by Chris Allen
“Merci bien.”
Morgan approached the entrance of double oak doors that were at least fifteen feet high. Before he had a chance to knock, one of the doors was opened and a young woman appeared dressed in what Morgan recognized as traditional wear for a butler – pinstripe gray flannel trousers, gray vest, black morning-coat, white wing-collared shirt, black tie, white gloves and high-sheen black shoes. She greeted him familiarly as “Major Morgan,” introduced herself as Micheline and told him that Mr. Zolner was expecting him, but first she would show him to his room so he could freshen up after his long trip from the Unites States.
Micheline led Morgan through the grand entrance hall of the residence and, despite two separate visits to Buckingham Palace in the past to receive the Military Cross and, later, the George Medal, Morgan had never seen anything like it – he was staggered by the overwhelming opulence of the interior space, matching in every way the scale and grandeur of the exterior. Everything around him was larger than life, from the artwork to the statues to the huge spiral staircase that rose through the center of the house for three floors. But most captivating of all was the open design of the foyer, a contemporary refurbishment that split the house in two – northern wing to the left and southern wing to the right – with floor-to-ceiling windows three stories high at the rear of the house, looking out across the gardens and on to the sea. After a general explanation about how the house ran and a couple of detours to assist him in understanding the general layout of the place, Morgan and Micheline arrived at the room that had been prepared for him. His luggage had also arrived. The room was larger than his modest semirural home in Farnham back in England, and located at the rear of the house on the second floor, it afforded Morgan unimpeded views out to sea. Micheline told him she’d return for him in an hour.
As the door clicked behind her, Morgan dropped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, which he saw was painted with a montage of religious iconography. Jesus! He had to sleep under that? He closed his eyes for a moment and decided he had to shut down the distraction and irrelevance of trying to comprehend the scale of Helldiver’s wealth, including the travel brochure explosion of lavishness he was in danger of being consumed by. He had to recalibrate mentally to the job at hand. He was, after all, an Intrepid agent, not some flake salivating over the lifestyles of the rich and famous.
Most importantly, he had to remember where he was and to see it for what it really was: the center of an empire intent on causing global instability, killing hundreds if not thousands of people, all for what? Of course, there would no doubt be the ancillary benefits of even more power and wealth to be derived for Helldiver personally. Morgan remembered Reigns’ simple but nonetheless effective mission brief back in Hawaii: “… find out the who-when-where and, whatever it is that they’re doing, stop it before they bring down another plane.”
Morgan showered for about fifteen minutes, allowing the hot water to relax him while purging any underlying stress and tension that were building in anticipation of his mission. He dressed in a light gray, tropical worsted suit with a pale-blue shirt and patterned maroon tie, keeping it simple with black shoes and belt. He clipped on the new metal strap he’d had fitted to his favorite old Tag Heuer watch, which he’d managed to rescue after it had been damaged by the Night Witch’s crew back in Belize. Although, that had been such a close call he’d considered retiring it. Morgan wasn’t sentimental about many things but he’d formed an unusual attachment to the watch. The possibility of ever losing it hadn’t ever occurred to him until Belize. He checked the time. There was a tap at the door.
When Morgan opened it, he could scarcely believe who was standing in front of him.
CHAPTER 18
Singapore
All it took was that passing car and an infinitesimal flash of light. It was just enough for her subconscious to register that the face of the man on top of her, the one whose fingers were clasped around her neck trying to choke the life from her, the one whose knees were bearing his full weight down upon her chest trying to force the last remaining breath from her body, was someone familiar to her. Someone she knew, but not someone she knew well. Someone recent. Someone from today. Someone who had annoyed her.
Detective Leong.
All of this had occurred to her during the taxi ride on the way to her hotel. It had taken only a matter of minutes as she sat quietly, recovering in the back of the taxi from the ambush-cum-attack Leong and two of his accomplices had unleashed upon her. As soon as she’d realized it had been him, she was on the phone to Sheridan back at Intrepid HQ in London. By the time she’d returned to her hotel, showered, changed and regrouped, officers from the SPF Internal Affairs division were waiting for her in the foyer of the Intercontinental, while outside a team from the police Special Tactics and Rescue unit were waiting in two black four-wheel drives with the engines running.
With the impetus of “special interest” directed via Interpol Headquarters in Lyon, France, SPF immediately swung into action. A car fitting the description Reigns had provided had been traced – via traffic management cameras located in the area she was attacked – back to Leong’s apartment. It was anticipated that Leong and his accomplices had gone there on the basis that their plan to overwhelm Reigns had gone so wrong they wouldn’t risk exposure by going straight to a hospital emergency room. When Internal Affairs officers confirmed Leong’s location, STAR was activated to make the arrest.
