Hunted: A Jason King Thriller (Jason King Series Book 6) Read online

  ‘Shit!’ Slater suddenly roared.

  King’s heart rate spiked at the outcry. He had spent enough time in combat with the man to be aware of his demeanour. Usually, he kept calm at all times.

  Something was horrifically wrong.

  King leant sideways in his chair and peered ahead, trying to discern their surroundings out the front windshield of the cockpit.

  ‘Oh…’ he whispered.

  One of the Mi-28 “Night Hunters” that he’d seen bombarding the supercarrier hovered a thousand feet ahead, dead in their path. Its nose was pointed directly at the jet in a dangerous game of aerial cat-and-mouse.

  ‘Pull up,’ King said.

  ‘I can’t. They’ll shoot at our underside. Oh, fuck!’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘I’m locked out. You’re in the trainer’s seat — give me control of the weapons, now!’

  King understood the command in the blink of an eye, but had no idea how to take the steps to complete it. He hunched over the screen in front of him, desperately trying to work out the controls while combating the G-forces.

  It was impossible.

  The sides of his temple throbbed and veins protruded from his neck as he squinted at the mass of commands, unsure what to do, frozen by uncertainty.

  Isla surged forward, leaning over King’s shoulder and slamming a trio of buttons in consecutive order. A digital green heads-up-display flashed to life in front of Slater, projecting across the cockpit’s front windshield.

  Slater yelled with relief.

  He had just over a second to fire before they collided.

  King watched him snatch up the joystick that controlled the HUD and sweep the crosshairs in a tight arc. As soon as the centre of the screen passed over the attack helicopter in front of them, he depressed a button on the far side of the joystick.

  The autocannon underneath the fuselage unloaded a barrage of tracer rounds. The shocking volley lit up the Mi-28, littering it with intense light and piercing steel.

  The chopper’s nose dipped as its internal mechanisms failed, and at that moment Slater tugged on the steering. King stomached a dry heave as the G-forces increased and his eyes almost rolled back in his head.

  Then they passed over the chopper with barely a dozen feet to spare. The near-miss rattled the cockpit, throwing them against their restraints.

  The Harrier soared skyward, away from the devastation below.

  They were alive.

  16

  It took several minutes for any of them to muster the courage to speak.

  They broke through the imposing layer of storm clouds and levelled out at an altitude of fifteen thousand feet, rocketing away from the Russian Far East over a dark winter sky.

  As the cockpit stabilised and the intense centrifugal forces faded away, King dropped back against the headrest and let out an exhalation that had been building for the last hour.

  He would live to see another day.

  Slater passed a pair of headsets back to King and Isla, then slipped on one of his own. King slid the bulky headset over his ears, and the roar of the Harrier’s engine was muffled by the soft fabric. He tested the connection with a quick, ‘one-two’, and Slater nodded approvingly.

  ‘King,’ Isla said through her microphone, breaking the silence that had washed over the cockpit. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  He turned in his seat. ‘For what?’

  ‘Russia.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve come to terms with it.’

  ‘It was foolish and immature and completely volatile,’ she said. ‘I caused all of this. But I thought my sister was in danger…’

  ‘She was.’

  Isla paused, and King thought he heard her next breath catch in her throat. ‘Is she really dead?’

  It was his turn to apologise. ‘I’m sorry, Isla.’

  She stifled something that distinctly resembled a sob. He froze. It might have been the first time he had ever heard her display emotion.

  ‘Don’t worry about Russia,’ King said. ‘It’s in the past. You made your choices, and now we have to live with them.’

  ‘You’re not mad?’

  ‘Not anymore.’

  ‘I thought you might kill me, given the chance.’

  ‘I’m not Slater.’

  ‘Hey…’ Slater piped up from the cockpit.

  ‘He almost murdered Ramsay,’ Isla said to King.

  ‘I wouldn’t class it as murder,’ Slater said. ‘More like vigilante justice.’

