Avenger

by Chris Allen

  “CNN! How the fuck did this end up on CNN?” she whispered, sinking onto the bed, her eyes glued to the screen.

  “Wu hired some hospital maintenance guy to carry out the hit. He found the HKPD cop visiting the other one in ICU – shot them both. But the ICU was being guarded by a US Marine.”

  “A US Marine. Why?”

  “Because the second cop wasn’t HKPD, Dee. He was an American.”

  “No. No. No! This can’t be happening. How can an American be operating in Hong Kong? Is he Interpol? FBI? Fuck, is he CIA?”

  “I think it’s most probable that he’s Interpol. The FBI don’t get into gunfights in other countries and the CIA wouldn’t be doing a street op with foreign cops. My money is on Interpol.”

  “So now Interpol are after me. Is that what you’re fucking saying, Dariusz?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I think Interpol are after Wu Ming. They just happened to hit him on a day when you were there – or should I say, Ştefania was? They would have had no idea about you, Dee.”

  But her hands were in her hair now, tearing at it right down at the roots. Her jaw was clenched tight and he could hear her teeth grinding. She’d drawn her legs up underneath her and was rocking slowly, almost imperceptibly. Controlling the temper. He could see the effort it was taking her. In the past there would have been lots of screaming and shouting, things would be getting thrown around and somebody would be getting hurt, badly. He remained silent. The therapy was definitely helping.

  “How could he move without checking with me first?” she said to herself. “I as good as own him already. This is my operation now. He could have blown everything! If the investors hear about this—”

  “They won’t, Dee,” he offered, knowing it was a mistake, regretting it instantly.

  “It’s been all over CNN for three days! Look! You said so your-fucking-self!” She was on her feet now, stalking the room as though looking for something to smash. “What is wrong with you? That Chinese prick has enraged the authorities – the Hong Kong Police, Interpol … Who knows who else? I can feel them all over me already. It’s only a matter of time before they find me here.”

  She came to a sudden halt at the balcony and stood looking out to sea with her hands along the balustrade, drawing in deep breaths and releasing the air slowly. It was as though the view calmed her. He wondered if she had selected it as a therapy trigger for that very purpose.

  “We have to contain the fallout as best we can,” he said. “So you can keep the discussions with the investors moving. We can’t be sidetracked by this.”

  “From now on everyone comes to me. No one represents me anymore. I do it myself, on my terms and on my turf. I want Wu Ming to get his fat Chinese ass on a plane and he can come to see me here in Placencia.”

  “Whatever you want, Dee. I’ll make it happen. What about your meeting with the investors?”

  “I have to go back to Los Angeles for that in a couple of days; it’s already fixed. That will be the last trip I take for a while. So arrange my flights.”

  “Don’t you think it would be best to stay put? I mean, if you’re feeling exposed, don’t you think it would be best to minimize your travel and get them to come to you?”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Dariusz. People go to them, and this will be the last time I have to. Once this deal is done and I have my money, I’m out.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Domingo’s Bar

  The Paradise Palms Resort

  Placencia, Belize

  An hour or so later, Morgan had finished his meal and moved back to the bar, quietly watching the comings and goings, and all the usual interactions you’d expect among a bunch of young guys and girls enjoying the freedom of a beachside vacation paradise. The place was almost packed and the volume of the music was getting steadily louder, in readiness for the late-night crowd. He’d been able to maintain his vigil over the girl, Ştefania, who was still sitting just a few tables away. But now she wasn’t alone.

  Halfway through her meal she’d been joined by a cocky, good-looking guy, late twenties, with dark hair and dressed in the latest gear. It was the same guy Morgan had seen board the plane with muscle-head. This guy’s name was Velasco, Morgan recalled. And the other guy was Kajkowski. Ki-kov-skee. Morgan was absolutely certain that Kajkowski too was a member of the group traveling on the ill-gotten Belizean passports, confirming his view that they were right to focus on Central America. Kajkowski was absent, and Morgan had the chance to observe Velasco and the girl, but the vibe between them left him thoroughly bewildered.

