Avenger

by Chris Allen

  “I’m fine, Reigns,” he said. “I’m nowhere near fucking angry yet.”

  “Humor me,” she said. He didn’t move or reply, only glared across at her, trying to work her out.

  Reigns stood up, took a step around the edge of the table so that she was by his side, and pointed one long, slender finger at him.

  “Listen, Morgan, if I have to beat the shit out of you until you relax, I will,” she said. “So, we’re doing this, whether you like it or not.”

  There was a brief pause before he laughed. Reigns did too. It was impossible not to.

  “OK, OK. Jesus! You win,” he said. “What do I do? You’re not going to swing a crystal on a chain, say ‘look into my eyes,’ or any tree-hugging shit like that, are you?”

  “Don’t be an idiot. Get up and let’s go sit in the comfy chairs. This table makes me feel like I’m back in college.”

  Reigns took him by the hand and led him to the lounge seats away from the table. She sat him down.

  “Sit back. Rest your head. That’s it, get comfortable. Hands on top of your thighs. Eyes closed.”

  Morgan obeyed. Reigns reclined his seat and then sat facing him. He could feel how close she was.

  “OK, all set?”

  He nodded.

  “Good. You’re finally doing as you’re told. Now, focus only on my voice and your breathing.”

  “What if I start heavy breathing?”

  “Shut up. I’ll tell you when you can start heavy breathing.” She gave him a smile he wasn’t expecting. “Take a slow, deep breath. I said, slow. Focus, Morgan.”

  “I can’t focus now.” He grinned, eyes still closed.

  “We can focus on other stuff later, if you’re a good boy. Now, try again. Take it right down into the very base of your lungs and fill your chest as much as you can. Good. Hold it. That’s right. Now, slowly release the air through your nostrils. Slowly, until absolutely all of it is out. Good. Now, again. Breathe deep. Fill your lungs …”

  Morgan had no idea how long it took but he succumbed completely to her, mesmerized by the soothing control of her voice as she gently guided him down into a deep, meditative state. His subconscious streamed images of Elizabeth Reigns. Her smile. Her hair. Her eyes. When she eventually began to lead him back out of it, he remained as he was, sunk into the seat, eyes closed, limbs and body heavy and immobile. He felt as though he was still on the edge of a dream.

  “Once we’re done with this job, let’s fly back and check on Dave,” he heard himself say, but his voice was hoarse and disconnected, like it belonged to someone else.

  “That’s a great idea,” she replied, her own voice little more than a whisper. “Where will they take him to recover?”

  “Back to the SEALS. Coronado. Navy hospital. He’ll be safe there. Plenty of people he knows …”

  Morgan’s thoughts drifted again into a disjointed stream of Sutherland, Wu Ming, Africa, and, in the center of it all, Reigns. He could see her, just as she was before she’d headed off to the shower, sitting across the table from him, providing her input to the operational report Morgan was tapping out on the laptop. He remembered how close she’d been, leaning across, adding her unique perspective on what had gone down. After all they’d been through, her energy and resolve were captivating.

  Morgan’s previous fixation on taking a leave of absence to rest and recuperate had vanished. He couldn’t even think about that now. No sooner had he resolved that issue than Reigns appeared again. His mind toyed with the intimacy he’d felt with her, being under the spell of her meditation, her gentle tone of voice and the calm she had so easily introduced to his thoughts and feelings. It was the first time he’d been alone with his thoughts since arriving in Hong Kong that morning. Now he was airborne again and en route to London, preparing for whatever the general had in store for him – for them – next. Flashes of his mission to apprehend Chomba in Malawi returned to him and he considered the parallels to the covert infiltration he’d carried out solo in Corfu a year earlier, apprehending the fugitive Serbian war criminal Milivoj Šerifović. Then there was the Wolf. Then Drago. A showdown. Gunfire. Charly – Reigns!

  Morgan woke with a start.

  “Jesus, did I just fall asleep?”

  “Yep, you did,” she said. She smiled at him from her seat, legs crossed, resting too.