In the corridor outside Leong’s apartment, Reigns was kitted up with police issue overalls, a balaclava and a Sphinx Alpha 9mm automatic she’d borrowed from the STAR team. There’d be no knocking. The first STAR officer in the line pressed his ear to the door and after a few moments held up three fingers. Each officer in turn down the line held up three fingers. Then the biggest guy in the team was called forward. He stepped out from behind Reigns carrying the thirty-pound battering ram. Reigns tightened her grip around the Sphinx. They’d be in the door in three, two, one …
The big guy swung at the door lock. They’d decided the door was light enough and the lock uncomplicated enough to be taken out easier than an assault on the hinges. It was the right call. The silent corridor exploded with the boom of the impact followed by the chorus of officers calling, “Go! Go! Go!” as they erupted into action, pouring into Leong’s apartment. As the door opened, everything Reigns saw confirmed everything she’d thought. She followed the STAR team in. Leong was standing dumbfounded in the center of the room clutching a bloodied towel over one eye with blood streaming down his face from the other, knees buckling under him as he was being forced to the ground. To the left was a guy holding a bag of frozen peas around his jaw. He was on the floor, evidently dragged from the sofa he’d been resting on moments earlier. To her right she saw an officer disappearing into a room, chasing the third man. A torrent of bellowed commands followed, then the distinctive boom-boom of a weapon being fired in a confined space. The officer reemerged, making a cutting motion across his throat. The third man was down. In less than a few seconds the STAR officers had control.
With one target down and two targets on the floor, they checked the rest of the apartment for others. There were none. At this point, Reigns had to step back and leave the cops to do their thing. All she needed from them now was to know exactly who had engaged Leong to take her out and why. Then a medic from the STAR team checked out Leong and the other guy and verified that they would both need hospital treatment. Checking IDs, they confirmed that Leong was the only police officer; the other two were hired help. Leong and his accomplice were taken out by the STAR team, Leong to hospital under police guard, the hired man to the SPF headquarters lock-up; once Leong was treated, he’d be taken back to SPF HQ for questioning by Internal Affairs. The third guy would go out on a gurney under a blanket.
Reigns was far too hyped for sleep and once everything at the apartment had been sorted, she grabbed a lift back to SPF HQ and returned to the Interpol National Central Bureau office. Still in the overalls
she’d borrowed – the guys had told her to keep them to remember them by – she made some tea and logged in to see if there’d been any intelligence on the images she’d sent through for identification. She also needed to speak with Sheridan to update him on the arrest. She lifted the handset and tapped in the digits on the secure line while she waited for her Intrepid profile to load on screen.
“Sheridan.”
“Hey there,” she replied. “It’s Reigns.”
“Hey, kid. How are you?”
She liked that he called her “kid.” Rodgers called her that, too, and Sutherland used to as well. The familiarity of it made her feel like part of the family, like the older guys were her brothers looking out for her. That’s the way they made her feel, anyway. Except for Morgan. That was something completely different. She wondered if Sheridan knew about her and Morgan.
“I’m OK. I’ve just come from the arrest.”
“How’d it go?”
“We got Leong. The two guys who helped him out were there but one of them tried it on with SPF special ops and they took him down.”
“Dead?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “Leong was the only cop of the three. Looks like the others were just hired help, locals. SPF Internal Affairs will take care of the interrogation and follow-up. They know what we need out of Leong. I don’t want this thing distracting me from tracking Salazar anymore than it already has.”
“We’re way ahead of you,” he said. “Have you checked your messages yet?”
“Not yet, but it looks like they’re just coming through now. Hang on.” Reigns opened the response message from the Intrepid intelligence team and a stream of information poured onto her screen. She scrolled through, taking in the headline information. “Salazar is still on the move, so the girl seems like our strongest lead right now. She called herself ‘Honey’ when she came into reception at the Holiday Inn asking for Chaudry, but it says here that her real name is Galina Devushka. Russian passport. Twenty-two years of age. Currently residing in Singapore. Do we know if this address is up to date?”
“I’m told it is. The team have confirmed that she’s been living there for the past year and for a girl whose visa information says she’s a student, she’s living pretty large. That apartment is apparently in a pretty classy area of Singapore, so she must be doing more than just working in a cafe to pay for it.”
“Do we know if she’s been seeing anyone new – since Chaudry, I mean?”
“No, but if what we know from Dominique is correct and they’re making another move soon, then you can bet she’s already lining up the next guy, if she hasn’t already. Meanwhile, I’ve asked the team to see if they can link her to any of the pilots of the other aircraft that have been targeted. It shouldn’t be too hard if we start with the hotels they were staying at whenever they were in Singapore ahead of their last flights. I’ll keep you posted. How do you want to play it from here?”
“I’m going to need a team to watch her. If these guys are behind Leong’s attempt on me then I can’t risk getting too close to this myself until we’re sure about her and I need to act. I’ve had to involve SPF too much already, so I’d rather not impose on them again if I can help it. Too many people knowing what we’re doing – I’m already feeling exposed out here. Do we have any of our teams nearby?”
“I can send you some of our people I’ve just relieved from a task in Thailand. They can redeploy direct from there and be with you by midday tomorrow – well, I guess that’s midday today for you, right?”
She looked at her watch. It was 1am. “Oh shit, I guess it is. OK, I’m going to get some shut eye back at my hotel and they can reach me there. Anymore for me?”
“No, that should keep you busy for a while. You need anything more from me, kid?”
“No, I’m all good. Just knowing you’ve got my back is all I need.”