  ‘A little reckless, don’t you think?’ King said.

  ‘And you wouldn’t have?’

  ‘I ran straight past him on the way out,’ King said. ‘I had the opportunity to.’

  ‘So why didn’t you? He was about to hand the three of us over to the Russians. Treacherous piece of shit.’

  ‘We weren’t supposed to be there,’ King said.

  ‘Bullshit. Those health workers needed us.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘Then what are you talking about?’

  ‘Just looking at it from his perspective.’

  ‘He’s a snake. Only wants what’s best for his career.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. Killing him is too far. You should know that. It’d be stooping to his level.’

  ‘He does know that,’ Isla said. ‘He’s just too stubborn to admit it.’

  ‘You’re right, mother,’ Slater said, dripping with sarcasm.

  ‘Do you think he made it?’ Isla said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ King said. ‘He could have. He looked in bad shape, though. There was bruising around his neck. Someone tried to choke the life out of him.’

  ‘Wasn’t me,’ Slater said, reading King’s mind. ‘Wish it had been, though.’

  ‘If he did,’ Isla said, ‘then we’re fucked. I know him fairly well. He sees himself personally responsible for everything assigned to him. He won’t stop hunting us until we’re located.’

  ‘I wonder what he’ll do with us if he catches us again,’ King said.

  ‘Nothing so kind as that, I’m afraid,’ Isla said. ‘A CIA black prison, most likely.’

  ‘Those exist?’

  ‘Sure do.’

  ‘How much do you know about secret operations, exactly?’

  ‘A hell of a lot. Which is why I’m so nervous right now.’

  ‘Why?’ Slater said.

  ‘They don’t want someone running around with the information I hold. I’ve got no interest in sharing it, but they don’t know that.’

  ‘Same as the fucking Russians,’ King said, suddenly frustrated. ‘All that bloodshed because they think I know the identities of the viewers in the mine.’

  ‘What viewers?’ Isla said.

  King paused. She didn’t know the details of what he had uncovered in the Russian Far East — by then, she had been detained. He filled her in on everything — the ex-KGB enforcer, Vadim Mikhailov; his underground streaming service that delivered fights to the death to a horde of wealthy, bloodthirsty viewers; how the viewers had launched a ballistic missile at the Kamchatka Peninsula when they discovered that King might learn of their identities.

  ‘Jesus,’ Isla whispered. ‘Sounds like an over-the-top response.’

  ‘They won’t stop,’ King warned. ‘Not until they know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m dead. They’re probably worth billions each — however many there are. Russian oligarchs and titans of industry. Their status is everything they’ve ever worked for, and they don’t want rumours of their sick habits spreading through the West. It’ll destroy them.’

  ‘But you don’t know them?’

  King shook his head. ‘No. I faked that I did, to gain the upper hand on Mikhailov. Everyone watching would have overheard my spiel.’

  ‘If they realise you don’t know, will they stop hunting you?’

  King shrugged. ‘Maybe. But I don’t think they’ll be satisfied until they see my corpse.’

  Isla let out a long sigh. ‘We have enemies eve
rywhere.’

  ‘What the hell do we do now?’ King said. ‘The U.S. and Russia are both searching for our heads. That’s an unfathomable network of connections. We’ll be spotted anywhere.’

  ‘Not everywhere,’ Slater said.

  ‘You got an idea?’

  ‘I know a guy. He’s probably our only shot at finding somewhere to lay low.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Dubai.’

  ‘The United Arab Emirates is in deep with the U.S.,’ King said. ‘They’ll give us up.’

  ‘He won’t. I’m sure of that.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘One of the power players in that part of the world,’ Slater said. ‘And a decent guy, surprisingly. The two seldom go hand in hand.’

  ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘His name’s Roudha Abdullah. I shared a table with him, years ago. Helped him out of a precarious situation.’

  ‘A table?’ King said.

  ‘Gambling,’ Isla said from the back. ‘Slater’s a degenerate.’

