Helldiver: The Alex Morgan Interpol Spy Thriller Series (Intrepid 4)

by Chris Allen

  Zolner saw him approaching and began pointing wildly inside the cockpit. It took Morgan less than half a second to see that the man had caught his right foot and most of his calf within the collapsed, rusted and barnacled controls of the ancient Helldiver. Blood was erupting from a deep gash in his calf and all of his frantic clawing to free himself was getting him nowhere – if anything, it was making things worse. Morgan could also see that Zolner’s diving rig was jammed among the wreckage of the rotting bomber and, worst of all, the gauges on his tank indicated that his air was as good as spent. Zolner had been so consumed by his struggle to get free that he hadn’t noticed the sharks or how bad his air situation was, and just as Morgan was about to read the gauges, Zolner’s air ran out. Everything was suddenly, painfully slow, everything except the sharks. And as Zolner looked up to Morgan for help, he finally noticed them.

  Trying to communicate calmly and logically with a person who had just realized that they were being circled by half-a-dozen predatory sharks and that he had just run out of air was impossible, multiplying the complexity of their predicament exponentially. Zolner’s blood was leaving his body in steady streams directly into the electroreceptor path of the shiver of tiger sharks now homing in on his location. Struggling to breathe, Zolner gave up on trying to free his leg and instead began grabbing for Morgan’s regulator. Morgan fought to remain composed, deftly brushing aside Zolner’s attempts while grabbing the second mouthpiece of the octopus regulator he’d dived with, forcing it into Zolner’s mouth. Zolner took hold of it and began to steady his breathing while looking to Morgan for direction.

  Then the first of the tiger sharks made an approach, circling within five feet of them. The second and third sharks followed suit. The speed of their movement caused a surge in the water that buffeted the men as the pack began their approach for attack. Zolner’s eyes were wide with fear and he began to panic, striking irrationally at Morgan. All Morgan could do was take the beating against his rig while reaching for the six-inch titanium dive knife from the sheath attached to his right calf. The three sharks disappeared again, circling their prey and gathering more speed before the fast return and final attack. Morgan raised a threatening arm to quell Zolner’s terror and then turned in the direction he expected the sharks to approach from. Sure enough, in seconds they reappeared, growing in size and menace as their heads and open jaws sped toward the Helldiver. Morgan braced, placing himself between the predators and the helplessly trapped Zolner. The knife was a paltry deterrent but it was his last line of defense. It was in his hand and poised, ready to strike at an eye or snout, wherever he could reach first to inflict an injury. Behind him Zolner was rigid with fear, his hands holding on tightly to Morgan’s left arm. The tigers were within just a few feet, in dive formation, gaining speed, getting bigger and bigger. Morgan’s breathing was steady but strained, the adrenalin threatening to tear him apart. They closed in fast. Morgan’s eyes locked onto those of the leader: the biggest of the pack. His hand curled even more tightly around the knife and his body coiled, ready to counter-attack. And just as he prepared to strike, all three of them suddenly turned away; one, two, three, each in succession had closed in for the kill only to pull away abruptly at the final moment. As the first three withdrew, two more – lower in the pecking order than the others but just as hungry from the scent of blood in the water – made their move, spiraling down from directly above the wreck. By now Zolner was still attempting to free himself. Morgan redirected his counter-attack stance, readying to strike upward into the flesh beneath the lower jaws of the sharks but again, they balked and pulled away.

  In that moment Morgan knew that the SharkShield was doing what it was supposed to do. The length of thick antennae cable trailing behind him was creating an electronic field that caused a reaction in the electroreceptors located in the snout of each shark. Once the sharks came within range of the electronic field they were instantly affected by it and withdrew. Sutherland had introduced Morgan to it ages ago but until today, his only point of reference had been the theory. He was fucking glad it worked in practice.

