Helldiver: The Alex Morgan Interpol Spy Thriller Series (Intrepid 4)

by Chris Allen

  “Don’t be awful, Nobby. I know it’s been an age since we last spoke and that’s been entirely my fault. So, here I am rectifying it. I thought it would be nice for you to do something spontaneous.”

  “I must say, your timing is impeccable, my dear. I’m intrigued. What are you proposing?”

  “I was down at Warminster today for a meeting with some people from the Ministry of Defence and rather than returning to the city, and as it’s a Friday, I’ve decided to stay at my house down here in Surrey. I’m going to have a few local friends over for supper, all very interesting, nice, normal people, none of whom have any involvement in our line of work, so I thought you might appreciate a change of scene.”

  “Do you mean this evening, V?” he asked, looking at his watch. It was almost 6pm. “It sounds very nice, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t get down to Cobham until about eight. Would that be too late?”

  “Of course not. Eight would be absolutely perfect. You can take one of the guest rooms. Pack an overnight bag, get in that old Jaguar of yours, and get moving straight away. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Very well. You’ve always been good at dragging me out of my comfort zone,” he said. “I’ll get myself sorted out here and will see you in a couple of hours.”

  Davenport put down his phone. How extraordinary.

  CHAPTER 31

  Hotel Baltschug Kempinski, Moscow, Russian Federation

  There was a tap at the door. Morgan opened it. Arena was standing there looking at him with those incredible blue eyes. He was instantly transported back to Sydney, how many years ago – four or five? Seeing her that first time after Malfajiri, her face framed by those few inches of open hotel room door. Room 109, that was it. Her hair was blond then. She’d been wearing a T-shirt, track pants and sports socks. And she’d been reading The Count of Monte Cristo which she knew was his favorite. He was reading that very book right now, had begun it before he even knew that their agent in France named Dominique was in fact his – his what? His Arena. He used to call her Ari, then.

  “Can I come in?” she asked. She looked lost – or was it distance?

  Whatever it was, she looked incredible. She was wearing a casual business suit, ready to travel back to Paris. Morgan was even getting to like the new dark hair. God, he was distracted by her so easily.

  “Sure,” he replied. “Come in. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said, walking in. “Actually, scratch that. I’ll have a glass of wine. Something white.”

  “What time’s your flight?”

  “A few hours. They’ll be collecting my bags from my room soon and there’s a car booked for me in about half an hour. They’ll call me here. What about you?”

  “Same. Few hours.” Morgan went to the bar fridge and found a bottle of sauvignon blanc. He poured her a glass and, out of character, one for himself. Morgan would only drink white if there was nothing else or if he just had to. This was a just-had-to moment; he needed to fortify himself. She still had the same impact. He couldn’t hide that from himself. He felt the same way he did all those years ago and all it took was for her to walk back into his life again, in a bizarre reversal of the scene they’d played out at the Hyde Park Regency in Sydney, with her this time walking into his room.

  Ari had taken a seat by the windows and was looking across the Moskva River directly at Red Square. Morgan handed her the glass of wine and joined her on the adjacent seat.

  “Hell of a day,” he said.

  “You think?” she said, then laughed nervously. He noticed her hand trembling slightly. Shock. Understandable. A man had been murdered in cold blood right in front of her by a senior government official, the same government official who’d guaranteed them both safe passage out of Russia as long as they each flew to their respective home ports immediately. How concrete was the man’s guarantee? Morgan watched her for a moment, wondering about her life.

  “You OK?” he asked.

  “I suppose so. I guess, to some extent, I’ve been expecting it the entire time I was undercover. There was such a brutal inevitability to the way in which it all ended, but I guess seeing it like that, first hand, witnessing it, really brought home the reality of what I’ve been in the middle of all this time. Especially what he’s been up to. All those people.”

  “I realize it’s little consolation, but he had it coming,” Morgan said. “That won’t make what you saw today just go away and be suddenly OK, but while you’re trying to make sense of it, process it, perspective can help.”

  She nodded and sipped her wine. “They really dealt with it, didn’t they?” She motioned across the river to Red Square. “Just as we all secretly imagine they do still deal with issues like that, here. The old ways.”

  “Old ways is right. Can you imagine the head of any agency in the West turning up and blowing someone away like that? It’s very personal for them, even though they make it seem like it’s not. It’s as though the message must be conveyed directly, man to man, in order for it to be very clearly understood by all concerned. Even all those underlings standing around watching and, eventually, cleaning up the aftermath.”

  “I meant to ask, what was in that envelope the driver gave you when he got back in the car with us?”

  “It was a printout of the passport that Zolnerowich is traveling under, his new identity. They’re gifting him to us. I’ve sent the details on to headquarters. They can start looking for him all over again. At least this time we have a head start, and we know for certain that he’s actually alive. He’ll show up soon enough.”

  Ari looked at him, nodding, and then turned in her chair, away from the view across the river, to face him. They held each other’s gaze for some time, Morgan didn’t know how long, but neither of them faltered. It felt natural, the way things were intended to be. The way they should have been for years.

  “I heard about Dave Sutherland,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I know you were close.”