Reigns hung up, shut down the computer, stepped out of the overalls and headed, once again, for the lobby. This time there was a squad car waiting for her. She wasn’t walking anywhere.
She climbed inside gratefully and sank back into the seat. As she struggled to fight off exhaustion, her mind turned to Morgan.
CHAPTER 19
Cap d’Antibes, Côte d’Azur, République française
Morgan’s eyes were locked onto those of the woman standing in front of him. The hair was different. It was dark brown now, still cut in a shoulder-length bob but messy somehow, if that was the right word for it. The face seemed slightly more defined, the cheekbones more prominent, and the body had lost some of its curve but was still sensational. It was the eyes that there was no escape from, despite the camouflage of hair, heavier make-up, gym-toned body and altered wardrobe; even had they been disguised beneath contacts he would have known, but they weren’t, they were the same mesmerizing sky blue he remembered. They stared back at him from the face that had haunted his dreams for years, ever since that final, strained farewell at Heathrow. “I need to put all this behind me,” she’d said. And here she was, standing in his doorway. Only this time, the beautiful crystal blue eyes weren’t full of sadness or regret, there was no longing or pain or conflict, just fear. Fear for him and for her. It was a fear he was all too familiar with in this line of work. The fear of discovery. The fear of being declared a spy when deep in the heart of enemy territory. He wanted to say her name, hug her and tell her everything would be OK but he knew he couldn’t. Her expression told him so. This was not a reunion, this was a warning. Here she wasn’t Arena. Here they couldn’t know each other. They had no history. There had been no love. Morgan knew the score. He would have to work out the personal baggage later. He wasn’t looking at Arena. Arena had gone. They were just two strangers meeting for the first time. They were infiltrators within the enemy enclave. And suddenly the fear reached for him. His fear for her safety. All the history flooding back to him. He swallowed the shock, the pain, the elation, the anger and, for the first time since their last physical contact at Heathrow all those years ago, he held out his hand.
“Hello there,” he said. “Alex Morgan.”
“Major Morgan, I’m so very pleased to meet you,” she replied, shaking his hand. She squeezed it, ever so slightly, but for just that fraction longer than required. A subtle, private communication of acknowledgment. Instantly he remembered the softness of her fingers, every joint and undulation. They felt so comfortable nestled among his after so long apart.
He held her gaze throughout the shared seconds of privacy and reconnection, and she held his. Her accent had taken on a decidedly French flavor. He liked it, although it would take some getting used to.
“I’m Dominique, Mr. Zolner’s executive officer – his chief of staff, if that makes more sense. I’m here to escort you down to him. He’s ready for you now in his private office. Would you like to follow me?”
“I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t,” he replied with a forced smile.
She smiled for a second in response then turned on her heel and headed toward the north wing of the house. She made small talk most of the way along the seemingly endless corridor until they reached a small alcove that accessed an elevator. When they stepped inside she turned and looked at him. Despite the strained smile, her own pain was evident in her eyes. The doors closed and they began to descend.
“I knew it was you as soon as I saw you getting out of the car. I was told to expect an agent and somehow I knew it would be you.” She smiled again but it was tight. “It had to be you, I suppose. Destiny … and all that.”
“But, how—” he began.
“Not now, Alex. I’ll explain everything, I promise, but right now I have to tell you, we don’t have much time. Things have recently escalated here,” she whispered urgently, clearly conscious they only had a few seconds. “Yesterday I managed to plant a listening device in his office, that’s where we’re headed now. I overheard them last night. Not that I necessarily needed the device. They were shouting at each other, Zolner and his father.”<
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Morgan shot her a puzzled look.
“Yes, his father is here,” she said. “Masterson has confirmed that the old man you’re about to meet is in fact the infamous General Zolnerowich. He’s alive and he’s here, right now. Apparently General Davenport was none too happy when he found out. I’m told there’s history there. Now, this is the clincher. They’ve murdered a Malaysian who was the assigned intermediary between them and the Malaysian government. They killed him in response to the attempt on the Zolners in Hawaii.”
“How?”
“Beheading. I haven’t seen it but I heard it being played as they watched it. They reconstructed an Islamic State execution.” She flashed him a glance. “They videoed it and sent it to the Malaysian government.”
“Jesus,” Morgan said. “So what’s been the fallout?”
“I can’t work out for sure which one of them ordered it, and that’s what’s been the source of the friction between them. On top of that, there’s now been some kind of new threat directed at the Zolners, from what I can gather it seems to be targeted at Kristina. And that has freaked them both out. I don’t know what it is yet. Helldiver is furious but he’s also afraid. That’s made him and her paranoid. He’s expecting you to be the answer to all his problems but General Zolnerowich is not happy about you, an outsider, being brought on board. So, be careful, Alex. This will get very messy, very quickly.”
The elevator hissed to a stop. She took his hands in hers and held them firmly. “I’ll find a way to speak with you alone as soon as I can. Until then, we don’t know each other. Please take care.”
She let go. The doors opened.
“You too,” he whispered and she led him from the elevator. By the sounds of it, they’d walked in on an argument. It was Helldiver. He was berating someone.