Defender: Intrepid 1

by Chris Allen

  “Don’t know. They must have lifted her from the hotel—”

  “The traffic’s forced them north,” the radio blared with directions from the PolAir chopper. “They’re off William Street, before the Coca-Cola sign, and have gone left onto Darlinghurst Road. Copy?”

  “Got it,” said Sutherland. “Got any moves, Tony?”

  Mugan remained silent, but yanked the wheel hard left and took a back road, avoiding the gridlock between them and Darlinghurst Road. He saw gaps between cars and buildings materialize before they existed, and guided them effortlessly through it all. The wailing siren with flashing red and blue lights charted a course through the narrow streets and eclectic buildings forming the periphery of Kings Cross.

  They bounced out onto Darlinghurst Road, gaining on Lundt and his men as they powered past Fitzroy Gardens. Among the congestion of the roads and hellish weather, Mugan was unfazed. He planted his foot hard against the floor and squeezed them through the center of both directions of traffic. Despite the siren, the other drivers erupted, their unanimous protests hollering as one.

  “Piss off!” Mugan cried to no one in particular, and drove on. He dragged the car fast through the sharp left alongside the HMAS Kuttabul navy base, and then, with the finesse of a world-class rally driver, had them through the hairpin turn onto the Cowper Wharf Roadway.

  “This is PolAir, you’ve got ’em! They’re in the center of Woolloomooloo, aiming for Finger Wharf. Could be going for a boat? Yep, he’s stopped. Someone’s getting out. Looks tall. Dark hair. He’s dragging someone else with him. A woman. Blond. She seems out of it.”

  “Oh, Christ! Come on, Tony!” Morgan cried. “Stamp on it!”

  Mugan responded. The storm had set in and the city was on the verge of darkness. The police car slewed and swerved dangerously on the wet, tight road as the officer struggled to regain his vision.

  “Dave,” Morgan yelled over the noise of siren, storm and engine, “if he gets to a boat, we’ve lost them. There isn’t time to get a police launch out. I’m going on foot, but you’ll need to get that chopper to put down somewhere close. We’re going to need it.”

  Sutherland grabbed a portable radio. Mugan saw the Land Rover taking off. He slid the car across two lanes of traffic and handbraked to a dead stop.

  “Stay with the Land Rover, man!” Sutherland yelled back at the police officer as he took the hand-held radio and hobbled onto the wharf. Morgan had already disappeared into the hammering walls of rain.

  CHAPTER 59

  Finger Wharf at Woolloomooloo was as good as empty but for the well-to-do few, riding out the storm from inside the exclusive restaurants along the western edge of the pier. Those who stayed on were intrigued by the appearance of a man racing past with a woman draped across his shoulders.

  Victor Lundt was too focused on finding a boat to worry about looking behind him. With the girl on his shoulders and the kicking he’d just received from Morgan, his progress was not optimum. But there were a dozen luxury cruisers moored alongside the wharf and his predatory stare scanned for the opportunity that he knew would arise. By now, the rain was attacking horizontally across the harbor, firing in bursts at his face and eyes. He stumbled with exhaustion and the strain of the girl’s weight bouncing up and down on his battered back.

  Then Lundt saw his chance.

  Two men, wealthy corporate types, had just pulled a fancy cruiser alongside, having aborted what would have been a sunny afternoon on Sydney Harbour. By the way they were carrying themselves, Lundt surmised that they’d been drinking.

  With Halls limp across his shoulders, Lundt stomped along the jetty, straight for the cruiser, a late model Sea Ray 355 Sundancer. Not much change out of half a million bucks, 35 feet long with twin Mercurys, each with 320 horsepower. He would take it as far as he could, and ditch it before anybody even knew it was missing.

  “Oh, thank God!” Lundt yelled as he arrived alongside, looking dishevelled and, above all, genuine. “Guys, I need your help,” he said. “My wife’s in a bad way and the bloody traffic is a killer …”

  “You got it, mate,” said the older of the two men, blearily. “Get her on board and tell us what we can do.”