  It was clear from their intelligence that Ştefania Yovenko and Kajkowski were part of the crew that had fled Hong Kong together and, therefore, knew each other. And Morgan had personally seen Kajkowski and this kid Velasco traveling together from Belize City. Yet, watching Velasco approaching Ştefania earlier on was not what he would have expected of two people who were in any way familiar with each other or at least part of the same crew. There seemed to be no pre-existing connection at all – it looked like a straightforward pick-up. He’d watched the entire process evolve before his eyes, almost from the moment that Velasco had entered the bar. He had all of the cocksure arrogance you’d expect from a guy who thought he was good enough to make a move on a beautiful girl like Ştefania and succeed.

  At first, despite enjoying the attention, Ştefania had obviously been reticent even to be seen speaking to Velasco. Her body language gave her away. She was constantly looking around, for who or what Morgan couldn’t say, nervously chatting and laughing, while squirming uncomfortably in her chair. Velasco was undeterred. He had the gift of the gab and kept her smiling and laughing while plying her with drinks. Harmless enough, considering their age and the environment; the same scene was being played out at half-a-dozen other tables in the place, but this was the only table that had Morgan’s interest and his instinct smelled a rat.

  And there it is.

  It took Velasco less than a split second. With the deft work of a skilled magician, he had his hand up and back in a flash. The girl didn’t have a hope of noticing that a pill had been dropped in her vodka and tonic.

  Morgan immediately stood and walked across to their table, approaching from behind Velasco. Ştefania looked up at him, surprised but smiling, a little tipsy, clearly enjoying herself. She was reaching for her drink. Velasco was oblivious to his presence.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hello,” replied Morgan. “I apologize for the intrusion, but I wouldn’t drink that if I were you. It’s not what you ordered.”

  “I’m sorry?” Ştefania said. Her expression told him she had no idea what he could mean and she immediately turned to Velasco, who was now glaring up at Morgan.

  “This is none of your business, man,” he said in a Spanish accent. “You should fuck off.”

  “I’m happy to do that,” said Morgan calmly. “Once you’ve finished her drink.”

  “What is happening?” asked Ştefania, looking from Morgan to Velasco. “Marcos, who is this guy? What is he talking about?”

  “This prat has just spiked your drink,” Morgan told her. “Now, unless you think I’m interfering with your evening, I suggest you get as far away from this asshole as you can while he and I have a chat.”

  Ştefania stood up immediately, gathering her bag from under the table. Morgan’s reading of her reticence and nervousness was spot on. The last thing she wanted was a scene. Without another word, she stepped away and disappeared into the crowd. He took her place, picked up the spiked drink and offered it to Velasco.

  “OK, Marcos,” Morgan began. “You obviously had the balls to make a move on that girl tonight, but have you got the balls to drink what you just slipped her?”

  “Fuck you. I’m out of here,” Velasco replied. But then the arrogance returned. “No, wait. Here’s my friend. Why don’t you make him drink it, asshole?”

  Morgan looked up to see Kajkowski forcing his way through the crowd like
a juggernaut bursting against its rivets, dragging a terrified-looking Ştefania along with him. His smashed face seemed ready to burst as he fought to contain his default setting: carnage.

  Morgan remained calm.

  “This guy’s trying to force me to drink that,” Velasco declared.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Kajkowski growled. “And get the fuck out of here. Take her with you.”

  The muscle-head thrust Ştefania toward the pretty boy.

  “She stays,” said Morgan from his chair. “She’s not going anywhere with him.”

  The crowded bar was beginning to clear around them as people watched the exchange. The music hadn’t caught up though.

  “Who the fuck are you?” replied Kajkowski. His chest was heaving, fists clenching. He had put on his war face, breathing heavily through his flattened nose like a bull preparing to stampede. This was going to get primal rapidly, if Morgan gave the bull its chance. He needed to act first. Difficult from a chair, but not impossible.

