She shook her head. ‘He’s not like that.’
‘You never know. So I need to see it with my own eyes. If I stumble across a band of disgruntled drug runners, I’ll know I have my guy.’
‘And if they catch you?’
‘I can handle myself.’
‘I’ll need to tag along,’ she said, but there was no determination in her tone. He could tell that she wanted him to beat the proposition down.
He simply stared at her. ‘You know you don’t.’
She nodded.
‘Like you said, you’re perfectly happy to guard a perimeter. There’s nothing wrong with that at all. In fact, you’re probably saner than me.’
‘Would you do this kind of thing?’ she said. ‘Protect peacekeepers?’
‘Sitting around this place all day?’ he said.
She nodded.
‘I’d rather shoot myself.’
‘You keep running around like this and you won’t have to worry about shooting yourself. Others will do it for you.’
He smirked. ‘Hasn’t happened yet.’
‘You look about twenty. Give it time.’
She left him there without realising how deep her words had cut. Underneath the veneer of confidence, he sat back in the seat, letting the cushions mould around him, and thought long and hard about his own mortality. Tijuana had brushed off on him, giving him a certain aura of invincibility. He had survived a handful of close encounters with death — and now what?
Did he really think he was going to storm into the midst of an international crime syndicate and simply stroll away like it was nothing?
He certainly hoped he did, otherwise he wouldn’t have any time whatsoever left to think about the ramifications of his actions.
As darkness fell over the war-torn city, King slipped through the crowd of peacekeepers, nodding to each man and woman in turn. They seemed pleasant enough. They were here for all the right reasons.
So are you, he tried to convince himself.
It didn’t work.
In reality, he recognised the fact that he was probably going to get himself killed in the not-too-distant future.
When Beth had retreated to her own quarters — no longer around to keep an eye on him — he slipped out the front door and set off into the darkness, with nothing but the heavy duffel bag across his back to keep him company.
14
During the flight over, Lars had loaded the bag with certain items that would prove beneficial should King find himself in a compromised position.
Before he made it to the perimeter of the compound, he swung the duffel off his back and yanked an M45 MEUSOC pistol from the top of the bag. Lars had informed him that a batch of the firearms were to be delivered to Beth and her colleagues by the same cargo plane, and if King decided to borrow one it wouldn’t be missed. The weapons were the default sidearm of the Force Recon Marines, weighing just over two pounds and loaded with ACP calibre rounds. King had used them before, in Delta training.
He’d happily accepted the extra firepower.
The seven-round magazine was fully loaded — a little less firing capacity than he would have liked, but enough to suffice. There were plenty of spare magazines in the duffel, but he had no intention of using them. Despite the example he’d set in Tijuana, he would prefer if only a small portion of his operations unfolded in similar fashion. He could only survive by the skin of his teeth for so long, and he preferred to minimise that level of engagement as often as he could.
He spotted a shadowy figure outlined against the sheer darkness beyond the perimeter fence. Fear bolted through his chest and he jolted momentarily, stunned by the appearance of the motionless silhouette.
Then he recognised the man from earlier that day.
‘Johnson?’ he called, his voice cutting through the hot night air.
‘Who are you?’ the man said, curt and adversarial.
‘Jason King. The new guy.’
‘Oh. Sorry, brother. Didn’t recognise you.’
‘No problem.’
King approached the man, his boots crunching against the gravel trail. He pulled to a halt a foot away from Johnson. The only illumination came from the terrace light in the centre of the compound, and King’s eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the light yet. He squinted to make out the man’s complexion. From a foot away, he could smell the sweat on Johnson’s skin. The hot wasteland had hardened the man — he barely budged as King closed the distance.
‘How long do you stay out here for?’
‘Until late,’ Johnson said. ‘We’ve had all kinds of undesirables sniffing around lately. No thanks to dipshit up the back.’
‘Reed?’
‘Who else?’
‘You’re not a fan, I take it?’
Johnson scoffed and spat into the gravel alongside his boots. ‘Fucker’s gone and ruined it for the rest of us. There’s men and women trying to do good work here, and all we’re here for is to make sure they can go about their business without interference. Then this Reed guy decides to get on his fucking high horse and go act like a noble warrior around the docks. What’s he doing there in the first place? I hope you’re here to chew his ass out.’
‘Something like that,’ King said, hesitant to divulge his true purpose.
That drew Johnson’s attention to a different matter. ‘As a matter of fact, where the hell are you off to?’
‘Doing some snooping around,’ King said. ‘I’m from a different division. We deal with this kind of thing hands-on. Me and my superiors need to know Reed was telling the truth about what happened at the port.’
He neglected to mention that in the event that Reed’s story was accurate, he would be recruited into their organisation.
Johnson might not have appreciated that.
The man scrunched up his nose at the news. ‘What did he even do? He’s being a dick about all of this. Barely talking about it. Apart from the three al-Shabaab mongrels he killed — that’s all anyone’s talking about for miles around. I’m worried the entire faction of rebels will take it personally and come mow down everyone in this compound. It’s on Reed if they decide to do that.’
‘That’s what I’m here for,’ King said, and then regretted opening his mouth.
‘What does that mean?’
King paused. ‘For protection. In case shit hits the fan.’
Johnson visibly stiffened, noticeable even in the lowlight. ‘No — that’s what we’re here for.’
‘I know,’ King said, backtracking. ‘But—’
‘You’re a babyface,’ Johnson said, echoing Beth’s sentiments. The man’s temperament had flared, his tone turning hostile. ‘Built like a truck but you look about eighteen. We don’t need you to take care of us.’
‘I know,’ King said again. ‘That’s not what I’m here to do.’
‘You just said you were here for protection.’
‘And discretion. You’re not allowed to go chasing Reed’s claims. I am.’
‘So you’re off to the port? That’s what this is?’
King nodded.
Johnson looked him up and down, checking his outfit for any sign that he belonged to the United States military. Noting an absence of official gear, he shrugged, suddenly nonchalant. ‘Well, if you get yourself killed, that’s no skin off my back. As long as they can’t trace it back here.’
‘Glad to hear I mean so much to you,’ King muttered.
‘You’re the one willingly setting off on a suicide mission. If Reed’s telling the truth, then the port will be manned like crazy. In fact, if you find out he is telling the truth and manage to make it back here in one piece … we might have to pull all the peacekeepers out. It’s serious business if he’s managed to instigate such a goddamn volatile situation.’
‘I’m not planning to get myself killed,’ King said. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not even planning to engage. Just going to snoop around and see how things are panning out.’