Sharks - Matt Rogers (classic books for 11 year olds txt) 📗

anger wasn’t sustainable — it had drowned in the wave of confusion that the last twenty-four hours had brought. Slater, on the other hand, had something rising in him like he was stoking his own internal furnace. King sensed something about to be unleashed, and he doubted it would be pretty.

It was a disaster you couldn’t look away from.

So King followed Slater down the decline toward the shoddy administrative building, keeping his Glock up, scanning the horizon and the distant silos, finding nothing amiss. The midday sun exposed all, stripping the terrain of all shadow, boring straight down on the barren landscape.

If someone was hiding in plain sight, then they were even greater professionals than King and Slater, and King got the sense Walcott’s most skilled professionals were lying dead on the bungalow’s grounds.

Slater strode right up to the front of the building, lifted his Glock and cleared each window. His movements were professional and practiced, but not urgent. He didn’t anticipate much resistance.

The front door hung ajar again, exposing a shadowy sliver of hallway within, but to King something seemed different.

Slater noticed it too.

He planted a boot on the front porch, hunched forward, and stared hard.

He nodded his confirmation.

King said, ‘What are you waiting for?’

He went to stride past.

Slater put a hand on his chest, stopping him in place.

He said, ‘Tripwire.’

King stared.

Couldn’t see anything.

Then, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom within, he saw it.

A see-through wire at ankle height, maybe a foot inside, stretched across the entire width of the hallway. The edge of the door was millimetres off touching the wire. Anyone who pushed it in would trigger it.

King said, ‘An alarm system?’

Slater managed a wry smile and stepped back off the porch. ‘This is Teddy’s last stand.’

‘Teddy?’ King said. ‘You really think he set this up? It’s like you never met him.’

‘We met a version of him. First appearances can be deceiving.’

Slater bent down and picked up a sizeable rock of considerable weight. Veins in his forearm rippled as he heaved it up to his shoulder like a shot put.

He said, ‘Step back.’

King complied.

Slater threw the rock at the door.

It struck the wood hard enough to swing the whole thing inward, and then the door disappeared. The noise was horrendous as smoke and debris enveloped the entranceway, taking chunks out of the door frame, ripping up the floor, leaving a crater where the doorway used to be.

When the dust settled, Slater said, ‘And that’s it.’

He stepped forward.

Now King put a hand on Slater’s chest. ‘If you honestly think this guy is some megalomanic mastermind, I think you should be a little more cautious.’

‘When did I say that?’

King threw his hands up in the air. ‘None of this makes any sense.’

‘Of course it makes sense. But just because someone has sinister intentions doesn’t make them an expert.’

‘Sinister intentions?’ King said sceptically.

Slater said, ‘Let’s go.’

He walked in through the rubble.

King followed, gun up.

Slater might have been expecting a prolonged manhunt, but when he pushed open the first door to a connecting office he found what he was looking for.

King came beside him, so they both filled the doorway.

It was a simple office, the same as the last time they’d seen it, but the furniture thrown all over the place had been uprighted, arranged into something resembling order. There was a desk by the wall below the broken window frame, and natural light streamed in over the chairs scattered across the space. Chunks of the carpet were ripped up, exposing damp concrete underneath.

Teddy Barrow sat in a swivel chair in the centre of the room, hands bare, deep bags under his eyes, which were bloodshot from crying.

He had no gun.

He offered no resistance.

He was done.

66

Truth is, megalomanic masterminds don’t exist.

Well, technically they do, but they’re rarer than you’d think. Most people are like Teddy, confused and angry humans trying to sort out their messed-up minds. They’re not secretly strong or tough or fast. They’re just a little braver and a little more reckless than your average member of society.

So instead of retaliating with hidden combat prowess, Teddy sunk down the chair back and slid off and dropped to the floor. He curled into a ball, shielding himself from any kicks or punches that King or Slater might rain down on him. He could recognise when he was outmatched, and he gave up immediately.

Slater picked him up like he weighed nothing, dumped him back in the chair, then kicked him in the gut, sending the chair skidding back into the edge of the desk. Teddy jolted in place, then slumped and held his stomach.

Slater said, ‘That was a taste of what’s to come. You’re going to tell us the truth, Teddy. If you don’t…’

Teddy looked up at them, his eyes wet. Forlorn and hopeless. ‘You’ll hurt me? You’ll kill me? I don’t care.’

‘We know you don’t,’ Slater said. ‘But the pity party can only work for so long. Soon enough you’re going to realise you don’t actually like getting hurt. You’ve convinced yourself you’re a martyr but really you’re just a scared old man.’

Teddy thought about this.

He was in a unique position to think clearly. They were giving him time.

Then he nodded.

He said, ‘What, then? What do you want to know, sirs?’

His accent was just as thick, but now he was using it sardonically. Lambasting them for being so righteous, so pure, so noble.

Slater got it.

He took a step forward. ‘We just want the truth.’

‘Of course you want the truth,’ Teddy said, shaking his head. ‘That’s all I’ve heard since you stepped foot on this island. The truth, the truth, the truth. The truth is, we can’t all be perfect flawless beings like the two of you, so how about you get down off your high horse and try to understand what makes people tick?’

Slater smirked.

Teddy said, ‘You think I’m a fool for being so stupid, don’t you?’

‘No,’ Slater said. ‘I think you’re a fool for assuming we’re any better than you.’

‘But you are,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that right?