Defender: Intrepid 1

by Chris Allen

  “But … you can’t! There must be some other way?” Johnson was on his feet. He shook with dread, knowing that his life’s work was crumbling around him, dreams of a knighthood, power and respect, all having been so close, now sailing away before his eyes. He thought nothing of the lives lost, or the damage he had inflicted on others. Those things were not real to Abraham Johnson. General Davenport saw it written all over the man’s utterly defeated expression.

  “Greed was your undoing, Johnson. The decision to use Cornell was your biggest mistake. He was your Achilles heel, and we exploited it. Ultimately, your arrogance blinded you to the consequences of your actions.”

  CHAPTER 65

  FARNHAM, SURREY

  “Tell me about all this stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “All these bits and bobs you’ve got on the shelves and walls.”

  Alex Morgan came back into his sitting room from the kitchen where he had been pouring drinks. Ari was over by the far wall, contemplating his personal history, which he now realized was littered throughout his house in various forms. He stood quietly admiring her as she leant against the bookshelf, captured in the glow of a small lamp on the coffee table. Her faded blue jeans stretched along long legs, and her tight, white T-shirt emphasized a flat stomach that arched perfectly into the superb undulation of her breasts. Fine blond hair fell to her shoulders. As she stood on tiptoes in her socks to look at a framed parchment on the wall, Morgan was mesmerized.

  “You know something? You’re too beautiful to be a spook, Halls.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not really a spook, remember? A Foreign Office bean counter, I believe you called me.” She smiled in a self-deprecating way, took a glass of red wine from him, and continued surveying the collection of photos and certificates competing for pride of place. “So, come on, what’s this one?” She pointed to the parchment.

  “That’s my commission, appointing me as an army officer,” he said with feigned pomp, sipping his wine. “I told you I was a gentleman. I’ve got a piece of paper signed by the Queen to prove it!’

  “You Aussies can never be real gentleman,” she chided. “You’re too rough around the edges. What about this one?” She was now pointing toward a pewter statuette of Pegasus surmounted by Bellerophon charging into battle.

  “Ari, come on. Forget about all that crap. The food’s ready, so let’s eat. I’m starving.”

  She continued her investigations as Morgan went back to serve up their meal. “Is this you? Oh my God, it is you! Too funny!”

  “Yeah,” Morgan replied, as he returned again from the kitchen, this time with food in hand. “Me and a mate, both lieutenants when that picture was taken.” The image showed two fresh-faced young subalterns, grinning cheerfully, dressed in army camouflage. Morgan remembered that for a while there he and Jim, the other face in the picture, had been inseparable. They were in the same class during officer training at Duntroon and after graduation, joined the 3rd Battalion as platoon commanders. They’d done all of the mandatory young officer courses together, including their basic parachute course, and then deployed to East Timor with the battalion in 1999. Later, when Morgan left Australia to join the British Paras, Jim had joined the Australian SAS. They’d genuinely felt 10 feet tall and bulletproof back in those days, he recalled; utterly invincible. Of course, years later, fate proved them wrong when Jim was shot and killed during an engagement with insurgents in the Uruzgan province early in the campaign.

  “You were probably still at school when that was taken,” he said, needing to lighten the moment.

  “Cradle snatcher!” she teased, noting a subtle change in him. She slipped her arm around his waist and kissed him on the cheek. She didn’t want to pry.

  “Now,” said Morgan eagerly. “Get yourself comfortable.” He gestured to the sofa, handing over one of his chilli con carne creations. “No more talking about the fact that this place has turned into a museum. I take the hint. Let’s eat.”

  Ari took the offered plate in one hand, but then shook an already almost empty wineglass with the other, winking at Morgan. “You’d better bring the bottle in, mister.”

  An hour later, having congratulated Morgan on his unexpected prowess in the kitchen, Ari joined him on the floor, where he sat with legs outstretched and back against the sofa, sipping his wine with the last strains of Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue playing in the background.

  “I’m happy you talked me into coming to Farnham. London’s a drag when you’re in the thick of it all the time. I’ve always liked Surrey.”

  “I’m glad you came down,” replied Morgan. “What do you think of the place?”

  “Cozy springs to mind. I don’t think it’s a museum, though a woman’s touch wouldn’t go astray, of course. I love that Vettriano. The Singing Butler, isn’t it? It all has a certain boyish charm.”

