Hawk, p.11
Hawk, page 11
part #6 of Will Slater Series
He’d promised them if they did, he’d come back well before they could get out of the duct tape and make life a living hell for them.
Considering the fact he’d already done so, he hadn’t left much to their imagination.
They’d given him everything he’d asked for.
Without a moment’s hesitation.
He crested a rise along the rural trail and surveyed a sweeping expanse of flat land fashioned into a couple of runways running parallel to each other, surrounded by a cluster of shoddy outbuildings, a warehouse, and a perimeter fence made of thick iron sheets. The whole thing looked unprofessional and thrown together with random parts — except for the runways themselves, which had all the bells and whistles that signified some serious coin had been dumped into their development. He saw shiny lights and smooth tarmac, and then noted he was standing atop the only slight incline in the surrounding terrain. Therefore, the contents of the airfield would be obscured from sight.
It was a private complex — not to be touched or interfered with in any way.
In fact, King saw a couple of signs slapped onto the perimeter wall that read — loosely translated from Hungarian — GOVERNMENT PROPERTY. KEEP OUT.
He scoffed.
These guys had connections.
He flattened himself to the earth, even though he would register as nothing more than a speck to anyone who had eyes on him. He was nowhere near any potential security cameras, and the trees and brush scattered all around him would provide perfect cover to wait.
He went prone, pulled out his phone, and dialled a number.
Slater answered. ‘Yeah?’
‘I’m in position.’
‘Already? Where is it?’
‘A couple of miles north of Sárbogárd.’
‘Wish I knew my way around the Hungarian countryside. Doesn’t ring a bell. You sure it’s the place?’
‘Oh yeah, I’m sure. Do you have what I need?’
‘Working on it.’
‘What’s the hold-up?’
‘This is more complicated than I thought. We’re taking a trip to their office complex to get the information they need. Have you found an entry point yet?’
King scanned what little of the perimeter wall he could see from his vantage point. He took in the barbed wire and the curve of the iron. Entry would be literally impossible by trying to go over the top, and there would be cameras fixed on the top of the fence from every angle conceivable.
He breathed out and said, ‘You know, if we did this my way, it never would have worked.’
Slater said, ‘Aren’t you glad we did it my way, then?’
‘Thanks for all your help so far.’
‘This is nothing. I’ve got a feeling there’s a hell of a lot more coming.’
‘Me too.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
King kept looking, and eventually he found a barely perceptible outline in the perimeter wall, like a small indent maybe five hundred feet from his position. He said, ‘I think I found a side door.’
‘Has it got an access code?’
King looked harder. He made out the shape of a small metallic box next to the outline. He said, ‘I believe it does.’
‘Perfect. That’s all we need.’
‘How long will you be?’
‘As fast as I can.’
‘And how long will that be?’
‘I’m hoping less than an hour.’
‘Okay. I’ll wait.’
‘Good luck.’
‘I don’t need it anymore. I’ve done my part. You need it.’
Slater said, ‘I’ve never needed it before,’ and hung up the phone.
King lowered the slim smartphone gently to the dirt in front of his face, and rested his chin on the earth.
He managed a half-smile.
He’d always liked Slater’s confidence.
And, he realised, for the first time in two months he hadn’t dwelled on the image of Klara’s body lying on the bed in Koh Tao.
For the first time in two months, he had momentum.
For the first time in two months, he felt alive.
23
Slater sat in the middle of the rear seats of a metallic black BMW sedan as it whisked through the narrow Budapest laneways.
He had his gun trained on Benicio’s head, who had both hands wrapped around the wheel, and white knuckles. That was all he needed. Lukas was in the passenger seat, but he was sporting a broken jaw, and it seemed he didn’t have the mental fortitude to overcome the physical pain and make another lunge for the gun.
Besides, if he did, Slater would just pull the trigger and send a bullet through the back of Benicio’s head, and then they’d all die anyway.
Slater had forced the pair to leave their seatbelts off.
He had his secured in place.
If they crashed, he’d be the only one not in for a world of hurt.
Benicio said, ‘You’re lucky there’s no-one there on a weekend.’
Slater said, ‘I’m always lucky.’
‘Who was that on the phone?’
‘None of your concern.’
‘Let me guess,’ Benicio said. ‘He’s already at the airfield. You mentioned an entry point. You’re going to get us to get the codes for you, and then you’re going to get him to open the door, and then he’ll be inside.’
Slater shrugged. There was no harm in telling the truth. ‘Pretty much.’
‘But we don’t know the location, which is why you split up,’ Benicio continued, invigorated by the fresh lead. ‘So he went round to a few street-level dealers, and went up the food chain and found out where the boys in the kitchen pick up their supply from, but he has no way in. So it’s coming together like a two piece jigsaw.’
‘You sound like you’re happy to see us succeed,’ Slater said.
Benicio shrugged. ‘It makes sense now. I thought you were some lunatic. It’s much more likely we’ll get out of this alive if you’ve got more than two brain cells to rub together. But — hang on — why the hell do you need to get into the airfield? What are you planning to do?’