  The two men, a father and son, reached out and took Halls from him with caring, neighbourly hands. Stepping around an assortment of camping gear and a barbecue securely roped off on the deck, they placed her on a luxuriously padded bench seat before bringing Lundt aboard. The Sea Ray was thudding so hard against the jetty they almost dropped Lundt as the waves lifted the boat without warning.

  “So, where can we—”

  No sooner had Lundt climbed aboard than he produced the Walther P99 and without a word fired a single round into the head of each man, killing them instantly. Manhandling their bodies to the side, he dropped them both into the water. He left Halls on the bench and turned straight for the cockpit.

  CHAPTER 60

  As Morgan ran along the wharf, the howling winds and torrential downpour were raging as mercilessly as his own indefatigable battle to stop Lundt.

  Powerful exterior lights came on across the length of the pier. Morgan could make out a large figure running toward the boats. It was an unusually large outline, top-heavy and moving at a low shuffle. Lundt! He had Ari across his back. He saw Lundt reach one of the boats, where willing hands took Ari from Lundt’s shoulders. Lundt climbed aboard awkwardly after them as powerful winds tossed the Sea Ray against the jetty. Then Morgan saw the unmistakable flashes of a weapon being fired and a split-second later he heard the shots – two shots in quick succession. A single shot to the head of each man. Was Ari dead, too? No, Lundt wouldn’t be hanging onto a dead body. He wanted a hostage.

  Morgan, still sprinting, turned hard onto the pier and saw only the rear decks of the Sea Ray dead ahead at the jetty’s end. He could make out an ominous black silhouette against the vessel’s pristine white background: Lundt dropping the dark bundles of his dead good Samaritans over the side.

  Sickened, Morgan was tortured by the unthinkable scenario of Ari being the next to look down the barrel of Lundt’s gun. He was closing fast and reached the corner of the pier, just yards from the Sea Ray. Lungs bursting and blood streaming from his shoulder, he saw Lundt at the controls and heard the big twin engines power to life with a deep rumble. Morgan was almost there, closer and closer, the last few feet vanishing underfoot. His legs on fire, he prepared to leap, weighing up the distance, the seconds, his chances.

  Lundt turned his head back to the pier just in time to see Morgan. The fucking lunatic was going to jump aboard! Lundt raised the Walther again in his left hand and fired indiscriminately as he punched his right hand down hard upon the throttle.

  Orange and white sparks peppered the pier about Morgan’s feet. He sprinted on, inexorably, faster and faster. He reached the end of the jetty and, in a move reminiscent of an Olympic highlight, launched into the long jump. His right foot bit into the edge of the pier at full speed, catapulting him powerfully forward. He was airborne over the churning water, reaching for the boat. Then, the sleek bow of the sports cruiser lifted out of the water as the twin Mercury engines dug in, propelling the vessel across the seething waters of Sydney Harbour. Morgan hit the churning white water hard, missing the boat and knocking the air from deep within him. He was lucky not to have landed amid the screws.

  “Damn it!” he bellowed, spitting water and swimming back to clamber onto the jetty. He watched in abysmal frustration from the waves as the Sea Ray disappeared into the distance with Lundt at the controls, and no sign of Ari.

  CHAPTER 61

  “There he is!” yelled Sutherland. “He’s at the end of the pier! Can you see him?”

  “I see him,” replied the PolAir pilot, cautiously. “This isn’t going to be easy. You better hang on. This weather’s a bitch.”

  The Kawasaki BK-117 was pounded from side to side, buffeted by the storm’s intense winds. The pilot, Paul “Chuck” Bowler, was a temple of concentration, flawle
ssly manipulating the controls, bringing the chopper up from the street where he’d just picked up Sutherland, and back in low, heading straight for Morgan at the tip of Finger Wharf.

  “What the hell has he got with him?” said Sutherland from the cargo hold. “Are they bodies?”

  With the Nitesun search light illuminated beneath the chopper, Chuck brought them onto the pier alongside Morgan. The helicopter bounced dramatically before Chuck was able to steady it, but Morgan simply dived in through the open cargo hold door, and they were airborne again in seconds.

  “He’s on that boat. That flash cruiser,” Morgan cried, gesticulating wildly as Sutherland dragged him inside. “He’s heading west, inland.”

