Nobody’s Hero (Ben Koenig #2)

Chapter 122

Jakob Tas turned at the sound of Koenig’s voice. He leaned against the stern.

‘You’re awake?’ he said.

Koenig didn’t answer the question. It seemed rhetorical. Instead, he said, ‘Is Bess dead?’

‘She is. I didn’t want to kill her, but you two left me no choice. I couldn’t leave her where she was.’

‘ I’m not dead, Jakob. Why is that?’

Tas chuckled. ‘I thought you were dead, Koenig. I thought you’d drowned, but it seems some people just don’t know when it’s time to die.’

‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

‘Because we’re the same, you and I.’ He held up his hand before Koenig could protest. ‘Yes, we are. We’re both singularly focused on achieving our goals. I sacrificed my friends in San Diego, you sacrificed Miss Carlyle not twenty minutes ago.’

Koenig didn’t bother correcting him. Instead, he said, ‘Can I have my clothes back, please?’

‘I threw your clothes overboard,’ Tas said.

‘Even my boots?’

‘ Especially your boots.’

‘May I ask why?’

Tas picked up something small. He showed Koenig. It was a punch dagger, all shiny and dreadful. ‘This fits neatly into my belt buckle,’ he said. ‘The craftsmanship is so good, not even airport scanners can tell it’s a weapon.’

‘I’m not Rosa Klebb, and this isn’t From Russia with Love . I don’t have a boot knife.’

‘But you are a resourceful guy,’ Tas said. ‘You killed my team in Scotland—’

‘They were wearing stupid armour. They had stupid guns.’

‘And New York? Those guys knew what they were doing.’

‘What can I say?’ Koenig said. ‘I like to get my retaliation in early.’

‘They were the best at my disposal,’ Tas continued. ‘Been together for years. They had you outnumbered and they had better weapons. Yet you still beat them. So, forgive me, the only way I could be sure you hadn’t secreted a weapon in your clothing was to throw it overboard.’

‘I liked those boots,’ Koenig said. ‘Bought them in Texas last year. The leather was as soft as silk.’

‘Sorry.’

Koenig looked over Tas’s shoulder. They were still in the Boulder Basin. He recognised the layered rock formation. It was coffee coloured, from the darkest French roast to the milkiest latte. Looked like one of those Bavarian cakes. It was called the law of superposition. Meant that in layers of sedimentary rock, the oldest layer is at the base, with each layer above getting progressively younger. It was all relative, though, Koenig thought. The top layer was still millions of years old.

‘We’re in the Boulder Basin,’ Koenig said. ‘Exactly where you wanted to be found.’

Tas didn’t answer. Instead, a great hacking cough rattled through him. It wasn’t gentle. Wasn’t restricted to his lungs. This was a full body tremor. Didn’t seem like a pepper-up-thenose cough. Sounded like an end-of-life cough. The kind heard on palliative care wards the world over. And Tas did look pale. Pallid. His skin glistened like warm cheese.

Koenig put two and two together. Came up with terminal illness. A real one this time. Tas was dying. Which solved the exit-plan puzzle. Tas didn’t need one. He planned to die on Lake Mead.

Kamikaze-style.