  ‘So kind,’ Slater muttered.

  ‘Go on,’ King said.

  ‘Black Force pays a lot, and I’m … well, let’s just say I’m not averse to risk — given our career field. In fact, I was in a casino in Montenegro when I got the call to eliminate you, King. Remember that, Isla?’

  ‘Let’s forget that ever happened,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t my call.’

  ‘Anyway, there’s not many people who throw around the sums I do. High-stakes players network. I played poker with Abdullah several times. We started talking. He needed help, and I obliged. Figured it might pay off down the line, actually…’

  ‘What’d he do?’

  ‘Got into debt with the wrong people.’

  ‘You needed to help him with that?’

  ‘Hundreds of millions of dollars worth of debt.’

  ‘Ah,’ King said. ‘Understood.’

  ‘It had ties to the yakuza,’ Slater said. ‘I fought them off and intimidated them into leaving him alone. He said he’d always owe me.’

  ‘Now might be a good time to cash that cheque.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘But then what?’ Isla said, her voice quivering. ‘We can hole up in Dubai for as long as it takes, but we’ll still be wanted by half the world’s superpowers.’

  ‘One step at a time, Isla,’ King said. ‘We’re just as clueless as you about what comes next.’

  ‘Ramsay’s alive,’ she muttered. ‘I can just sense it. He’ll come for us.’

  ‘The world’s an enormous place,’ King said. ‘He won’t find us.’

  ‘I think he will.’

  ‘You didn’t find me,’ Slater said.

  ‘On that note, where the hell were you?’ she said. ‘It was awfully kind of you to just run off on us when we needed you most.’

  ‘Cool it,’ King said. ‘He needed out — same as I did.’

  ‘You told us first.’

  ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you,’ Slater said. ‘You’re just as much of an outcast as me now, Isla.’

  ‘Noted,’ she said. ‘I’m not one to judge, anyway. I sent King into Russia because of a personal issue, for God’s sake.’

  King shrugged. ‘It was family. I don’t take it personally.’

  ‘Make the call to your friend,’ Isla said, audibly chewing at a thumbnail over the mic.

  King sensed her unease at their future. As someone entailed with co-ordinating operations for one of the most secret government divisions on the planet, he imagined she was used to meticulous planning and attention to detail. Improvising was not her strong suit. He remembered how nervous she had seemed before the Russian operation — only now he realised she had been acting on the spot, trying to formulate a plan while hiding it from her superiors.

  He understood exactly why she had used him.

  He didn’t blame her.

  ‘Make the call,’ he echoed.

  Slater lifted a receiver off the control panel in front of his seat and set about working the controls, utilising radio channels to place a satellite call.

  ‘This might take a while,’ he warned. ‘I don’t know his number. I’ll need to go through certain private companies to try and worm it out of someone.’

  ‘The companies he owns?’

  Slater nodded.

  ‘What does he do?’ King said.

  ‘What doesn’t he do?’ Slater said. ‘He’s a tycoon. Worth billions. Owns twenty percent of Dubai, rumours have it.’

  ‘You’re sure he’ll remember you?’

  ‘I saved him from a painful, torturous death,’ Slater said. ‘People don’t often forget that.’

  King thought of what would have occurred had Slater not shown up in the abandoned mine days earlier. He would have been left to the mercy of a small army of Russian mercenaries, who would have hand-delivered him to their wealthy employers to be tortured and maimed. He had no doubt as to the outcome — especially given the sick nature of what the viewers enjoyed to watch via live stream.

  Slater had saved him more than once in the brief time King had known him.

  ‘They sure don’t,’ he said quietly.

  17

  King came to as pale blue daylight filtered into the cockpit.

  He lifted his head and felt a deep ache in his neck from sleeping for so long at an awkward angle. The crash had hit him hard — it usually did.