  “How long?”

  “About half an hour, I guess.”

  “Bloody hell. Sorry.” He sat up and rubbed his face.

  “Don’t be sorry. We haven’t stopped all day until now. What is it that Tom Rodgers says about the body shutting down after an operation? The euphoria of cheating …”

  “… the inevitability of death. Yeah, I remember.”

  “You feel better?”

  “I do actually,” he said. “Whatever you did, it helped. I appreciate it.”

  Morgan stood, stretched, walked into the galley and poured himself a second scotch. Reigns joined him. She rattled the ice cubes in her empty glass and handed it to him.

  “So, did you get the report done?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I sent it off while you were taking your shower. As well as today’s stuff, I had to include my report on Africa. That’s where I was before I arrived in Hong Kong. I just hope I covered everything.” He refilled both their drinks, handed hers back to her and they returned to their seats.

  “I wonder if there’ll be any correlation between the African end and the work you’ve been doing here – you know, the networks.”

  “It’s very probable,” she said. “So, what happens now? I mean, with Dave.”

  “HK cops and Interpol will look after him until our people arrive from headquarters to sort out the details.”

  “And what about us? I mean, what usually happens once you get back from an operation like this?”

  “Usually, you’d take a break, but I suspect that’s not what the boss has in mind for us. By the time we’re back in London, the Intel team will already have worked through the info we’ve just sent them about today, particularly your observations from the factory. We’ll be back by midnight, London time. Then we’ll get our heads down until we regroup at headquarters in the morning.”

  Morgan paused for a moment, looking at her.

  “What?” she said.

  “Nothing, only what the hell made you sign up for this? It’s been bugging me.”

  “What does that mean? Why should it bug you?”

  “Well, you don’t exactly come from a typical background to be working for this outfit. You’ll forgive me for saying this but up until this morning, you haven’t really been the type – or have you?”

  “Is there a type?” she challenged, and sat forward in her seat.

  “I suppose not,” he replied. She was right, of course, but still he wanted to understand her. “So, humor me. Let’s face it, you’ve never been a shooter. Apart from the résumé spiel, which I already know, what drew you into all this?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Of course I do. I know you can handle yourself, you proved that today.” For a moment he could see that she thought he was deliberately baiting her. He wasn’t. “Seriously, I’m curious. It’s in my nature.”

  “Well, if we’re cutting to the chase, I’m here because my father was in the South Tower of the World Trade Center when it came down. God, it’s almost twelve years ago to the day. He worked for Euro Brokers and their floor was above the second impact, United 175. He went to work that day just like any other. I was just a kid. He kissed me on top of my head like he did every other morning, walked out the door and I never saw him again. He was with a group that were trying to get up to the roof, hoping they’d be rescued from there. They didn’t make it. My mother never recovered from it. They were so much in love. Her grief was so intense that cancer took her within two years.”

  “Jesus. I’m sorry,” Morgan said quietly. “I had no idea.”

  “When the general approached me and I learned about Intrepid
, it made a lot of sense to join. I want to make the world better, you know. In any way I can.”

  She leaned back in her seat. They fell silent for a long time, quietly comfortable again in each other’s company. Morgan felt a strange familiarity with her and felt guilty for pushing her to dredge up the past and revisit the loss of her father. He enjoyed her company, but she’d been through enough for one day.

  “I’ll always be indebted to you and Dave for getting me out of there. God knows what would have happened if you two hadn’t arrived when you did,” she told him.

  “Don’t mention it. It’s just what we do, and it’s what you do, too. You’re one of us now, remember? Besides, from what I saw, you had it under control. We were just there for back up, and you’ll be there for us next time the crunch comes.”

  “Thanks, but still,” she said. “It was amazing. I only hope—”

  “Don’t say it,” Morgan told her earnestly. “Whatever happens, happens. We’ve just got to go with it in this job. Dave knows that. If we were like normal people we’d be back there with him right now, but we’re not normal, not any more. Normal things don’t exist for people like us. If it was me on that hospital bed, he’d be exactly the same.”

