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

by Chris Allen

  “That’s it?” Zolner asked.

  “I told you it wasn’t that interesting.”

  “I think you get off on the rush,” said Kristina. “The idea of driving a desk would kill you. You prefer the unexpected. Am I right?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “How long have you been with us now – six, seven weeks? When this contract is done, what then? Have you thought about that?” she asked.

  “I’m happy to stay on if you still need me, but I’ll understand if you don’t. I knew this job wasn’t forever. Besides, I’m not much of a boat kinda guy. I’m a lot more useful on land than at sea.”

  “All evidence to the contrary,” Zolner laughed. “I like that you don’t give a shit, Morgan. You’re a take-it-or-leave-it guy. That’s the way I am, too, and that’s why I want you to keep working for me, but not as one of the troops. I have plans for you. Are you interested?”

  “Sure, I suppose. It depends what you have in mind.”

  “I have some meetings to attend while we’re here in Honolulu and sometimes in business, relationships can be tested, strained even; which is why I place a great deal of priority on our personal protection, especially when I have my Kristina with me.”

  “I understand,” Morgan replied. “Although, at this point, I must admit that I don’t have any specific knowledge about what it is you do. Apart from the publicly available stuff: oil and gas, aluminium, technology, munitions and military aircraft. That’s about it.”

  “Very good, but we can get into all the details later. For now, suffice to say that I invest in the future and right now I’m working within a highly competitive, highly volatile operating environment. Do you understand?”

  “I do,” Morgan replied. “So, these meetings – you’re expecting some trouble.”

  “Possibly. With billions of dollars at stake, it is quite normal to expect a certain type of person to react to situations or negotiations unpredictably. The people I’m currently dealing with, they are very emotional individuals, prone to sometimes violent outbursts. A man has to take precautions.”

  Morgan sipped the Glenfiddich. “How does this all relate to me, though?” he said. “I’m an ex-soldier, not a businessman.”

  “We have a meeting this afternoon with some of these people. I’d like you to come along to observe how we conduct these meetings. You won’t have to do anything. Just watch, listen and then tell me what you think later. Are you interested?”

  “Of course,” Morgan replied. The pit of his stomach told him he was.

  “Excellent. Well, we leave in an hour. You’ll need to be in a suit. Rodenko will show you where to get ready.”

  “Very well.” Morgan stood to leave.

  “Oh, and Morgan,” Zolner said.

  “Yes.”

  “Observer or not, better bring a gun.”

  CHAPTER 6

  An hour later, Alex Morgan was in a tropical worsted navy suit, one made for him by his tailor just off Savile Row on Conduit Street back in London, Somerville and Son. He’d matched it with a pale blue cotton shirt, black knitted tie and black brogues. He was carrying a Heckler & Koch VP9 9mm automatic in an inside-the-waistband holster on his right hip, with a couple of spare clips on his left side. He was sitting in the front passenger seat of a Cadillac Escalade SUV with another guy from Zolner’s security crew he’d just met at the wheel. In the back were two more from the security crew. No one was talking. They were driving northwest along the Lunalilo Freeway, back into Honolulu, to pick up a passenger, a guy by the name of Tengku, apparently the business associate Zolner had spoken about. Meanwhile, Hedeon and Kristina Zolner had taken off in an identical car with Rodenko and their driver heading inland somewhere. Morgan’s car would meet them up there once he had made the pickup.

  After about twenty minutes, Morgan’s SUV eventually pulled up at an address in Bishop Street, which Morgan noted was in the center of a number of foreign consulates, and saw a man standing on the sidewalk up ahead, obviously waiting for them. Tengku. He was sharply dressed in a lightweight suit, open-neck shirt and sunglasses, late thirties, maybe early forties, and appeared to be Asian, maybe Malaysian or Indian, Morgan couldn’t be sure. There was a hint of arrogance in the way he held himself, the type who was used to feeling important, although there did seem to be a level of agitation about him too, even nervousness. Morgan couldn’t put his finger on it. It was just a gut feeling based on about three seconds of observation. Instinct. That same instinct followed through, running a scan of the immediate surrounds. Morgan surmised that anyone with business interests on the scale that had been suggested to him back at the house and who, on first impressions at least, appeared so concerned even at the prospect of meeting with Zolner would surely not wait alone without any form of backup or top cover of his own. Despite knowing that, Morgan couldn’t see any, although that didn’t mean there wasn’t any. He kept his eyes open.