‘None of your concern.’
‘What harm will it do?’ Benicio said. ‘We’re on your fucking side, man. We’ve got survival instinct.’
Slater said, ‘It’s nothing to do with you, or your careers, or your organisation. I ran into both of you by chance last night, and then something fresh came up with an old friend, and I figured I could exploit your resources to get what I need.’
‘What do you need?’
‘A tech wizard.’
Slater didn’t much care whether Lukas or Benicio fed him lies when he told them what he needed. He fully expected to hear a spiel about how the airfield was a dead zone, devoid of valuable personnel who were integral to the organisation’s survival.
But instead, Benicio just nodded and said, ‘They’ve got a few people out there. You’ll find them.’
Slater paused, taken aback. ‘Thought you’d try to bluff me there.’
Benicio shrugged. ‘I told you. Survival instinct. You’re a different breed, man. I hope you find what you need and then carry on out of here. I don’t want anything to do with you after this.’
‘Good,’ Slater said.
They pressed on north, into the fourth district, although Slater hadn’t been keeping track of where they were. Even if they were leading him into an ambush, he figured he could shoot them both dead and escape out one of the back doors before they could properly approach the supposed blockade. Besides, he had no idea what they could have coordinated whilst held at gunpoint, and he believed Benicio’s sudden change of allegiance.
The human brain was somehow predictable yet unpredictable at the same time.
Benicio had got it right when he’d voiced his concerns.
Survival instinct.
So when they pulled up outside a rundown three-storey office complex on the outskirts of Budapest, and Lukas silently gestured to the second floor with a knowing look, Slater suspected nothing awry.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
There was no-one else in the parking lot. For good measure, Slater tucked the VP9SK under his shirt, but kept it pointedly aimed in the direction of Lukas and Benicio. They both seemed to notice — they moved like robots across the cracked concrete lot, and if anyone had been peering out of their office windows they might have suspected something was awry.
But no-one did.
The mob had chosen an excellent location for their tech support — low on the totem pole, but compensated handsomely, given the townhouse they owned in Budapest’s fifth district. Or one of them owned individually.
Slater had yet to discern exactly whose bed he’d slept in last night.
There was that dynamic at play, too, he realised. He’d slept with their wives. That was an emasculating concept in its own right. And here he was, ordering them around at gunpoint. No wonder they’d caved in so quickly.
Then he realised he’d probably gotten lucky by breaking Lukas’ jaw and sapping all the fight out of the man in an instant. Benicio was much more compliant without the threat of significant injury.
They led him into an empty foyer and up an empty flight of stairs to a drab grey office with drab grey carpet and drab grey desks. The long low space was almost entirely devoid of furniture, save for the collection of desks adorned with all sorts of desktop PCs and monitors. Wires ran amok, and Benicio dumped himself down in a drab grey swivel chair and looked up expectantly at Slater.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘what do you need?’
He fired one of the computers to life and navigated around a desktop screen with at least a hundred icons on it. Then he took his hands off the keyboard and mouse with a sharp, sudden recoil.
He almost gasped, too.
Slater jerked involuntarily, and said, ‘What?’
Still pale, Benicio said, ‘I didn’t want you to think I was alerting anyone by playing around with the computer.’
Slater stared at him.
And smiled.
‘I’ve really got you wrapped around my thumb, haven’t I?’ he said.
Benicio gulped.
Lukas sat in the corner on another swivel chair, making sure to stay within Slater’s peripheral vision. His eyes were wracked with pain. He offered no fight.
Slater said, ‘You said you don’t know the locations of the airfields. How does that even work?’
Benicio shrugged. ‘Our employers extract that data from everything they send us. We just build systems. We’re not told where they’re needed. It helps split everything up so no one person knows everything. Doesn’t seem to have stopped you, though.’
Slater said, ‘How many airfields are there?’
‘Only one that’s live right now.’
‘Live?’
‘Taking cargo.’
‘Where do you import it from?’
‘Does it matter?’
Slater thought hard about that, then said, ‘I guess not.’
‘What do you need?’
‘Gate codes for the perimeter around the live airfield.’
‘There’s only two.’
‘You know which sides?’
‘North and south.’
Slater slid his phone out of his pocket.
24
King took the call, and on the other end of the line Slater said, ‘Are you on the north or south side of the airfield?’
‘North,’ King said. ‘I came in from the north.’
‘You sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
There was a pause, and muffled voices from the other end, and then a few moments later Slater came back on. ‘845950.’
King said, ‘Thank you very much. Same plan?’
‘Same plan.’
Just then, an ancient Douglas DC-4 swooped in from the sky and touched down on the left-hand runway. It coasted down the last stretch and rumbled to a halt in front of one of the outbuildings. Workers materialised out of the blue like a swarm of ants, and began shovelling something out of the hold.