  Morgan stood suddenl, feigning an attack, and then instantly dropped back down into a crouch, catching Kajkowski completely off guard and prompting the man to react without thought. As expected, Kajkowski’s reaction was clumsy, the Hulk-SMASH approach. His swinging fist cleared the table, senfing debris flying in all directions. Morgan, who’d dropped beneath the arc of the punch, grabbed a chair and swung it like a blade at the back of Kajkowski’s knees.

  The guy was too heavy and cumbersome to respond quickly enough and he delayed for that second too long. Morgan dropped the chair where it fell, exploded upward, and struck Kajkowski directly under the chin with both palms. The man’s head snapped back and his body began to overbalance. His feet, struggling to find clear space, became tangled among the chair’s legs and he fell heavily. His head smashed against a table behind him, causing him to crumple and collapse on to his side. Morgan instantly retrieved a bit of broken chair and was readying himself to strike again at the other man when there was silence. The music had stopped and the crowd had parted, many of them spilling out of the bar and out on to the beach.

  Morgan spun back to the groaning Kajkowski only to find a woman standing between them, identical in almost every way to Ştefania Yovenko. Only this one was older, dressed more conservatively and had a look in her eyes that could freeze an ocean.

  Morgan could just make out the faintest hint of a birthmark around her right eye.

  CHAPTER 40

  “So, who are you?” she asked. Her tone was businesslike, no-nonsense with a hint of an eastern European accent.

  “Just a guy trying to unwind,” Morgan replied. “And who are you? You seem to have a lot of influence around here.”

  “Dahlia Vardøger,” she replied. “I own the hotel. You can call me Dee.”

  “Daniel Culliford,” Morgan replied. So now she was Dahlia Vardøger, not Darja Voloshyn. A new name, although still using the same initials. Hopeless cover. Dahlia, he recalled, was Voloshyn’s grandmother’s name. He wasn’t sure about Vardøger. It could just be a random name she’d picked out but somehow he doubted that. He leaned across the coffee table and shook her hand. “You can call me Daniel.”

  Morgan and the woman were now alone in a private sitting room just off the foyer of the resort’s reception area. Her entourage, including Kajkowski, Ştefania, Velasco and a couple of other steroid abusers, had been left to cool their heels out in the foyer. The woman was wearing a short summer dress with sandals, a couple of gold bracelets and just enough make-up to hide, not quite successfully, the birthmark. Her hair was a shock of white-blonde, cut almost to the scalp at the sides and back, with the longer hair on top styled up. Her features, while symmetrical and attractive, were hard, and despite her obvious physical allure, there was an ugliness to her that Morgan couldn’t get past. He suspected she was younger than she looked; a thirty-something who looked more like a forty-something. One thing was for sure: Vardøger was Voloshyn, and Voloshyn was the Night Witch. He knew that from the moment he looked into her eyes.

  “I’ve never seen anyone get the upper hand over my Godek before,” she said, indicating Kajkowski in the next room. “I’m intrigued. Where did you learn to take care of yourself like that – are you a policeman?”

  “God, no,” Morgan replied. “Army. Paratroops.”

  “Wow. A paratrooper,” she said. “That’s like Special Forces, isn’t it? Are you still in?”

  “Not for a while now. I work for myself.”

  “Have you been to Afghanistan?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Iraq?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever killed anybody?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re impressing me more and more.”

  “Why would you be impressed by that?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “What do you do now?” she continued, ignoring his question.

  “I feel like I’m being interrogated,” he said. “I would have thought you’d be relieved that I averted a disaster for you. It wouldn’t look very good for your hotel if that girl had had a seizure and died. It’s been known to happen when assholes like that kid slip a girl a Mickey. Quite often, in fact.”

  “You seem to know about those things. Why is that?”