  He returned his attention to a thoroughly bewildered Zolner and set to work on getting him free. He began with Zolner’s rig, which was caught on strands of rusted metal that had once been the aft headrest for the tail gunner. With the rig clear, Zolner had more freedom to move and, eventually, to wriggle his calf and foot free with some help from Morgan pulling back the offending wreckage that had caused the restriction. A much relieved Zolner finally pulled clear. Morgan cut some strips from Zolner’s wetsuit and quickly bound the gash. It would be enough to get him back to the surface and aboard the Gemini, but it’d need proper attention soon.

  Holding Zolner close, tiger sharks still circling and the SharkShield cable trailing behind, Morgan kicked off, taking them both toward the surface and the clear blue sky.

  CHAPTER 2

  Holiday Inn Singapore Atrium, Outram Road, Singapore

  Captain Farooq Chaudry watched Honey, the girl he called his muse, wander naked from the bedroom of his deluxe suite to the bathroom. He loved the way the muscles of her ass tightened as she walked and how the butterfly tattoo on her back flew with the unabashed freedom of her movement. He propped himself up on one elbow among the pillows so he could enjoy every step she took. She paused just long enough to smack herself on each cheek before disappearing to the shower. He loved it every time.

  “You tease me, Honey,” he called out to her. “It’s not good for my heart. I’m an old man, remember?”

  “You’re only forty-two,” she called back to him. “That’s not too old. Besides, watching my ass is good for you. It’ll keep you young.”

  He heard the taps squeal and the water bursting from the shower head. It definitely will, he thought. He lived for these moments with her and the freedom of being away from home, as far removed as possible from his responsibilities as a husband and father. Now that he regularly flew out from Singapore he was establishing a second life here. His eldest son was already at university in Islamabad and the other two were not far behind him. All three of them were self-sufficient, living their own lives. And his wife was only interested in the paycheck that being married to an international airline captain provided. She didn’t care anymore if he was there or not.

  The shower taps squealed again and the sound of rushing water stopped. When he looked up again, Honey was quietly watching him from the doorway. He smiled at her.

  “So, have I convinced you to finally leave her and move here to Singapore with me?” she said, water dripping from her naked body onto the carpet in the anteroom. His dumbfounded silence caused her to laugh. “I always know what you’re thinking, Fooky. You can’t hide anything from me.” She lifted her towel and walked back into the bedroom, dabbing the white cotton all over her damp body.

  Chaudry was mesmerized by her. He still could not believe his luck; a beautiful 24-year-old Russian nanny, blond and blue eyed, had fallen in love with him, here in Singapore. All in the space of just a few months. But he deserved it. He deserved her. He knew that. Tomorrow he had a Singapore to London flight, via Beijing with a crew he’d never flown with. From London he’d fly directly home to Islamabad and the drudgery of his normal life. But tonight was still his and he had decisions to make.

  “Let’s go out for dinner and talk,” he said. “We’ll go somewhere special.”

  “Oh, so you want me to get dressed now, just so we can go to a silly old restaurant,” she said, back near the bed. As she adjusted the towel she shared with him again her beautiful body. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to eat in … again?”

  “You’re an evil woman,” he said. “I’m a respectable man. I can’t spend my last night of freedom locked in this den of debauchery with you!”

  She laughed at him. He reached out and grabbed the edge of her towel. She let it fall away and climbed back into bed, straddling him. He reached up and pulled her down to him, kissing her neck and breasts.

  Ther
e was a short, sharp rap on the door. “Room service,” a male voice called.

  “Fuck!” He whispered in her ear. “Not now.”

  She giggled. “Maybe I’ve arranged a surprise for you, Fooky. Champagne, perhaps? Leave it to me. You can hardly answer the door with that thing sticking out everywhere, now, can you?”

  Chaudry groaned with frustration. Honey slid off him, retrieved her towel from the floor, wrapped it tightly around herself, walked out to the door. He heard her open it.

  “You took your time,” he heard her say at the door.

  “Get dressed,” came the reply. An accent. Spanish? “Do it in the bathroom and stay there until I tell you to come out.”

  “Honey, what’s going on?” Chaudry was standing now, reaching for his pants. This didn’t sound right. He couldn’t see the man at the door yet. He walked into the foyer. Honey turned to him.