King couldn’t make it out from this distance, and he hadn’t had time to bring a pair of binoculars. But he knew exactly what it would be. Neat bricks of coke. They’d be converted to crack and sold for an obscene mark-up in tiny portions to the addicts on the streets, and the wheels would keep turning, endlessly on and on.
The international drug trade.
He had to compartmentalise. He wasn’t here to fight all organised crime in the country. He was here to find out who had killed his girlfriend, and why, and it started with tapping into the phone in his pocket.
He took a moment to shake his head at the ridiculousness of the situation.
He and Slater had just dismantled the security around a top-secret airfield importing cocaine into Hungary, all to get access to a gang of tech prodigies who might be able to get access to the phone and see if there was anything of value on it. But, then again, it made sense upon further scrutiny. These planes coming in couldn’t show up on any official radars, or the whole racket would come crumbling down, and there was enough money in coke to funnel millions to the right talents.
Just like the government did.
Just like the Fortune 500 companies did.
So Slater had been on the money, as usual.
But now was the pivotal moment.
He rose off the dirt and crouch-walked down the incline, vanishing from the line of sight of anyone inside the complex looking out. He checked for CCTV cameras aimed at this section of the airfield’s perimeter, but the coast seemed clear. He was shoving and forcing his way through overgrown brush and weeds, and it seemed no-one had stepped foot on this ground for years.
Utterly deserted.
He skirted all the way up to the small indent in the perimeter wall, and lifted the phone to his ear again.
‘Still there?’ he muttered.
‘Sure am,’ Slater said.
‘What was that code?’
Slater repeated it.
King punched it into the keypad, one digit at a time.
The single red bulb vanished, replaced by a green pinpoint of light beside it.
King reached out and tugged the handle.
The door gave a few inches, sliding out of its lock.
King breathed a sigh of relief, and said, ‘I’m in.’
‘Same plan?’ Slater said.
‘Same plan.’
‘Be there soon. Text me the coordinates.’
King stood there, keeping the door exactly where it was, refusing to open it all the way, because he didn’t know what the hell he was going to find on the other side — and he didn’t want to go in alone. It seemed to contrast with how he’d lived the first ten years of his life — charging recklessly into anything in front of him. Always solo. Never relying on help. But he wasn’t that man anymore. He was older, wiser…
…and he had a friend just as dangerous as he was.
A comrade.
A brother.
And Slater was coming.
So he held it a few inches away from its lock, his only lifeline to his only lead. Those few inches of space encapsulated all the hope inside him. Without it, he had nothing, and he might as well skulk off toward the horizon and fade into oblivion if the phone’s contents resulted in a dead end. Klara had been the only thing holding his sanity together. He’d truly, truly loved her, and he couldn’t remember feeling that way about anyone for as long as he’d been alive. Now he was a shell, with all the training and discipline in the world but none of the emotional connections.
If he could avenge her, then perhaps his future might stand a chance.
If not…
He didn’t want to think about it.
It had taken every fibre of his being to wrench him out of the old life, and now he was back in it.
That did things to you.
Indescribable things.
He wasn’t sure if he would ever be the same.
But at least he had Slater.
At least he had a brother.
25
To Lukas and Benicio’s horror, Slater fished a couple of fresh rolls of duct tape out of his jeans. He’d pocketed them back at the townhouse, and now he smiled as he waved the gun in one hand and the tape in the other.
‘You know what this means,’ he said.
Begrudgingly, they pinned their arms to their sides and sat deathly still on their swivel chairs.
Slater took perverse pleasure out of binding them into their own personal cocoons — a technique he’d perfected over the years. Nothing quite rivalled the simplicity and the efficiency. For a few dollars at a hardware store, you could pin someone in place as effectively as handcuffing them with steel.
Slater made sure they were entirely enclosed in the polyethylene before he tossed the empty rolls across the room. Then he put a foot in each of their chair backs, and pushed them gently across the room. They rolled across the carpet, twirling as they moved, like makeshift merry-go-rounds.
Slater actually laughed.
‘Just leave us alone, man,’ Benicio said. ‘I’ve had enough of this shit.’
‘Sorry,’ Slater said. ‘I just like the image of leaving a trail of organised crime thugs across Budapest, all duct taped to the spot. Should be simple for the police to follow.’
Benicio’s face fell. ‘You’d do that to us?’
Slater shot daggers across the room. ‘You might think we’re all buddy-buddy here because you’ve been cosying up to me, but we’re not. You both sit at a desk and handle administrative matters, but you’re not oblivious to what you’re doing. You keep the lights on and the codes secure for an organisation that flies in tons of coke and keeps the streets full of the stuff. You ruin lives from here, even though you might feel like you’re detached from it. And then you use a portion of those profits that are distributed down to you to buy expensive townhouses and eat at good restaurants and buy your wives lavish jewellery.’
‘Probably ex-wives now,’ Benicio grumbled.
‘But not because I slept with them,’ Slater said with a wry smile. ‘Because you’ll be in jail.’
‘Best of both worlds.’
‘Enjoy your time in the hole,’ Slater said.