  The Cadillac pulled up to the curb and one of the security team members in the back leaned over and opened the curbside rear door from the inside. Tengku climbed in, closed the door and before he was seated, the central locking clicked into action and the driver had them underway again.

  The bang from the rear of the SUV shook them all.

  Morgan’s HK VP9 was instantly out of the holster and transferred across to his left hand. “Step on it!” he yelled.

  The driver slammed his foot down on the accelerator and the vehicle powered away. Morgan turned in his seat to cover his side of the vehicle while the others covered the rear. Then he caught sight of the source of the noise. Down the road behind them, a cyclist was collecting himself from the tumble he’d taken when he’d run into the SUV as it pulled unexpectedly out into the traffic. He seemed dazed but physically OK. Morgan knew they wouldn’t stop. That wasn’t the drill. He reholstered the VP9.

  “Stand down,” he said, adding, “Ease off,” to the driver. “We’re all clear.”

  Now that the pickup had been done, and the minor crisis already forgotten, the security guys settled back into their positions: one sitting in a third-row fold-out seat with Tengku seated in front of him, the second beside Tengku, directly behind Morgan. It was difficult for Morgan to see Tengku and in this line of work it wasn’t the done thing to turn around when you were just the hired help unless you were actually engaging someone, verbally or otherwise. Fortunately, the driver’s rear-view mirror had a small fish-eye mirror attached to the right-hand side that enabled whoever was in the passenger seat to monitor what was going on in the back, too. It wasn’t ideal but it was enough.

  For now, Tengku was sitting quietly albeit, it seemed, expectantly.

  “You know the routine,” the security guy behind Morgan said. “You gotta wear this.” Morgan watched through the fish-eye as a blindfold was produced and handed across. Tengku didn’t protest. He simply took hold of it resignedly, then wrapped it around his head and tied it off. The security guy leaned over and verified that it was on securely. So, a familiar custom. Morgan watched for a while but nothing was happening other than the security crew both still holding their VP9s.

  The driver worked the limousine around the consulate area to head southeast back along the Lunalilo Freeway and a few minutes later was turning left toward the high country of the Honolulu Forest Reserve.

  Morgan was calm about it all on the basis that Tengku was clearly familiar with the routine. He so far hadn’t uttered a word. The driver took the SUV up into the hills until they ran out of sealed road and the tires bit into gravel. Up here the trees grew high, right up to the edge of the road. After less than a minute they reached a wide, isolated area of the road, sheltered by the canopy of the forest, and pulled over. The security guys got out of the car with Tengku sandwiched between then. The driver indicated to Morgan to stay in the car. Outside, the blindfold remained on while the security guys conducted a body search of Tengku: one covering while the other did the scrunch and pat down. They obviously couldn’t do it on the sidewalk in the
center of Honolulu and Tengku still seemed indifferent to it all. More of their established routine. What the hell was Zolner into?

  They were soon back on their way, continuing high into the reserve. A few minutes later the driver pulled off to the right and followed a narrow, almost overgrown, track for about 300 yards until they reached a small clearing, again sheltered by the canopy. A second SUV, Zolner’s SUV, was stationary in the center. Rodenko and the driver were standing outside, one on either side. What the fuck was going on?