  “Sorry, Fooky. It’s nothing personal. And face it, darling, you’re never going to leave that fat old wife of yours.”

  “I said get dressed,” the accented voice ordered Honey again and then he appeared in the room.

  Farooq Chaudry didn’t know where to look or what to think. Honey collected some clothes from her suitcase and then disappeared back into the bathroom, and a well-dressed middle-aged man, Latin American, swarthy and immaculately groomed, was now standing in the middle of the room.

  “Who the hell are you?” Chaudry demanded. He was unsteady on his feet, zipping up his pants. “Get the fuck out of my room!”

  The man didn’t address Chaudry at all. Instead he just looked back out into the corridor, and beckoned someone else in to join them.

  Two more men entered. One was young, fair skinned, tall and big. He stood at the door until the third man walked in. Then the young guy closed the door quietly, removed a pistol from the waistband of his jeans to stand guard. Chaudry was dumbstruck. Despite the shock of the intrusion, the intimidation of their sudden, unequivocal control of his situation and the appearance of the gun, it was the last man to enter who held Chaudry’s attention. He was almost identical to Farooq Chaudry in every way: about five-nine, a hundred and sixty pounds, jet-black short hair with flecks of gray at the temples, a slight paunch around the middle. Posture, physique, everything matched – even his watch was identical. Their facial features were so similar that only someone intimately familiar with Chaudry could possibly tell them apart.

  “What is this?” Chaudry heard himself asking. “What do you want?”

  “What is this? What do you want?” the third man mimicked.

  “Perfect,” said the Latin American, who had now positioned himself between them, studying them minutely. “This is the new you. Quite a resemblance, don’t you think? He even sounds exactly like you.”

  A shudder of despair rippled through Chaudry’s body. He could see where this was going.

  “Wait. I know you,” he said to the Latino. The penny had finally dropped. “You’re Salazar, the recruiter. But … why me?”

  “You look like him. He looks like you. That’s all. Nothing personal. His name was Reza but now it is Chaudry, Farooq Chaudry. Of course, that means you have to disappear. We can’t have two Farooq Chaudrys flying around the skies now, can we?” Salazar took a sudden pace forward. He produced a hypodermic, flicked the protective sheath from the needle and jammed it straight into Chaudry’s neck.

  The last thing Farooq Chaudry was aware of was Salazar forcing the needle into his neck and Reza, his replacement, helping to lower him to the floor. Someone said, “OK, get that laundry trolley in here.”

  Then, nothing.

  CHAPTER 3

  Oahu, Hawaiian Islands, United States of America

  The Riva 33 Aquariva was luxury in the extreme. Thirty feet long, ten feet across the beam and capable of a very respectable forty knots at top speed. She was the Gemini’s principal tender for the exclusive use of the Zolners and their guests. The high sheen of the painted mahogany hatches, decking and cabinets, set against the rich burgundy of the upholstery and cushions and the stainless steel of the bespoke fittings, spoke of old-world luxury. In a word: classic. Morgan was enjoying every minute of the trip back to Oahu, a much more comfortable ride than the navy boats he’d frequented in his life. His old life. He could actually get very used to this new life he’d found himself. Or, could he?

  Twenty-four hours, give or take, after he’d rescued Zolner from a certain death, either by drowning or as shark bait, Morgan had been unexpectedly summoned for a personal audience with Helldiver himself. Morgan didn’t like being summoned by anybody, but Zolner was paying him, and Morgan, after all, had willingly accepted the work. Earlier, Norland had been dispatched to find Morgan and deliver the message, He wants to see you. And grab all your gear; you’re going ashore. With that, Morgan had begrudgingly stripped off the T-shirt and shorts he’d been wearing, ready for some down time at the end of his shift, and pulled on a pair of beige chinos and a navy polo shirt before stepping into deck shoes, grabbing his bags and heading for the dive deck where the Aquariva had been waiting for him. He’d neither heard nor seen anything of Zolner since delivering the billionaire unceremoniously into the waiting hands of the crew back aboard the Gemini early yesterday morning; Zolner had been whisked away by eager hands keen to impress the boss, all under the careful direction of Zolner’s wife, Kristina, the “princess” – or so the staff called her.

