Avenger

by Chris Allen

  “OK, I’m ready,” said the woman, blowing out smoke and getting herself comfortable. She waved a hand and the men closed in around her. “Tonight and tonight only, she’s all yours. You can do whatever you wish to her, so make the most of it. I want her to know exactly what’s waiting for her the next time she even thinks about escaping.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Intrepid HQ

  Broadway, London

  “It appears that a hospital maintenance man was engaged to conduct the assassinations of both Lam and Commander Sutherland. There is some suggestion that he was seen earlier on the ward where Lam had been recovering but missed him as the inspector had already been discharged. Of course, we now know that Lam had remained in the hospital and was visiting David at the time of the assassinations. The gunman was provided with the perfect opportunity.”

  Tears were streaming from Mila Haddad’s eyes, although she remained stoic and in control as she briefed them. Elizabeth Reigns, tears welling in her own eyes, was determined to hold it together. Beside her sat Alex Morgan. He was dead still but she could feel the rage boiling within him, like a mine-shaft packed to the gunnels with dynamite, silently waiting for someone to light the fuse. So far he’d barely said a word. He just sat in silence, concentrating on Davenport, not making eye contact with anyone else

  “And Dave was just lying there,” he said. “A sitting fucking duck.”

  “I know it’s of little consolation,” said Davenport. “But David was in an induced coma. He couldn’t have been aware of anything.”

  “Not that anybody knows for sure,” growled Morgan.

  “Do we have any information on the gunman, sir?” Reigns asked, wanting to break that particular train of thought. “You said he was a maintenance worker. How does that fit with all this?”

  “Nothing concrete yet. Kwong believes there will most likely be some kind of underworld connection, though he’d worked there for fifteen years and was well regarded by all who knew him. Nobody could have expected this of him, which, from the point of view of whoever orchestrated the killings, made him the perfect choice.”

  “We know who orchestrated it,” said Morgan. “Wu Ming and this Night Witch creature. That’s where we need to direct our attention.”

  “We’ve been compromised in Hong Kong, so for now we’ll be leaving any direct attempts to locate Wu Ming to the Hong Kong Police. We’ll monitor their progress via liaison officers embedded within Interpol. Meanwhile, our focus will remain on Central America.”

  “We’re not going to do anything in Hong Kong? We should be going straight back in there and hunting these bastards down!” Morgan’s tone was bordering on disrespectful.

  Davenport bristled. “We’ll do nothing of the sort. Locating Darja Voloshyn is our first priority.”

  “We need to be in Hong Kong now, while the trail is fresh. I understand we can’t send Beth back in there but what about James Lee or Liu Yang?” Morgan argued. “They’re both great agents and have tons of experience throughout Asia.”

  Davenport’s response was abrupt. “I’ll not risk another agent by inserting them into a situation that’s already compromised. Hong Kong is out. We will commit our resources to Central America, until I say otherwise.” Morgan opened his mouth to speak again but Davenport cut him down. “That’s the end of it.”

  An icy silence descended upon them. Morgan’s knuckles were white upon the arms of his chair. Reigns thought he was about to kick the fine mahogany coffee table across the room. She could see Davenport appraising Morgan. The loss of Sutherland had hit him hardest, and the combined effects of mission fatigue and bereavement were palpable. Reigns knew Morgan’s history and wondered whether or not there was an element of post-traumatic stress beginning to surface. Guys like Morgan and Sutherland had been at war for over a decade; it was not inconceivable that even men of their courage and experience would be affected by what they had seen and been through. They would be inhuman if they hadn’t.

  “Where to from here then?” he asked reluctantly.

  “Our recovery team will take care of David and repatriate him back to his family in the United States. In the meantime, if there’s anything we can do to ensure his loss was not in vain, it’s to see this operation through to its conclusion. That means you head to Belize, as planned.”

  Morgan remained silent, his body rigid with tension. Reigns could almost hear his teeth grinding.

  General Davenport stood up and, with great poise, turned to Reigns and Haddad. “Would you mind giving us a moment.” It wasn’t a request.

  “Of course, sir.”

  Reigns tried to catch Morgan’s eye but he wasn’t looking. His jaw was clenched tight and the explosion she’d sensed before seemed imminent. “Alex, I’ll wait outside,” she told him.

  * * *

  When Reigns and Haddad had left the room, General Davenport strolled to the windows overlooking Broadway and St James’s Park station. His hands were in his pockets and his shoulders were square and resolute. He remained quiet for a time.

  Morgan took the opportunity to stand and compose himself too; he felt the shakes coming on again, the blood draining from his face, and a sinking feeling, like a piece of glacial ice had broken away and was plummeting down the center of his back. He strolled in the opposite direction, facing instead the shelves and frames that lined the walls of the War Room, trying to manage the breathing exercises Beth had taught him on the Gulfstream. His chief’s personal history surrounded him and Morgan was immediately reminded of the many reasons why he had invested his unequivocal respect, loyalty and admiration in this man over the past three years. Breathe deep, hold, release. Breathe deep, hold, release.