  In the aftermath of violent, savage conflict, the adrenalin and cortisol flooding through his veins trickled slowly away until the tiredness overwhelmed him. He’d heard muffled conversation as Slater attempted to get in contact with Roudha Abdullah, but then his eyes had drooped and he’d succumbed to the exhaustion.

  Now, he squinted against the glare of the rising sun and turned to see Isla dozing softly behind him. She seemed vulnerable, like she wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of an international manhunt.

  And why should she be? She had done a damn good job of running Black Force.

  Look at what they’ve done to you, King thought.

  Her cheekbones were pronounced — the cheeks themselves sunken and hollow. She needed a good meal. In the brief time he had known her, King had come to think of her as something of a motherly figure. He had barely known his own mother before she’d succumbed to cancer — perhaps that’s why he thought so fondly of Isla.

  She didn’t deserve this.

  None of them did.

  But that’s the way the world worked.

  Slater was awake, focused intensely on the view ahead. King rolled his neck several times before speaking.

  ‘You get in touch with your friend?’ he asked.

  Slater nodded imperceptibly. ‘He remembers me. As I suspected.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’ll help for as long as we need.’

  King smiled. ‘You have good friends.’

  ‘Lend enough favours and eventually some good luck will come your way,’ he said.

  King paused. He realised he had never got the chance to voice his gratitude, not since this catastrophe had unfolded.

  ‘Thank you for coming to Russia, Slater,’ he said. ‘I mean it. You were done. You were out of the game. You could have lived the rest of your life without a worry. But you came back to pull me out of deep shit.’

  Slater shrugged. ‘You would have done the same for me, brother. Still plenty of time for settling down, too.’

  ‘I hope so,’ King said.

  ‘I take it if you make it out this time, that’ll be it?’

  ‘I’m done,’ King said, with such finality that he believed it whole-heartedly. ‘I think I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.’

  ‘You said that last time you tried to retire.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it. Now I do.’

  ‘We’re not out of it yet.’

  ‘I know.’

  Slater hesitated, as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t willing to vocalise it at risk of it becoming real.


  ‘What is it?’ King said.

  ‘Nothing, man.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I just …’

  ‘Back there,’ King said. ‘That felt normal, didn’t it?’

  ‘Felt like home. Only thing I’ve ever done.’

  ‘Did you like Antigua?’

  ‘Hated every second of it.’

  King smiled wryly. ‘You’ve got a ways to go before you lose the itch, my friend.’

  ‘Combat’s a drug, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sure is.’

  ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘We’re not headed to the main airport. Abdullah told me that Dubai International is crawling with cameras and truckloads of security. He has control of them, but he doesn’t have control of who’s watching.’

  ‘Where are we headed?’

  ‘Heard of Dubai South?’

  King shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Neither had I. But now I’m curious to see it in person.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A mega-project. The government’s constructing an entire goddamn city in the middle of the desert. It’ll house a million people by the time it’s complete.’

  ‘When’s it complete?’

  ‘Not for years.’

  ‘So it’s a ghost town?’

  Slater nodded. ‘And Abdullah’s responsible for a fraction of it, along with a handful of sheiks. They have total control out there. There’s an airport called Al Maktoum that’s going to be the largest airport in the world when Dubai South is complete. Right now there’s some traffic passing through it, but nowhere near as much as Dubai International. No-one will be looking for us there. We’ve been given full clearance to land.’

  ‘Sounds surreal,’ King said. ‘One of those fake, soulless cities in the middle of nowhere. Yet to be populated.’

  ‘Like a science-fiction movie, huh?’ Slater said.

  ‘Sounds ideal for staying off the grid. At least until we sort out what to do next.’

  ‘We’re not staying there,’ Slater said. ‘He has a place in Dubai, near the water. Total privacy, as you’d assume.’

  ‘Sounds like a nice holiday,’ King said.

  Slater smirked. ‘Something tells me the madness isn’t over yet.’

  ‘That something would be the last ten years of your life,’ King said. ‘And mine. Trouble seems to find us effortlessly.’