  “My new reality, huh?” Reigns got up and paced for a while, stretching and arching her spine with her hands in the small of her back.

  “I’m afraid so. Trust me, if we’d been anywhere else earlier tonight, we would have found a good bar, got on it and forgotten all about our day, but that wasn’t an option for us in Hong Kong. Your face is known to those people, so we had to get you out of there.” He looked up at her, ready to make another point, when something occurred to him. “Bloody hell! How tall are you, Reigns?”

  “Five-ten,” she answered with just a hint of light-hearted challenge in her voice. “Why, does that bug you, too?”

  “Not at all,” he answered. “Just don’t stand too close to me if you’re in heels.”

  Reigns picked up her Bacardi, her long fingers curling around the glass. She paced the center of the cabin. Morgan watched her and knew she was reliving the events of the day, mulling them over, searching for answers of her own. But unlike Morgan’s earlier frustration, she was energized by the challenge. This job, this life, was all new to Reigns. It was exhilarating to watch her.

  “Wu Ming was down there with his bodyguards. Showing off his entrepreneurial flair – his factory,” she said. “Asshole. Bald head, black eyes, Chinese-style suit. And the European body builders were down there too, with their buzz cuts and tight suits. When I saw them, a couple of them were already running toward the stairs leading to the room I was in. They’d heard the shots but had to cross the factory floor, through the sewing tables and stools. That slowed them down and gave me the chance to get out with Victor.”

  She took another sip of rum.

  “I could see her,” she said, voice slightly slurred by exhaustion and the calming pull of the drink. “She was tall, taller than me, towering over all of them. She’s white and built like an athlete, fit and strong. High cheekbones, Eastern European type, you know. Short blonde hair, really short, like an eighties cut, lots on top but not much around the sides … which makes sense when you think about the buzz cuts on her bodyguards. Her hair was almost white-blonde, like peroxide. That’s her. That’s the Witch.”

  “You mentioned the Witch in your report, but how can you be so sure?” he asked. “I thought all we had was a Blue Notice without an identity?”

  “Because I know in my gut it’s her. Identifying herself as the Night Witch will have some significance to her, somewhere in her history. A family connection maybe; someone she loved or respected. Assuming that identity gives her strength; a persona nothing like her own to hide behind.”

  Morgan listened in silence as Reigns moved slowly about the cabin, exploring her thoughts in much more detail than she had outlined within the report. He could see that although she was consumed by her assessment of the Night Witch, she was tired. Eventually she returned to her seat, curling up like a cat and laying her head against the palm of her hand, long black hair dropping like a curtain behind it. She just sat there, looking at him. Studying him. Morgan fought the temptation to go over and comfort her. She was, after all, an agent just like him. She needed to deal with the violent chaos of her first confrontation in her own way. It was a rite of passage and today she’d earned hers, tenfold. All Morgan could do was be there, observe, and if she wanted to talk, listen. For now he was happy sitting across from her, enjoying her proximity and the calm he felt when he was close to her.

  “The moonlight across the top of the clouds looks pretty incredible. Spectacular, in fact,” he said, looking outside, wanting to say something unrelated to their traumatic day. “Don’t you think?”

  With feline poise, Reigns unfurled herself from the luxurious depths of her seat, took a pace forward and leaned over, resting her hands on Morgan’s knees so she could gaze from the same window.

  “It’s definitely spectacular,” she said, turning to him. “You know, Morgan, despite everything that’s happened today, you and I haven’t been properly introduced or even said hello to each other. Isn’t that a bit weird?”

  “Come to think of it, it is pretty weird,” he said, looking up at her. He offered his hand. “We should remedy that immediately. Alex Morgan. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  “Elizabeth Reigns,” she replied, her hand warm as she took his, smiling. “I’m very pleased to finally meet you, Alex Morgan. You can call me Beth.”

  “And you can call me Alex Morgan. I like the way you say it.”

