He scrambled feebly for purchase on the dusty ground, dragging his useless leg behind him. King stood over him and wrapped two hands around his shirt.
‘What was all that you were saying before?’ he said.
‘P-please…’ the old guy spluttered.
‘Oh, now you’re sorry.’
He thundered a fist into the guy’s mouth, breaking off several teeth in a spray of blood. Then he dropped his entire bodyweight behind an elbow which smashed the guy’s nose into a million pieces. The pain knocked him out.
And that was that. King turned to Kitchener and raised a hand, signalling that it was time to finish it. She tossed him her M&P40. He caught it one-handed, spun and put a final bullet in the guy’s brain.