  Morgan’s SUV eased to a halt and everyone got out, including Morgan. Rodenko had already told him where to stand, so Morgan dutifully took up his position at ten o’clock in relation to Zolner’s SUV. He received an acknowledging nod from Rodenko, confirming that he was where he was supposed to be. Then he watched as Tengku was walked, still in the blindfold, across to Zolner’s car. The door didn’t open but the rear window did, no more than four inches; just enough for a conversation to take place but not enough to see clearly inside. So, Zolner wasn’t even getting out of the car for this guy, yet they went to all this trouble to bring him up here. The discussion was initially conducted in subdued tones and was barely audible from where Morgan stood. Then Morgan saw Tengku’s hands go up to his face as they might if he’d received a shock or bad news of some kind. Then his knees bent, apparently at the enormity of whatever it was he’d just been told. Rodenko took a step closer, preparing to grab the man if faltering turned to falling but it wasn’t necessary. This was not what Morgan expected. Some mumbled conversation followed and then Tengku, dismissed by Zolner, turned, waiting to be led back to the car that had brought him. Morgan prepared again for travel and followed the other two who returned with Tengku to the back of the SUV. Morgan climbed in next to the driver and they drove off.

  For the return journey back to Honolulu, Tengku had his blindfolded face buried in his hands the entire time. Morgan couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard the man stifling tears and his body language screamed tension.

  Morgan didn’t like the situation one bit.

  CHAPTER 7

  The two Cadillac Escapade SUVs drove fast in convoy along the dirt track down from the forest toward Honolulu. Morgan was keeping an eye on Tengku, whose level of agitation and general unease was worsening. Despite the blindfold, his face was turned away from the interior of the vehicle as if he was looking outside. His hands were clasped together between his thighs and his knees were rising and lowering constantly in quick succession. The two security guys in the back weren’t speaking or paying any professional attention to the man, other than exchanging disparaging looks about his obvious anxiety.

  The SUVs maintained a steady, well-practiced pace along the winding gravel track that led them out of the high country of the forest. They were approaching the sealed road where they would once again separate, with Zolner’s SUV heading southeast back to the house and Morgan’s southwest to Honolulu to discharge their passenger. Morgan noticed a Chevrolet Trailblazer pulled into a secluded clearing off to his right. It was parked far enough off the road not to be obvious, as someone might do if they wanted some peace or privacy. Initially he tagged it as a couple out for a drive and stealing a few moments together in the lush surrounds of the forest, but then something began bugging him. The same thing that had been bugging him since they’d made the pickup. What was it?

  By now they’d hit the sealed road again and the convoy split as planned. All inside the SUV was still quiet and Morgan couldn’t work out what it was that was bothering him so much. They were driving through a residential area; the streets were quiet and here and there people were going about their business. There wasn’t much traffic and occasionally he spotted some kids on their bikes but that was about it. All completely normal. Bikes. What was it that was getting under his skin?

  In answer, his subconscious flashed up an image of the cyclist who had run into the back of them when they had pulled out into the traffic on Bishop Street. In his mind’s eye, Morgan could see the cyclist clearly now – even more clearly than in the instant it had happened. The bang had been completely unexpected, as if the cyclist had just appeared from nowhere because Morgan had been on constant visual as they’d approach the pickup point and had seen nothing. It was as if he’d just materialized. On purpose? Another image hit him. This one took in the cyclist again, but in the middle distance beyond the cyclist was a parked Chevrolet Trailblazer. Jesus!

  “Pull over!” Morgan said. “Right now!”

  The driver obviously knew that Morgan was in favor with the boss and so he wasn’t about to question the request. He stood on the brakes. Morgan was out before the vehicle stopped moving, running to inspect the back bumper. He dropped to his knees and searched the area where the cyclist had impacted. He reached just under the bumper and his fingers wrapped around something that wasn’t meant to be there. He dropped even lower and saw it clearly, knowing exactly what it was. He grasped it tightly and pulled. It came away easily. It was a small black plastic box about the size of a packet of matches, housed within a magnetized mounting case designed to attach quickly and easily to a flat metal surface, in this case the underside of their SUV. An electronic vehicle tracking device. Cheap, nasty, effective. Morgan popped open the mounting case, dropped the device onto the road and stamped on it until it shattered. He left it there and quickly climbed back into the car.

  “Remove his blindfold,” Morgan said. The lead security guy in the back immediately did as he was told. As soon as it was off Tengku was looking directly at Morgan.