  “I need to know that you can handle this,” Davenport said. “Because I’m not about to send you into the field if you can’t.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand,” replied Morgan, but he knew his demeanor must betray him.

  “You’re not sounding very convincing.”

  “You can’t leave me out of this. I’ll be fine once I get going. You know I’m no good sitting around on my hands. I need to be moving, down there, taking these fuckers out.”

  Davenport turned away from the windows and walked slowly back across the room to face his agent.

  “You don’t have the monopoly on loss, Morgan.” His tone was composed and adamant. “None of us does. In this organization, we have no option but to put ourselves beyond any personal feelings and, in this case, focus on our considerable responsibility to the millions of people around the world who, right at this moment, are the victims of these traffickers. I accept that the news of Sutherland’s murder has hit you hardest of all, but I don’t need a loose cannon on my team. These people are, to the best of our knowledge, the ones responsible for the death of my friend Peter Fleming, too. But you won’t hear me issuing you with any ‘shoot to kill and fuck the law’ orders. We aren’t the bloody CIA!

  “If we’re going to bring these people to justice then I need you to be focused, objective and, above all, able to act decisively when the time comes. I have every confidence that Elizabeth will confirm the identities and location of the Night Witch and her associates, sooner than you think. And when she does, you’ll have your opportunity to take the fight to them.”

  Morgan remained silent.

  “Avenge Sutherland’s death, by all means,” said Davenport. “And if you find yourself in circumstances where you have no choice but to kill, then that’s a decision only you can make. However, if you leave this office with your head full of nothing but revenge, then you’re a bloody fool. I’ve already lost one good agent taking these people on. Don’t make it two.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Belize

  Central America

  “Get up!” The harsh order woke her. It was spoken in Polish by the leader of the pack, the animal with the smashed face: Godek.

  There were no windows in the room, so she was forced to squint again against the sudden surge of light from the doorway
. Godek was standing at the open door, looking away, smoking and disinterested. There was no trace of concern or remorse for what they had done to her the previous night, just cold detachment as though he was letting an animal out of its cage to get some exercise.

  “I haven’t got all fucking day,” he said, and flicked the butt of his cigarette at her.

  When she moved, her entire body protested. She couldn’t sit, the pain was excruciating, and her shaking arms were too weak to hold her upright. When she tried to stand she fell back against the bed and slumped to the floor. When she turned to gain a hold on the bed she saw the blood stains, her blood, on the mattress, but she was beyond crying. She’d done that for most of the morning until exhaustion, pain and fear plunged her once again into a deep sleep filled with dreams of fields, oceans and sunshine. Now awake and back in the harsh reality, her mind had managed to detach completely from who she really was, enabling her to function, at least perfunctorily. While on the surface she had physically acquiesced to the conditions of her captivity, mentally she had withdrawn all of the contours of her usual persona and closed them down. It was a survival mechanism, not something that she chose to do; she had been through so much already for one so young that her mind and body were now conditioned to default to this state.

  “If I have to come in there, bitch, I’ll drag you out by your fucking hair.”

  Jovana didn’t respond. Instead, she pushed herself up onto the bed again and stood shakily for a few moments until the dizziness passed and she felt able to walk. Then she stumbled to the door.

  Godek tossed an oversized T-shirt on the ground in front of her and stepped away. She could hear his footsteps on a concrete path outside. She picked up the T-shirt slowly, fearing she might collapse if she bent over too quickly, and pulled it over her naked body. It smelled like a dog had been sleeping on it.

  When she went outside she saw that she had been in a small building no more than fifteen feet square, made of cement blocks with a flat, thatched roof and a door. The building was in the middle of mangroves that had all but overgrown it and she was instantly struck by the humidity, sounds and odors of her surroundings.

  Godek led her in silence along a path bordered on both sides by a tall wire-mesh fence, meandering through the trees deeper and deeper into the mangroves. Almost in the very instant that she remembered something about that fence, Godek said, “You won’t try to climb over that again. Domingo won’t let you get away twice,” and laughed to himself.

  After a minute or so she noticed that everything was getting brighter and realized that they were reaching a clearing where the heavy foliage above them made way for sunlight. She thought she could hear the ocean.

  The fenced path ended at a solid metal gate set in a wall. The whitewashed brickwork was at least ten feet high and disappeared in both directions. There was a wide cleared gap between it and the edge of the mangroves. Godek stood at the gate and banged on it three times. Jovana could hear the rustling of keys and a heavy bolt being pulled back with the squeal of rusted metal. The gate opened and a man appeared carrying a machine gun. He looked Mexican, she thought, brown and leathery, not very tall, with pitch-black hair and a straggly beard. His expression gave away nothing. No words were exchanged. He barely acknowledged Godek and didn’t even look at her. Once they were through she heard the gate close behind them, the bolt sliding home and the keys being used the lock the padlock.

  Beyond the wall there was vegetation, ferns mainly and some palms, thick and low and cut back from the path like they were maintained by a caretaker. They continued walking for only a short time before they reached a scene she could never have imagined in her wildest dreams.