  Morgan laughed. He slid over toward the iPod remote to change the music. Ari slid over and grappled the remote from him.

  “Hang on a minute, you,” she said. “Let’s see what else you’ve got in there.” She trekked her way through his iPod, commenting along the way. “Enya? You?”

  “It’s The Celts,” he replied indignantly. “It soothes me.” He smiled as she laughed at him.

  “Ah,” she announced. “Here we go!” Stan Getz came on.

  “I can’t believe you like jazz,” he said with a smile as she returned to him on the floor just as the opening bars of ‘Love And The Weather’ kicked in. The two of them sat quietly.

  “Alex?” Ari cooed, easing him from contemplation. She shifted closer and looked at him intently, inches from his face.

  “Yeah?” he replied.

  “The life you lead. The things you do. I don’t know how many times since we met that I thought that you’d been killed. Why do you keep putting yourself through it?”

  “Honestly, I don’t really know. As a young guy, I decided I was going to be a soldier. Before you know it, life, career, opportunities take over and you end up where you are. But now I’m here, with you. Can’t be all bad.”

  “I’m serious, Morgan,” she said, jabbing his side. “I mean, why not leave it to others. You’ve been through enough. Surely?”

  Morgan paused. “It’s not as easy as that, Ari. What we do … it’s more than just a job.”

  Ari shifted uncomfortably. Morgan fell silent, gazing into his wineglass. She had been worried about when to raise the subject, but needed to know if there was any future for them. She moved closer, sliding her body around to face him, placing her hand gently on his leg.

  “So, what’s next?” she whispered after a few seconds. “Where to for the man from Intrepid?”

  “Sorry, darling,” he said, tapping the tip of her nose, lightening the mood. “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

  “Whatever,” she replied, glad of the levity. She put her arm around his waist, resting her head upon his chest.

  Morgan’s jaw was set firmly and his dark green eyes were cold. He had returned to memories of Lundt. The satisfaction that he’d felt killing the man now caused him to feel ashamed. Was he actually any better than Lundt?

  “It was a miracle that you survived the explosion, Alex,” she said, tracing a tender finger along his jaw.

  “The waves saved me, I suppose,” he replied. “Threw me off the boat just as the gas bottle erupted. You were pretty lucky yourself, remember?”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it. If Dave hadn’t gotten to me, I’d be at the bottom of Sydney Harbour by now.”

  “I owe Dave,” said Morgan. “Where would I be if he hadn’t saved you?”

  Ari decided she would not press him about the future again. Not tonight, anyway. It was time to savor what they had right now. Who knew how long it could last? She buried her fingers deeply into his thick brown hair and tousled it roughly before planting a passionate kiss on his lips.

  Morgan responded.

  He turned and lifted Ari’s lithe frame up onto his la
p. She wriggled sensually against him. As they kissed, he ran his fingers across the smooth, exposed flesh of her waistline, flicking open the top button of her jeans, gently easing down the zip and slipping his hand inside. She moaned, nibbling on his ear, swirling her tongue around and around. Slowly, carefully, Morgan ran his hand around behind to glide across the taut mounds of her butt, a lone finger looping through her G-string. He gently tugged on it, softly teasing her. Ari arched against his chest, groaning wistfully in his ear.

  “No more questions,” said Morgan.

  “OK, mister,” she replied with barely a whisper. “I promise.”

  Alex Morgan Will Return in Hunter

  His orders are simple: ‘The safety catch is off. Return that girl to her family and drag those bastards back to justice. Dead or alive. It makes no difference to me.’

  Alex Morgan – policeman, soldier and spy for Intrepid, the black ops division of Interpol – is on the hunt for Serbian war criminals. But these guys were never going to let it be that simple. An assassination attempt is made on the presiding judge of the international tribunal. Days later, the judge’s daughter, the famous and beautiful classical pianist Charlotte Rose, vanishes in mysterious circumstances.

  The girl is not just a pretty face and the daughter of a judge, however. She’s also the goddaughter of Intrepid’s veteran commander, General Davenport. It’s up to Morgan and the Intrepid team to track the kidnappers and the missing woman before the very fabric of international justice is picked apart at its fraying edges.

  Part James Bond and part Jason Bourne, Alex Morgan must walk the line between doing the right thing and getting the job done. And this time he’s got permission to make it personal.

  Find out more here: momentumbooks.com.au/books/hunter/

  About Chris Allen

  Chris Allen writes escapist action thrillers for realists, having seen and done it all.