  “Thanks,” Morgan said. The reminder of his friend’s death took him by surprise. “It’s the nature of this business, I suppose. You just never know.”

  “I wouldn’t even be here if not for you and Dave,” she said. “I wish I could have made it to his funeral.”

  “He would have understood.”

  They fell into an awkward silence. The past, their shared past, was trying to surface, but there was just too much to unravel. Not here; not now.

  “You know, Alex, when I said goodbye to you that day in London, I told you it was because I had to put distance between me and what we went through in Malfajiri. I thought I would be able to cope with it, but I couldn’t. And having you around me and becoming so much a part of my life, I was torn between my feelings for you and knowing that every time I was with you I was constantly reminded of that dreadful place. It was so unfair. I felt that I had no other choice but to leave, which, of course, meant leaving you and London behind me. So, I did, but I can tell you it wasn’t easy. In fact it was almost impossible. I just had to go through with it. It was a self-preservation thing.”

  Morgan sat quietly, sipping on his wine, watching her.

  “But then, it must have been a year later, General Davenport tracked me down in Switzerland where I was doing some contract work for the British Embassy. I was thoroughly bored and he came in out of the blue with a job offer and the ability to do some good. And that, mister, is all your fault.”

  “How on earth can you blame that on me?”

  “Because I felt that it would somehow make me feel close to you again. Like we were on the same team.”

  “A phone call would also have done that.”

  “It wasn’t as easy as that for me,” she replied. “By that time, I just presumed you would have worked me out of your system and moved on; whereas I thought about you all the time, almost everyday, to be honest. Barcelona. London. Your place in Farnham. But seeing you again, the way you’ve looked at me these past couple of days, I feel like nothing’
s changed for you and now I feel like such a fool.”

  Morgan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. After all this time. “Why would you feel like a fool?”

  “Because now I know I still love you – I never stopped loving you – but my fear drove me away and kept me away from you when I should never have left, and now it’s too late.”

  “It doesn’t have to be, Ari,” Morgan found himself saying. “I’d walk away from all—”

  “I’m afraid it does, Alex,” she said. A single tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m married now.”

  CHAPTER 32

  England

  M25 en route to Cobham

  “Our friend Zolnerowich arrived in the UK via Gatwick yesterday, traveling under those passport details the SVR gave you and suddenly General Davenport’s gone off the grid,” said Sheridan. “At this point we believe Davenport’s in Surrey, but – with Zolnerowich on the loose – until I have eyes on the boss or receive his personal verification, I have to assume there’s a problem. That’s why we’re heading there now. Your tactical gear is in the back.”

  “Jesus,” replied Morgan. “What the hell is going on?”

  Morgan and Sheridan were in the back of a specially modified Transit van that had a dual cabin in front connected to a weapons and equipment storage area in the back. A member of Intrepid’s driving team was at the wheel, while Morgan and his chief of staff were in the back seat. Morgan had just returned from Moscow on one of Intrepid’s Gulfstream G650 ultra-high-speed jets, one of an exclusive fleet specifically modified for Intrepid by Gulfstream’s Special Missions Program Office, and Sheridan had collected him from Heathrow.

  “Davenport left the office earlier than usual this evening to return to his home in Mayfair. Mrs. Jolley thought he was looking strained and so she called me. I walked in, took one look at him, agreed with her immediately and we packed him off home so he could relax while I watched the shop. His driver delivered him to his house a little before six. When I sent your report through to him at eight, I rang to let him know it was in his inbox. I got no answer. I tried again a few minutes later, still nothing. I issued a preliminary alert and we followed all the protocols; I even checked back with Mrs. Jolley, who was already at home but she had no idea where he could be.”

  “So, what’s dragging us to Surrey?” Morgan asked.

  “The GPS emergency locator in that old Jaguar of his went off a little after eight o’clock. It took a while to filter through the system back to me. The location received via the GPS was just outside a place called Cobham in Surrey.”

  “Cobham. Why the hell would he be in Cobham at this hour on a Friday night?”

  “Ashcroft-James, chief of MI6, has a country house in Cobham.”

  Morgan snapped a look at Sheridan. The street lights along the M25 flashed across their faces. Sheridan’s expression was not encouraging.

  “I asked Commissioner Hutton at the Metropolitan Police to verify the whereabouts of Ashcroft-James for me without letting anyone know who was asking or why. He came back almost immediately and confirmed that she is in Washington, DC. She’s been involved in meetings with their Homeland Security people this past week and isn’t scheduled to return to London until tomorrow. He double-checked it with his people and as far as the Met is concerned, that’s where she is.”

  “So, you’re working off the premise that the boss has been lured there under false pretenses?”

  “On the basis that our chief has never been off the grid ever before, I am. Ashcroft-James has a property on Old Lane at the edge of the village. It’s about five acres and her home is located on the northeastern corner of her land. Reigns is currently on the ground and is moving in by foot across the property. Once she’s checked it out, she’ll send you her exact location so you two can RV there.”

  “Jesus, Beth must be on her last legs. I saw her report from Singapore when I was flying back. She’s been through the ringer and all I’ve done so far was fucking nursemaid Helldiver and deliver him to the Russians so they could put a bullet in him.”