  Morgan remembered that Kristina Zolner’s reaction to the whole rescue scenario had shown a great deal more control and poise than he would have credited her with. All he knew about her was that she came from a wealthy family, was an heiress of some description, and – in Morgan’s view anyway – was not exactly the type you’d expect to be so calm under pressure. Maybe he had prejudged her. She was certainly a lot calmer when Morgan had returned her husband to the Gemini than she had been when she’d spotted the sharks off the stern. That was fair enough. By the time they’d emerged, she’d recovered from the shock sufficiently enough to make damn sure that Hedeon Zolner was pulled from the water with kid gloves, while Alex Morgan was left to clamber aboard unaided until Norland finally managed to get past the entourage and help him. Zolner was put into the Aquariva and taken straight back to Honolulu for urgent medical attention with Kristina at his side. Morgan could have been missing a leg for all anybody knew.

  Now here he was, the one being whisked back to Oahu in the lap of luxury and, as it happened, also with Kristina at his side. It was incredible how quickly everything could change.

  As they sliced effortlessly across the wave tops toward the island, the skyline of the capital Honolulu, the comings and goings of the international airport and the majesty of Diamond Head all began to materialize. Kristina Zolner was giving last-minute instructions to the crewman at the wheel. She was wearing a short summer dress that showed off her legs and a pair of sunglasses that covered most of her face.

  “So, what’s this all about then?” Morgan asked once she’d finished issuing her orders. “Any chance of a heads up?”

  “Hedeon wants to see you,” she said over the noise of the engine, turning suddenly to join him on the curved bench at the back of the boat. Morgan had heard she was Eastern European, so – despite the hint of an American undercurrent – the accent made sense. She sat closer than he thought she should. He didn’t mind. “He wants you to help him with something important. Why? Are you nervous?”

  “Not at all,” he replied. “I don’t get nervous.”

  “That makes sense. A dangerous man like you wouldn’t have much call for being scared of anything.”

  “What makes you think I’m dangerous?”

  “We’ve been checking out your CV. It’s all terribly exciting.” Was she flirting with him? It certainly seemed that way. She held his gaze for a moment too long, smiled briefly and then turned her attention back to the coastline. Up front, the crewman answered a cellphone and then he turned briefly and held it out to her. Morgan watched as Mrs. Zolner stood to take
the call.

  The wind racing through the long hair of an attractive woman certainly had a lot to answer for. That said, this was the closest he’d ever been to her. He realized that it was the impression of her that men probably found most attractive rather than the detail. The heiress tag, the tight, faultless body, the flowing auburn hair, make-up, jewelry, sunglasses, choice of clothes – everything perfectly contrived to create the brand that was Kristina Zolner. Morgan guessed she knew she had an effect on men and probably enjoyed the fact that they all knew she was way out of their league and, as Zolner’s wife, completely off limits. It would give her a sense of control he suspected she’d like.

  When she returned the cellphone to the crewman, any of the warmth she’d shown Morgan during their brief chat had evaporated and she was suddenly all icy efficiency. What had the call been about? They were just moments away from the island of Oahu now, following a wide curve around to starboard, heading for the Ala Wai Yacht Harbor. The twin Yanmar marine diesel engines and their 380 horses reared as the crewman reined her in and brought her alongside the marina.

  “There’s our transport. It’ll take us out to the house at Diamond Head where Hedeon is waiting for us. Better get your gear ready.”

  An Agusta Westland AW-109 Grand helicopter was turning and burning at the northern end of the marina where a section of the car parking area had been closed off to make way for it. The boat bumped lightly against the jetty and a young marina attendant appeared and began tying them off.

  Meanwhile, Morgan did as he was told, grabbing his duffel bags and suit carrier and slinging them up onto the jetty. The crewman had shut down the boat and was taking care of Kristina Zolner’s bags. Morgan jumped ashore, turned and held out a hand for Kristina. She took it, thanked him and headed for the chopper. Morgan and the crewman followed in silence.