  Serving in three Commonwealth armies across two decades and four continents, one of the paratrooping elite, Chris saw the world from under a billowing parachute, often by night, entering foreign countries with the usual passport-stamping obligations eschewed.

  Exiting military life with injuries, Chris transitioned into humanitarian aid work during the East Timorese emergency, served with three major law enforcement agencies in Australia, protected Sydney’s most iconic landmark in the wake of 9-11 and has held one of the oldest law enforcement appointments in the land.

  Chris’s creative literary brainchild, Intrepid, is a culmination of his military and law enforcement insider experience. The razor-sharp Sword of Interpol, Intrepid is the Intelligence, Recovery, Protection and Infiltration Division: an ultra-secret, international paramilitary organisation established to operate across the world, regardless of borders, politics or race.

  Stay in touch at intrepidallen.com | facebook.com/intrepidallen | twitter.com/intrepidallen | youtube.com/intrepidallen

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to offer my most sincere thanks the following people, without whom etc ...

  The brilliant, tenacious and utterly adorable Sarah Allen, my beautiful wife, mother of my sons and all-round superwoman. She is the fabulous to my curmudgeon. Over the past seven years, Sarah has been with me every step of the way, reviewing pages as fast as my two fingers could churn them out, hitting hard with the red pen(s) and smashing me and the book into shape. Quite simply, I couldn't possibly have done it without her.

  My friend Jacqueline ‘PJ’ Pascarl and I have been mates for ages. We met while serving together with CARE International East Timor in late 1999. She has the biggest heart around and will do anything she can for just about anybody. She is my agent but most importantly, she is also godmother to our son, Morgan. Thanks so much for everything PJ.

  Special thanks must go to Pan Macmillan, especially Cate Paterson and Tom Gilliatt for agreeing to give Alex Morgan and Intrepid a go! My greatest appreciation goes to Joel Naoum, head honcho and publisher extraordinaire at Momentum and his incredible team, Anne Treasure and Mark Harding, for making this process so enjoyable. Thank you Team Momentum. You’re all outstanding in my book.

  Special mention must also go to:

  Andrew ‘The Key’ Vintner for his invaluable assistance, advice and guidance regarding the helicopter sequences.

  Major Andrew Somerville for his collaboration in the development of the range training scene which takes place in The Pit and numerous other points

  of fact throughout.

  For their endorsements – which got this book noticed in the first place:

  Brigadier Andrew Dudgeon AM, Mr. Alan Finney OAM, Mr. Will Davies, Lieutenant Colonel Evan Williams, Major Andrew Somerville, Major Tony Kaine and those individuals for whom the need for anonymity remains an important fact of life.

  I’ve been extremely lucky to have enjoyed incredible support and encouragement from friends and family, a number of whom have taken the time to read and re-read the manuscript in its various stages, providing honest and constructive feedback along the way. So, a huge thank you goes out to:

  David Bachi, Andrew and Emily Blades, Brett Caldwell, Danielle Di Masi, Philippa Finney, Laraine and Malcom Grigg, Michael Hargreaves, Sandra Huer, Tony Kaine, Christine Kain, Hannan Le, James Le, Jeanette Miller, Barry Pickering, Beth Robb, R. Scott, Michelle Scully, Andrew Somerville, David Standring, Maria Sykes and G. Timms.

  Finally, I must also acknowledge the person responsible for the aircraft safety briefing I’ve included within this story. This is based upon a briefing I received from an unknown crewmember aboard a World Food Program (WFP) Hercules on the Darwin–Dili route in late 1999. I have attempted to replicate that briefing as close as possible to word-for-word.

  First published by Bright Sea Publishing in 2011

  This edition published in 2012 by Momentum

  Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  Copyright © Chris Allen 2011

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

  A CIP record for this book is available at the National Library of Australia

  Defender: Intrepid 1

  EPUB format: 9781743340943

  Mobi format: 9781743340950

  Print on Demand format: 9781743341377

  Cover design by Matt O'Keefe and Patrick Naoum

  Edited by Sarah Fletcher

  Copyedited by Kylie Mason

  Proofread by Glenda Downing

  Cover photo by Lisa Pearl Photography lisapearl.com.au

  Macmillan Digital Australia: www.macmillandigital.com.au

  To report a typographical error, please email errors@momentumbooks.com.au

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