  “Because I’m paid to look out for other people’s interests; anticipate things before they happen.”

  “What does that mean exactly?” Voloshyn’s expression became intent.

  “I’m a security consultant. I assess risks and vulnerabilities and advise businesses and certain individuals on how to reduce their exposure.”

  “Really?” she said. “That’s very interesting. And what are you doing here in Placencia, Mister Security Consultant? Is there somebody in trouble here in paradise? Seems very unlikely. Apart from yourself, perhaps.”

  “And why would I be in trouble?” said Morgan. He could play this game all day.

  “Well, you haven’t walked out of here yet. After what you did to Godek, I think he would love to have another crack at you.”

  “Are you suggesting that I’m not allowed to leave until you say so? What if I call the police?”

  “They won’t come to your aid here unless I say they can.”

  “Well then, I’m afraid that’s going to be embarrassing for you, Dee. Because when I’m ready to walk out of here, I will, and your attack dog and his litter of Aryan love children over there won’t be able to do a damn thing to stop me. So I suggest you cut to the chase and let me know what it is you really want to talk to me about, otherwise I’ll say good night.”

  “OK,” she said, bristling but clearly not wanting the conversation to reach a dead end. “You mentioned you were here to unwind. Is that all there is to it?”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “I just finished some jobs in Guatemala and El Salvador and thought I’d treat myself to a few days off the grid by the pool before I head home to Australia. A friend mentioned this place, it sounded perfect, and so here I am.”

  “Are you for hire?”

  “Depends on the job.”

  “What if I told you that my life was in danger?”

  “What if I told you that I’m not surprised?”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It is what it is. You’re a young, attractive European woman, obviously very wealthy, who runs a fancy resort in a tropical paradise. In this part of the world, that’s enough right there to make you a prime target for every unsavory character within a thousand miles. But your biggest risk exposure is standing over there.” Morgan gestured over his shoulder toward Godek Kajkowski and the others, all shuffling their feet in the foyer. “You’ve surrounded yourself with rock apes. It’s a classic mistake. Sure, if you’re doing the trendy nightclub circuit or dodging the paparazzi, they’re perfect. They all love the gym, and judging by the tattoos and self-inflicted scars on them, they’ve all done time somewhere, so they’ll put up a good fight at close range. But by then it’s too late. If someone is really after yo
u and all that stands between you and them is those guys, then you’re fucked. They wouldn’t have the first clue how to look after you against proper opposition.”

  Morgan watched her jaw muscles. To his surprise, her eyes began to water slightly. She stood up. Morgan stood with her.

  “I’ll send a car for you in the morning at ten. It will bring you to my home, where I’d like to continue this conversation in more detail. In the meantime, I want you to consider my hotel at your disposal. Nobody will bother you, you have my word. Your bill will be taken care of, of course.”

  “What about that young girl?” Morgan asked, looking over at Ştefania.

  “She won’t come to any harm. You have my word on that, too. If you visit my home tomorrow then you can see for yourself that she is safe. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Jovana was waking with the birds each morning and her sleep was less troubled now, so a 5.30am swim had become her routine, if a week qualified as an established routine. She still could not believe her situation had changed so dramatically in such a short space of time. And now her hair was so short. Shorter than it had ever been.

  Her new accommodation was totally private, in a wing off the main house along a quiet corridor that eventually connected to the spa and beauty area. It was like a five-star hotel suite appointed in cream and gold, with plush carpet, oil paintings, a large sofa and armchairs, a dinner-cum-writing table, a huge digital TV screen, a separate bedroom with a king-sized bed, an en-suite bathroom complete with a huge spa bath, and a walk-in wardrobe of designer suits, dresses, casual clothes, and accessories. The room was large and full of natural light from the ornate French doors set in the one exterior wall, which opened on to a small private courtyard planted with tropical palms and ferns. This was enclosed on the other three sides by a high brick wall. There was a day bed to one side and a small table with two cane chairs in the center by a fountain.