Contracts Read online

  Contracts

  The King & Slater Series Book Two

  Matt Rogers

  Copyright © 2019 by Matt Rogers

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Onur Aksoy.

  www.onegraphica.com

  Contents

  Reader’s Group

  Books by Matt Rogers

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Part I

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Part II

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Announcement

  Afterword

  Books by Matt Rogers

  Reader’s Group

  About the Author

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  Books by Matt Rogers

  THE JASON KING SERIES

  Isolated (Book 1)

  Imprisoned (Book 2)

  Reloaded (Book 3)

  Betrayed (Book 4)

  Corrupted (Book 5)

  Hunted (Book 6)

  THE JASON KING FILES

  Cartel (Book 1)

  Warrior (Book 2)

  Savages (Book 3)

  THE WILL SLATER SERIES

  Wolf (Book 1)

  Lion (Book 2)

  Bear (Book 3)

  Lynx (Book 4)

  Bull (Book 5)

  Hawk (Book 6)

  THE KING & SLATER SERIES

  Weapons (Book 1)

  Contracts (Book 2)

  BLACK FORCE SHORTS

  The Victor (Book 1)

  The Chimera (Book 2)

  The Tribe (Book 3)

  The Hidden (Book 4)

  The Coast (Book 5)

  The Storm (Book 6)

  The Wicked (Book 7)

  The King (Book 8)

  The Joker (Book 9)

  The Ruins (Book 10)

  Prologue

  1

  Nepal

  Aidan Parker hadn’t come here expecting sweltering heat.

  It contrasted with the brochures, the word of mouth: hell, it even clashed with a simple Google search. Type “Nepal” into any internet browser and you’d come away convinced the only danger besides altitude sickness was the potential for hypothermia. Sure, the mountains were coming eventually. They were headed for Gokyo Ri, a snow-capped peak in the Khumbu region offering staggering views of Everest and the surrounding Himalayas. Temperatures plummeted at altitudes above thirteen thousand feet, but they weren’t anywhere near those heights yet.

  They were low.

  And it was hot.

  In truth, it wasn’t that bad if you stayed still. Maybe low seventies if you checked the weather app on your phone. But for the past few days they’d been trekking, and trekking in Nepal involved excruciating ascents and descents in equal measure, which, complete with the sun beating down on the back of your neck, meant perspiring like there was no tomorrow. And when you started sweating one hundred feet into a five hundred foot rise in elevation, there was little chance of it stopping anytime soon.

  But that was only half the reason Parker’s pores were working overtime.

  His fourteen-year-old daughter, Raya, had deemed the trip the perfect opportunity to air years’ worth of grievances.

  ‘Did you even hear what I said?’ she said as they reached the top of a steep hill.

  Parker paused for breath, sucking in air as he hunched over. ‘Hold on, Raya. Please…’

  ‘You’re not that winded,’ she said. ‘Stop making excuses.’

  ‘You’ve been running track for, what, three years now? I’m not on your level. Work keeps me—’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Exactly, Dad. That’s what I was saying. Thanks for bringing it up on your own. Work keeps you—?’

  Parker’s heart rate settled and he said, ‘Busy.’

  ‘Understatement of the century.’

  Parker flashed a glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, the rest of the party was in tow. It was, of course, a deliberate effort to hang back on their part. Both bodyguards had passed the request onto the Nepali guide and porter, so all four of them were a couple of hundred feet behind, ascending the mountain at a snail’s pace. It gave Parker breathing room to muster retorts to his daughter’s insults without having to deal with the added pressure of an uncomfortable audience, listening to everything that came out of their mouths.

  He said, ‘That’s what this trip is about, Raya.’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s not. This trip is about you feeling less guilty, so when we get back home you can say, “But, honey, don’t you remember Nepal?” every time I complain about you not spending enough time with me.’

  Parker threw his hands in the air — each clutching trekking poles — in exasperated fashion. ‘So you’re already writing it off? In that case, what am I supposed to do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Maybe find a job that doesn’t need the presence of bodyguards whenever you step foot out of your office?’

  ‘It’s not like that.’

  ‘What’s it like, then, Dad?’

  Parker wiped sweat off his brow to save it dripping into the dirt at their feet. ‘You know I can’t talk about my jo
b as much as I’d like.’

  ‘Which is bullshit.’

  He frowned. ‘It’s not. And you’re not going to speak to me like that. If you have problems with me, which you clearly do, you’re going to convey them to me like an adult. You can’t have it both ways. You’re pretending you’re not my daughter so you can insult me for giving this my best shot, so you’re going to do that civilly instead of swearing at me every chance you get. Understood?’

  He’d been on the back foot the whole trip, and she hadn’t seen him riled up often.

  It made her hesitate.

  Raya said, ‘Okay, Dad. Sorry. I didn’t mean to swear.’

  ‘And I didn’t mean to bite like that.’

  ‘I just…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think you do a good job,’ she said. ‘You know … as a father. When you’re around. So I’d like to see more of it. But that’s tough when you’re at work twenty-four-seven. And I can’t talk to you about it because we’re sitting in teahouses every night with your two bodyguards awkwardly hanging around, making shit conversation. Sorry for swearing.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Parker said. ‘I get it. Can we talk about it tonight?’

  ‘In front of Winston and Oscar? As usual?’

  ‘No. We’ll find somewhere private to talk. We’re only a couple of hours from Kharikhola. I’m not in the shape I used to be. Can I just focus on the walk, please?’

  She said, ‘Can we talk on the descents?’

  ‘Okay,’ he compromised.

  So they set off, an uneasy pairing, trailed by a convoy that was required to accompany Aidan Parker at all times thanks to his crucial role in the rarely-discussed black-operations sector of the U.S. government.