  They remained quiet against the gentle hum of the Gulfstream’s pressurized cabin, their faces close, holding each other’s gaze for just a second too long. Morgan could smell the apple fragrance of the shampoo she’d used. He could feel her body arching toward him, her breath warm against his face, when suddenly she released his hand.

  “Whoa! Are we having a moment?” she asked ingenuously. “Because I think we are.”

  “I think it was very close to being a moment,” he replied. “But then you called it and ruined everything.”

  She hit him hard in the arm and they both laughed, a little awkwardly. But she didn’t step away. Morgan was drawn to her raw, unabashed confidence. The elation of surviving death and violence was a powerful stimulant. They had prevailed and a primal reward had been earned. He wanted her and he knew she wanted him. The need was urgent.

  “Screw you, Morgan,” she said, teasing him. “You’re not getting off that lightly.”

  She sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair and across his face, her eyes never leaving his. Morgan’s hands found her waist and he held her, enjoying the feel of her, remembering the thrill he’d experienced seeing her in action, imagining her taut, finely tuned body naked.

  “We could get in serious trouble if anyone finds out about this,” he said.

  “Yeah, I guess we could,” she said. And began kissing his face, slowly, softly. “So maybe we shouldn’t, right?”

  “Yeah, we definitely shouldn’t.”

  Morgan allowed his hands to find their way beneath her sweater. His fingers caressed the soft velvet valley in the small of her back. Reigns leaned into him, arms resting on his chest and her body curving instinctively toward his. They kissed like that, Morgan holding her, Reigns resting upon him, for minutes. It began fervently with the energy and abandon of two people not in control of their own bodies, but then something changed, something that shocked them both, although neither of them thought about stopping. Their fervor fought a deep sensual connection that made them pause.

  Reigns stood up. Taking Morgan’s hand, she drew him from the chair to his feet. Then she stepped in close, reached her arms around behind his back and rested her head upon his shoulder. Morgan wrapped one arm around her waist and with the other began to gently stroke her hair.

  “I’m not asking for anything more than tonight, Alex.” She sighed deeply and he
felt her breath warm the skin beneath his T-shirt. Then she lifted her face to look at him. “But right now I need this and I know you do too. So, if we’re not going to do this, then let’s not go and do it back in my cabin. Fuck the consequences.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Queen Elizabeth Hospital

  Kowloon, Hong Kong

  Jung-Woo “Andy” Chow was back on shift at the hospital.

  Earlier in the evening he had walked in through the staff entrance at the back of the hospital to commence the night shift, just as he had done every working day for the last fifteen years. He’d smiled and said hello to colleagues in the Repair and Maintenance division, stowed his bag carefully within his locker in the staff changing room and dressed in his overalls. He met his supervisor, who handed him his task sheet for the night, then collected his gear from the equipment cage. Then he set off from the Facilities Management area and headed across to D block.

  Chow took the service elevator to the seventh floor and pushed the maintenance trolley out in front of him as he exited. It was quiet up here, just as he’d known it would be. It was the time between the end of visiting hours and the shift change, when the night shift staff and the graveyard shift were all on the floor doing their respective handovers. He had to be done by then. There’d be too many people around if he left it till late.

  “Hi, Andy,” called someone from the nurses’ station.

  Andy gave her a friendly, slightly awkward wave and kept his eyes on his trolley.

  “What are you up to tonight?” she asked.

  “Toilets!” he replied.

  “Good times,” she answered just as a phone rang. She gave him a friendly wave and took the call.

  Andy made a show of heading to the men’s toilet. After knocking on the door to check that it was vacant he walked in, placing a “Closed for Maintenance” sign outside as he did so. Inside, he leaned against the basin and rubbed his eyes. His jaw and fists were clenched tight. How could he go through with this? He thumped his fists against his forehead repeatedly. How could Wu Ming expect him to do such a thing after all these years? Andy was taut with confusion, pacing back and forth across the small room, challenging himself angrily in the mirror, splashing water on his face.