  At the end of the path the vegetation stopped suddenly, opening on to a courtyard the size of a football pitch. In the very center stood a pool, long and wide, with crystalline blue water, cream-colored tiles laid all around it and sunloungers dotted randomly along its edges. Tall palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze at the far end of the pool and ran in straight lines inside the walls of the compound. Beyond the pool, framed by the palm trees, stood a house. It was a palatial, multilevel villa, painted cream, with huge picture windows, sliding glass doors, and wrap-around verandahs on all levels.

  The sounds of the ocean reached her as Godek continued walking around the pool to the house. Jovana followed him, reveling in the feeling of soft white sand beneath her bare feet. She drew the smell of the sea deeply into her chest and crunched her toes in the sand before they reached the poolside and stepped across the sun-warmed tiles.

  They skirted the edge of the pool, eventually reaching a corner of the house. Godek descended a short set of stairs, following a narrow path to a basement door. Another windowless room? Another cell? More of the same treatment? Jovana stopped dead in her tracks, unwilling to proceed voluntarily into the darkness. The man, sensing her reticence, turned and glowered at her.

  “Get down here,” he barked.

  When she stalled a moment too long he came back up the stairs, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her after him.

  Jovana tripped, narrowly avoiding falling flat on her face. The man dragged her to an open door and threw her inside.

  CHAPTER 32

  The Rembrandt Hotel

  11 Thurloe Place, London

  Alex Morgan sat crumpled within the comforting embrace of a sofa in a quiet corner of the lounge bar. He was halfway through a Carlsberg. He’d been to his room and changed from his suit to jeans, casual shirt and a very well-worn pair of R. M. Williams boots – his favorites from Australia. An equally well-worn houndstooth sports jacket was thrown across the arm of a chair next to him.

  He was exhausted. Even to the casual observer, everything about him said so. The shock of Sutherland’s death had stripped the last of his energy reserves and he was now barely capable of functioning beyond reclining and drinking, which, fortunately, was all he wanted to do – have a beer or two and remember his friend. If he could manage it, he might even wander over to the Bunch of Grapes on Brompton Road and settle in for a couple of pints, do some thinking and then hit the hay early. He just needed to be normal and do normal stuff like a normal human being, at least for one night; God only knew what the next few days or weeks would have in store for him. Right now he was burned out and needed recovery time while the admin team sorted out his flights to Belize and Reigns searched for a target.

  Elizabeth Reigns … He didn’t see that coming. He’d known her for probably twenty-four hours, give or take, and since returning to England, even with Sutherland on a slab, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Jesus! Seeing her operating in the field, Morgan had known she was something special. He couldn’t help but be impressed. But was he only impressed by her in the field, or was there more to it? What the hell had come over him? He had to shut down any thoughts about being attracted to her and realign his priorities.

  Morgan took a long drink, stretched back lazily in the sofa and closed his eyes, running a quick diagnostic over his current state of mind. One thing he knew for sure, he couldn’t get the images from the back of the Range Rover out of his mind. The blood everywhere; the back of the vehicle awash with the stuff, all over Morgan and all over Sutherland. He remembered trying to find the wounds and, as quickly as he found them, applying the bandages while yelling instructions to Victor Lam. Reigns driving frantically through the traffic. And in the midst of it all, Sutherland. Quiet. Stoic. Helpless. Flat on his back, coughing blood, and that distant “don’t let me die” look in his eyes. It was familiar to Morgan. Too familiar: a look he’d seen in others clinging to life, soldiers, brothers, knowing you’re their only hope. Knowing you won’t let them down. Can’t let them down!

  “Hey, stranger. What’re you doin’, sitting here all on your lonesome?”

  Morgan sat up suddenly, rubbing his eyes. When he opened them they were moist and red. “Hey,” he replied wearily. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

  Elizabeth Reigns dropped on to the sofa
close beside him. She was still in her business suit, although somehow she’d managed to relax it. She was smiling at him but couldn’t hide her concern. She pushed her hand gently through his thick, dark brown hair, brushing the fallen fringe back from his brow.

  “I’m done for the day, and besides, I needed to check in on a friend,” she said, her voice gentle and caring.

  “How’d you know I’d be here?”

  “Mila told me you always stay at The Rembrandt when you’re in town and somehow I knew I’d find you in the bar. Is that beer? I thought you were a scotch man.”

  “Sometimes there’s just nothing better on Earth than a nice cold beer. Anyway, tonight I’m on leave,” Morgan said. He waved at the barman with his almost-empty glass. “So I’m going to have more than one.”

  “Well, you’ve earned it. Shame you can’t take more time off. You should, you know.”

  “There’s work to be done,” he said. “You heard the boss.”

  “Still, you look pretty beat, Morgan. And I think everybody would agree you could do with some down time.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Reigns placed her hand on his thigh. Her touch was instantly soothing to him and he felt his angry reaction slip away. She was telling him to calm down without telling him to calm down. It was effective.

  “When we left the general’s office, you were biting the head off anyone who came near you. I think everyone in the building heard the door slam as you left. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

  “Was it that obvious?”

  “Afraid so,” she said. “Mrs Jolley described you to me as ‘spirited and headstrong.’ I won’t tell you what Mila said.”

  “What? Pain in the ass?”