  2

  But Raya didn’t know that.

  She knew her dad worked for the government, and little else. He’d always kept it that way. Mostly because of the NDAs he was forced to sign every year, but also because there was seldom a heartwarming conversation that would come from openly discussing his job. He’d tried to imagine opening the floodgates, spilling the beans on what exactly he dealt with day in and day out, but he couldn’t see it ever brightening the mood at the dinner table.

  Not that they gathered round the dinner table all that often back home.

  His marriage was disintegrating, in the same way that many marriages did. No vicious arguing. No real emotion at all. In fact, it was precisely the opposite of how divorces play out on television, but wasn’t that the case most of the time? He and Catherine had been drifting for the better part of five years. Each day that passed without his presence, each night he stumbled through the door exhausted and depleted, sometimes after ten p.m. … each of those instances drove another slight wedge through the ever-widening gap between them. And that seemed to be a regular occurrence these days.

  Raya didn’t know of her parents’ marital problems, either. Parker had ensured it, and Catherine hadn’t been jumping at the bit to enlighten her.

  How exactly could they explain that they’d probably soon divorce for no real reason other than sheer lack of passion and interest?

  Thankfully, Raya eased off on the verbal assault until they reached Kharikhola, a small town at the peak of one of the mountains. They strode in an hour or so before sundown, and Parker dropped his trekking poles into the dirt at the first sign of the nearest teahouse. It was much the same as the buildings they’d stayed in over the last few nights, made of stone and bright yellow wooden trim, with an open front door that faced the trail and a cohort of young Europeans clustered around a plastic table with Everest beers in their hands out front.

  Parker took a moment to compose himself. He hadn’t expected to have to exert himself so hard. His ankles throbbed, and his chest tightened with each breath, and overall he felt a decade older as he put his hands on his hips and flashed a relieved look at his daughter when she pulled to a halt beside him.

  But she looked fine.

  She said, ‘Were you ready for this trip, Dad?’

  He said, ‘Yeah. I’ll get used to it. This is day three. I’ll be fine by day five.’

  ‘You’re not as thin as you used to be. Maybe you should have shed that before we came here.’

  ‘Thanks, honey.’

  She shrugged. ‘Do you want the truth, or do you want me to bullshit?’

  For a fleeting moment, he was seized by a flashback to the endless days he’d spent cooped up in a featureless office, coordinating the high-pressure, high-stress, high-intensity operations that his fellow countrymen routinely embarked on. He tried not to shiver.

  He said, ‘The truth always leads to the best results.’

  Briefly, she smiled. ‘That’s the dad I know. So, you want the truth?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘You’re getting fat. You’re spending too much time at work. You’re ageing three years for every year you spend on this planet. I don’t want you to work as hard. I don’t want you to drop dead. I want to spend time with you. I want you to have a life.’

  Parker didn’t retort.

  He just stared at her.

  He said, ‘Thanks, sweetheart. I understand.’

  ‘But are you going to fall straight back into the same routines when we get home?’

  He paused. ‘I’ll do my best not to.’

  ‘Your best?’

  ‘I can’t promise you anything. My job … won’t allow it.’

  ‘Why don’t you quit?’

  ‘Because what I do is important.’

  ‘Will you ever talk to me about it?’

  He bowed his head. ‘I can’t.’

  She almost yelled at him. Almost. He could sense the words catch at the corners of her lips, on their way out but snatched by the protective shield of common decency at the last moment. He knew what they’d be.

  You fucking selfish prick. Why don’t you care about your family? How could your job be so important that it means you have to neglect the people you’re supposed to care about the most?

  He didn’t answer.

  There was nothing asked, but there might as well have been.

  He knew, deep down, exactly what Raya thought of him.

  Because he thought the same of himself.

  You don’t talk about your job under the guise of nobility but you don’t have the foresight or the self-discipline to even keep yourself in shape.

  The bodyguards, Winston and Oscar, made it to the top of the trailhead. They wordlessly glanced at the teahouse.

  Then they looked back at the guide and the porter.

  The guide, Sejun, spoke passable English. The porter, whose name they hadn’t had the opportunity to memorise, didn’t speak a word of English. What he could do incredibly well was carry close to half his bodyweight in luggage on his back. He had both Parker and Raya’s North Face bags tied together with rope and draped across his upper back, which meant he’d been carrying close to fifty pounds for the entirety of the trek. He was a small, skinny man with wrinkles and bags under his eyes from a lifetime of hardship. But he didn’t complain, let alone utter a word, as they reached the top. This was his job, and he was damn good at it.

  Sejun turned to his clients.

  ‘Not here,’ he told Parker. ‘This place sold out. No rooms. Maybe twenty minutes down road, okay?’

  Parker sighed.

  Raya shrugged.

  It spoke to their respective fitness levels.

  They trudged along the trail, jabbing their trekking poles into the loose dirt at any opportunity, grinding their aching bones together endlessly, on and on and on as it started getting darker.

  3

  There was no trouble.

  They made it with plenty of time to spare before the sun fell and night swept over the mountains.

  But Aidan Parker arrived exhausted to the bone.

  He realised with staggering clarity that there was a world of difference between mental stress and physical stress. He thought he’d be prepared to handle anything Nepal co
uld throw at him due to the chaos he handled on a daily basis in his small windowless office in Washington. But as he stumbled into the teahouse’s communal area and sat down at a polished wooden bench and dropped his head to the table, he understood the depths the human body could plunge to when pushed to its limits.

  Raya said, ‘Are you faking it?’

  Parker lifted his head. He felt cold and clammy. ‘What?’

  She was sitting across from him, looking no worse for wear, scrutinising him. ‘Are you pretending? You know … to get out of our talk?’