  “She is. That’s why she’s your backup on this if it goes pear-shaped. Once you get eyes on that residence, I need to know ASAP whether or not I’m walking up to the front door and asking to speak with the General personally or we’re calling in the Marines.”

  “You can call in the Marines when you’re in the US,” said Morgan with mock indignation. “But over here we call in the Paras.”

  “OK, OK,” Sheridan replied amiably. “I don’t care who we gotta call as long as we get the boss back in one piece. Commissioner Hutton is on standby to provide any operational support we need, including police, army, you name it; and he’ll provide top cover with Whitehall if need be. Meanwhile, he’s spoken with the chief constable of the Surrey Police and she has dispatched a number of squad cars to standby in the village. If you need ’em, I’ll call ’em forward. So now would be a good time for you to crawl in the back there and get kitted up. I’ll let you know when we’re getting close.”

  “Roger that.” Morgan pushed open the central connecting door between their two seats and disappeared into the rear section of the van where the tactical gear was ready for him.

  He had processed his conversation with Arena during the flight back from Moscow and, for now at least, he decided it was best left as it had been for many years – parked in a part of his mind that didn’t require constant attention or speculation. It was just too hard to comprehend. Right now, there were two people who needed him; two people for whom he would sacrifice everything in a heartbeat. And, at this moment, one of them was stuck in a field in the dark and on her own, ready to take on whatever was going to be thrown at her in order to save their boss. Morgan knew she’d been through enough. He’d read between the lines of her operational report to understand the real detail.

  Reigns needed him and right now that was Morgan’s only thought.

  He just hoped they could get there in time to find Davenport.

  CHAPTER 33

  “Nice of her,” Zolnerowich said, “to arrange my safe passage onto your little island and then lend me her private retreat so I can lay low for a while. So very English of her, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, she’s a real dear,” Davenport replied. “Although I doubt very much that her invitation was intended to include the rest of your friends, but then again you always did like an audience.”

  Zolnerowich only smiled. He walked up to the chair Davenport was tied to and pulled on the ropes, specifically tightening the one that was wrapped around Davenport’s neck. Davenport didn’t flinch but the added discomfort and difficulty it caused him to breathe was apparent. They were in the drawing room of Ashcroft-James’s country home and in addition to Zolnerowich, there were four other men, dangerous types, all upwards of forty, whom Davenport presumed to be ex-agents still loyal to their old master. Davenport was madly trying to piece together the details of the connection between Ashcroft-James and the Russians. It wasn’t unheard of that the chief of a British intelligence agency was “in bed” with the enemy. Davenport had long held his suspicions about her but he had no idea how far back her betrayal would eventually be traced. It was the constant fishing for information during the Night Witch operation and the eventual selling out of Morgan as an Intrepid agent that could have only, in those circumstances, come from her that had further heightened his suspicions. When he’d received her call earlier that evening he’d willingly taken the bait. He’d needed to know. He just hoped he’d activated his emergency locator in time for his team to act.

  “So how do you think I should deal with the man who has been responsible not only for tearing down my life’s work, but also for arranging the delivery of my son to his executioners?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re actually mourning the death of your boy now, are you? Seriously, Zolnerowich, you don’t expect me to believe that. The two of you have orchestrated the deaths of thousands of innocent people in your combined lifetimes. Hardly the fodder fo
r a proud family legacy. So let’s not waste any time lamenting his passing here. My man delivered him to the SVR on my orders and they killed him. It saved my agent the job. Now, let’s move on, shall we?”

  Zolnerowich merely inclined his head and closed his eyes. Two of the men stepped forward and began beating Davenport about the head and upper body. Davenport felt every one of his six decades with each blow but refused to show any sign of pain or fatigue. The beating lasted a number of minutes and then stopped, leaving him breathless and bleeding. When the two men stepped back, Zolnerowich was standing once again in Davenport’s eye line.

  “I see you outsource your valor these days, comrade,” said Davenport. “I suppose with all the money you’ve amassed at the expense of other’s lives, you can afford just about anything. Although this really is a new low, even for you, paying thugs to beat up an old man.”

  Zolnerowich remained silent.

  Davenport turned his head toward his assailants. “And you two must feel very proud of yourselves,” he said.

  One of the two made a move to attack him again but a bark from Zolnerowich stopped him in his tracks. The room fell silent. Davenport had made his point and so took the opportunity to regain his breath and composure as he dealt with the pain.

  “Many years ago, you and I faced off in East Berlin,” Zolnerowich said eventually. “You had come across the border to kill me with one of your SAS assassination squads because I had killed one of your agents in West Berlin. Do you remember?”

  “I remember. Tiergarten.” Davenport remembered every detail of the operation. It had haunted him for years. “And, on that occasion, we weren’t trying to kill you at all. We were attempting to bring you in but we were sold out and three of my men were murdered. Two bodies were recovered. One was not.”

  “You were sold out. Yes, indeed. You were sold out. Have you ever wondered by whom?” Zolnerowich was grinning broadly. Enjoying every moment.