Warrior: A Jason King Thriller (The Jason King Files Book 2) by Matt Rogers

Author:Matt Rogers [Rogers, Matt]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2017-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

27

Afgooye snuck up on him in the darkness.

One minute, King’s guard started to fade as the trail ahead blurred into a constant stream of nothingness, pitch dark and surrounded by open fields of dead vegetation and sand. The next, soft light emanated from the surrounding land, barely perceptible amidst the darkness.

His eyes drooped momentarily, a response to his adrenalin levels crashing down in the aftermath of the police stop. He’d been ready to go down in a blaze of gunfire, and his veins had thundered with cortisol accordingly. Now that the threat had dissipated and he was left to ponder what had occurred at the checkpoint, his energy levels plummeted.

He had almost fallen asleep at the wheel when he noticed broad shapes on either side of the trail.

It startled him into action.

Only managing to glimpse the objects in his peripheral vision, he wrenched the M45 out of the storage compartment in the driver’s door and trained the barrel into the darkness.

Energy came flooding back in a wave.

He hadn’t a clue what he was witnessing, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark and the surroundings began to make sense, he let the fight-or-flight mechanism tone itself down once again.

There was no threat here.

He gazed out upon rows and rows of tattered canvas tents, arranged in two staggering grids on either side of the trail. It boggled his mind as he considered the scale of the encampments, plunging into the distance where they faded entirely from view. There had to be thousands and thousands of the tents, with barely any artificial lighting to pave the way for civilians. The soft glow came from the odd halogen bulb dotted randomly throughout the twin sites. In the midst of the temporary shelters, King saw silhouettes moving slowly through the aisles, milling around in certain areas, congesting in hotspots. He could see the lie of the land due to the plains sloping away from the trail on either side, allowing the ability to look out at the sea of tents.

Rattled by the sudden appearance of thousands of people, he tore his gaze away from the camps and stared straight ahead, focusing on slicing the jeep through the midst of the tents without attracting too much attention.

He needn’t have bothered.

No-one even glanced in his direction, and he realised they were preoccupied with their own problems. If this trail acted as a major link in a nation-wide trade route, then one more jeep passing by would mean nothing to them.

King could almost taste the raw fear in the air.

He concluded that the camps must be providing shelter to the men, women and children displaced from their homes in the war-torn hotspots of Somalia. He pondered the gravity of the situation for a moment — just as he had considered the scale of the drug trade in Tijuana. Diving into the thick of the action made him realise how insignificant he was in the grand scheme of things.

His actions didn’t matter in the big picture.

But they mattered to him.

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