“Back in time for breakfast, then.”
“If the chefs haven’t bailed out on that coach.”
“Well, as long as your friend Stewart has, then that’s alright by me.”
“He has.”
She glanced at him as they paced through the snow. “So sure?”
“Absolutely.”
58
Stewart knew that human nature, the kindness part of it at least, was merely a façade. He had been to the worst parts of the planet, dealt with the worst people imaginable. And what separated these people from their kind-hearted counterparts was circumstance. Circumstance, fate and solution. Simply put, people had no lower limits. Society was nothing more than a veneer that could so easily be peeled away. There was nothing they wouldn’t do when pushed over the edge.
The edge in question had been a squall, the like of which they had never seen, and the coach – their lifeline – being taken off the road by the monstrous winds. Trees had blown down across the road, making a return to The Eagle’s Nest Hotel improbable, if not impossible. The windows of the coach had been sucked out by the drop in atmospheric pressure, and when the ferociousness of the winds slewed the coach sideways and hammered it into the trees on the opposite side of the road, tilting it onto one side and threatening to topple it over, his fellow passengers had not been the compassionate, caring kind. They had hastily gathered their carry-on luggage, their loved ones and piled out into the trees. They had barely glanced at the weathered and worn man nearing seventy, with the broken leg and the dazed and confused expression brought on by the strong opiate-based painkillers. They had simply left him to his fate. He had seen their indecision, then their decision. He would slow them down, put them at risk. It was amazing how soon people lived with the most inhumane of decisions when it suited them.
Stewart had grimaced through the pain of being thrown about, but he had cared little about their fate as well. He had heard many screams above the wind, and now that the storm had departed – as quickly as it had arrived – he saw few people as they staggered back to the coach. Some would have been hit by debris, others would have simply fallen to the searing cold and the elements. He cared as much for them as they had for him.
Stewart pulled himself up and placed his broken leg on the ground. It throbbed and pulsated from his ankle to his groin. He left it a while before moving. The strapping had been expertly applied, and tighter than the hospital would eventually cast it. In fact, by the way it throbbed, he suspected it was too tight. But that would serve purpose. He reached up and took a pair of skis and poles out of the ski locker. He doubted the owner would be back for them. He winced as he lifted them down. He had swiped the painkillers back at the hotel, and the young Russian had not bothered to protest. Stewart opened the bottle and took three. That would be enough to sedate him, but not for what he would be doing. He wasn’t going to be sitting on his arse and taking deep breaths. He was going to push his body one last time. By the time he finished what he had started, his leg would be unsalvageable. But he did not care. He had a job to do. And damned Alex King. He would do what he was meant to, and nothing would stand in his way. He would push on back to the hotel. He would end things right there. He was a killer and he would kill again. And he didn’t care if he went down doing it.
59
King as watched as the two men walked down from the slope to their right and turned towards them. They slid down the bank and onto the frozen river. They were on course to meet them in another hundred metres. Both men carried rifles and wore utility vests. As he watched, one of the men slung the rifle over his shoulder and let it hang on the sling.
King turned to Caroline. “Give me the Walther,” he said sharply.
She was a competent shot, but she didn’t argue. She knew King had lost count of the close quarter battles he had been in. She could still count them on one hand and they kept her awake some nights, too. “There’s only one round left,” she said as she passed it subtly into his hand.
“You’re trigger-happy,” he said.
He slipped it into his pocket and loosened the fastening to his glove. He took the glove off, stuffed it into his other pocket and took hold of his knife, opening the blade with the thumb stud and putting it back into his pocket. He worked off the other glove and then stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Who are these clowns?” Caroline asked.
“No idea. But they don’t fit in here. These guys are after our asset. I’d bet a month’s savings on that.”
“You don’t save that much a month…”
King nodded to them as they drew near. “Hi,” he said. “That storm was something else. And there’s more on the way.”
The men nodded. King could see they were armed with Kalashnikovs. Not your average Finnish hunting rifles.
“Why are you walking out here?” one of the men asked.
“I don’t see what business it is of yours,” King smiled thinly. “Why are you hunting in between storms?” He stepped closer. “Surely the animals have all taken flight?”
“The prey we are hunting is still out there…” the