  The PolAir’s observer, Terri, gave the details to Chuck through her radio headset. The boat had vanished into the driving rain.

  Sutherland slammed the cargo hold door shut. “Who were they?” he yelled over the weather and rotors, indicating the two bodies Morgan had somehow managed to pull out of the water and leave on the pier.

  “Not sure. Civilians. I was checking for Ari,” replied Morgan, exhausted. “But I guess it was their boat. Bastard shot them and threw them off. Better get some cops there ASAP.”

  Terri was already calling it in.

  Chuck extinguished the Nitesun as he, Terri and Sutherland began searching the expanse of the harbor for signs of the fleeing cruiser. The aircraft powered west toward the Opera House and Harbour Bridge. They struggled to see through the great gray blanket of water, land and sky. The foul weather was hiding the cruiser as though night had fallen, and they were flying without lights or night vision of any kind. At the back of the cargo hold, Morgan checked that his SIG was full of ammunition.

  “Got him! Dead ahead coming in on the starboard side,” Sutherland yelled, directing the pilot onto target. “How do you want to handle it, Alex?”

  “Tell Chuck to get me aboard.”

  *

  Victor Lundt was exhilarated.

  He’d done it, he’d escaped. What’s more, he still had the girl – his bargaining chip if Morgan actually managed to catch up with him. If that didn’t screw with Morgan’s mind, nothing would. Lundt laughed, toasting his success as the Sea Ray skipped across the burgeoning swell. He pushed her up to 27 knots and looked both ways to be sure he had the banks of the harbor in view. I might just have to get me one of these, he thought.

  CHAPTER 62

  Across the long bench at the rear of the Sea Ray’s open deck, Arena Halls lay still. She had been drifting in and out of consciousness, too exhausted to know where she was, but slowly her awareness was returning. Freezing bullets of water stung at her cheeks. Ari huddled on her side in a foetal position to maintain what little heat she could about her vital organs. Her entire body throbbed. From what? Soon she became aware of an incessant pounding, as though she was being dragged and bounced up and down; every downward collision bringing a new jarring pain along her sodden flank. The weather shrieked at her, plucking her from obliviousness, dropping her straight back into the heart of chaos.

  The realization that she was on a speedboat in the middle of a raging storm struck her like a hammer. She panicked. The last thing she remembered was men coming for her. But there was more: Hyde Park, being manhandled into a car – by the police? – no, not police. A face came to her – a fierce, merciless face with terrifying, different-coloured eyes – Victor Lundt. She knew him from photographs. They were the eyes that had sneered at her as his fist came crashing down across her cheek in the Land Rover, the same eyes that sneered back at her now from the controls.

  Ari was wearing only what she’d had on in her suite back at the Regency: a T-shirt, light track pants and trainers. Her teeth were chattering and the extremities of her slender limbs were numb with cold. She needed something to shield her from the relentless blast of wind and rain. She was no good to herself or anyone like this.

  Ari heard Lundt laughing to himself at the controls. Bastard! She looked around the deck and saw a jacket lying across a large barbecue gas bottle nearby, close to her feet. Was it his? Maybe, though she couldn’t be sure, and didn’t care. Ari gingerly pulled the jacket across and slipped into it.

  *

  Chuck came in on a direct line with the stern of the Sea Ray. He needed to get as close as possible before Lundt realized they were upon him. They had been lucky so far. The weather had shielded the noise of the chopper’s thunderous rotor slap and Chuck didn’t want to give Lundt the opportunity to take any rash evasive action that would be difficult to counter in the high winds. Even now, it was suicide to be airborne in these conditions. But with the nose down, Chuck was heading in fast, while in the back the crazy bastard from Interpol was preparing to make his move.

  *

  At the wheel, Lundt was no longer jovial, his thoughts focused only on his escape. He needed to disappear without trace, recover his losses and re-establish himself as a legitimate player on the international scene. Nothing could get in the way of that.

  The waves were growing more brutal and the boat was smashed harder as Lundt pushed the engines to their limits. The Sea Ray was shuddering at almost 30 knots, but Lundt was resolute. He had to keep heading inland and find a concealed spot to drop the boat, somewhere he could get his hands on a car. The cops would not be expecting him to tackle weather like this.

  A fierce bang rocked the cruiser as a massive wave broke against the bow and then – nothing. The Sea Ray was lifted from the water a full 15 feet, sailing through the air before it came crashing down again. Lundt lost his footing, slipping from the wheel and falling backward onto the deck. Behind him, Halls was flung from the bench and fell among the blood and debris of Lundt’s shooting spree. She cried out in pain. Lundt heard and turned to check her.

  “Fuck me!” he cried.

  All he saw was rotor blades.

  Lundt’s mind was racing. Surely this wasn’t it? He could just make out the side door opening and the men inside. Were the cops about to board? He couldn’t fail now. He was so close – so close to making his escape with the girl.

  There was only one solution: Cut your losses, Victor, old boy! Cut your losses!

  *

  The nose of the PolAir Kawasaki BK-117 was almost kissing the stern of the Sea Ray, the rotor blades slicing through the air directly above the rear deck. Chuck, moving in as close as he dared, was overwhelmed by the drastic surge in weather that had brought the two machines so dangerously close to impact. It was like riding a bucking bronco. He instantly wrenched the chopper back to port then surged forward, once again closing alongside the Sea Ray. The winds were hurling the chopper up and down in the sky, and Chuck was struggling to keep her steady, but the starboard-side cargo door of the chopper began to open.

  Morgan was braced in the door. Sutherland was at his side.

  “You crazy bastards!” Chuck cried from the controls, shaking his head. “We’ll never manage this!”

  “Just get me over that boat!” came Morgan’s chilling response.

  CHAPTER 63

  The searchlight thrust a white circle upon the Sea Ray with the intensity of an interrogation lamp. The boat bounced recklessly across heaving waves, in and out of the spotlight.

  Hanging from the door, Morgan saw it all: the Sea Ray racing across the white-topped water; the Opera House, its billowing white sails luminous against the ominous gray of the storm; and, dead ahead, the world’s most famous coat hanger, the Harbour Bridge.

  At the controls of the PolAir chopper, Chuck Bowler’s jaw tightened. Chuck knew that there was only 50 yards of clearance for shipping below the main span of the bridge. Flying at high speed over water in the middle of a raging storm, 50 yards might as well have been five. To complicate matters even more, there were at that moment three passenger ferries negotiating their way into Circular Quay, squeezing through the same 600 yards of space between the bridge’s north and south pylons. Chuck was forced into edge-of-the-seat maneuvers. He jammed the cyclic forward and the cho
pper’s nose dived. He fought against the winds to bring the bird level, skirting the waves and skimming beneath the bridge’s 50,000 tons of steel. Everybody onboard PolAir held their breath, hanging on tight to whatever they could reach at the sudden, rapid drop in altitude.

  Morgan could see Ari cradling herself on the rear deck of the cruiser. Lundt was at the wheel, struggling to keep control. Get me closer, Morgan willed the pilot. Get me closer!

  Lundt left the wheel. It looked as though he had set the craft to cruise and was rushing back to Ari. The boat was hurled up and down, out of control. He was grappling with her, lifting her roughly to her feet. She fought against Lundt, taking him on, punching and kicking with ferocious determination. Ari was strong, but didn’t stand a chance. Lundt was a killer. He hit her as hard as he would a man, deep in the center of her solar plexus. The last of her air expired and she crumpled to the deck. Then the Sea Ray was hit by another big wave. Lundt, too, fell to the decks but recovering fast, he was upon her again, dragging her to the side.

  “Come on, Chuck!” Morgan yelled.

  Finally the chopper was in position. Morgan leant forward, hands bracing either side of the door, selecting the precise moment to make the jump. Then, disaster.

  “No!” Morgan cried.

  Lundt lifted Ari around the waist and tossed her into the deadly swirling waters without remorse. She disappeared instantly beneath the waves, swallowed by the gray mouth of the raging storm.

  “Dave, save her!” Morgan bellowed.

  Without hesitation, Dave Sutherland plunged into the churning sea after Halls. At the same moment, Alex Morgan leapt for the surging deck of the cruiser.