  “You, get out. Now!”

  The man didn’t need to be told twice. He fumbled with his latch until the driver released the locks again and then fell from the car into the street. Morgan looked at the driver.

  “Get us back to your boss’s car as fast as you fucking can!” Morgan had his cellphone in his hand and was calling Rodenko. Nothing. “Answer, for fuck’s sake!”

  Without hesitation the driver pulled the vehicle into a tight arc and the SUV screamed in a semicircle of burning rubber to head back in the direction they’d just come from.

  “What the fuck is going on, bro?” yelled the lead security guy.

  Morgan tossed the magnetic mounting case back to him; he just managed to catch it. “Get on your cell and call whoever else you can get hold of on Rodenko’s team. Tell ’em they tagged us when we made the pickup. They’ll be after Zolner’s SUV for sure.” The expression on both the guys’ faces told Morgan they weren’t getting it.

  “That cyclist back on Bishop Street,” Morgan added. “It bugged me that he didn’t even seem bothered that we’d hit him. That’s because he needed us to. He planted a tracking device on this car knowing we’d lead them straight to Zolner. All the routines. The familiarity. They’ve had their eyes on you all for ages but now they’ve worked it all out.”

  The penny finally dropped, and now they were both trying different numbers for the other team members but none of their attempts were getting through.

  “Step on it, man!” Morgan yelled at the driver. “This is not sounding good to me at all.”

  They raced back up toward the high ground until they found the route that the driver knew was the one the other SUV would be following. He was making good time, more than once managing to keep all four wheels on the road when a lesser driver might have lost control. They were still on sealed road and hadn’t reached into any residential areas yet when they spotted the taillights of a Chevrolet Trailblazer up ahead. The lights were flashing as the driver of the Trailblazer fishtailed recklessly, powering and braking, clearly trying to get past the car in front of him, trying to force Zolner’s SUV off the road.

  “Get us up there, wait till he’s fishtailing again and ram him!” Morgan yelled.

  The SUV surged forward. Morgan braced for impact. The others did, too. Then the unmistakable snap and crack of low velocity ammunition ricocheting off the windscreen and bodywork of their SUV told them that the two vehicles ahead were engaged in a gu
nfight and the wild shots from Rodenko’s team were reaching them. Now all three of them had their guns drawn. Morgan yelled some quick instructions above the noise of the engine at high revs. The plan was to try to draw the occupants of the Chevrolet into having to deal with them to allow Rodenko to get the Zolners clear of the trouble. For a split second, Morgan saw a man leaning out of the Chevy with an SMG of some kind, he couldn’t be sure what, firing at Zolner’s SUV. There was no chance for Morgan to engage him. Christ! What a mess. They were closing fast now and as the front of their Cadillac finally leaped toward the rear of the Chevrolet, Morgan knew they were just seconds away from contact.

  Ahead the Chevrolet fishtailed wildly to the left on a tight right-hand bend. Morgan’s driver saw the opportunity and took it. He planted his foot down hard on the accelerator and caught the Chevy on its right rear corner. The move put the Chevy into an even worse fishtail, sending it screeching in a series of wide swerves along a narrow stretch of sealed road.

  “Find a gap and get us in front of them!” Morgan told his driver. “Then we can cut them off.”

  Once again, the driver maintained his calm manner and kept his focus entirely on his responsibility to drive. His face showed no sign he was in any way under stress. Morgan was impressed; the guy knew what he was doing, which he proved yet again by perfectly aligning the Cadillac within the timings of the slewing, out-of-control Chevrolet and hurling the big car through the first available gap. They were through.

  “Right, now we’ll block ’em,” Morgan said. “Put us across the road at the next bottleneck we come to.”

  Sure enough, around the next bend the road narrowed, delivering a near perfect option. A creek line running under the road was deep and wide enough to be impossible to cross other than on the road itself. However, as the road was narrow and the creek line required a substantial culvert, the sealed road was bordered on both sides by a concrete siding two feet high and the same wide surmounted by steel railing that formed the boundaries of the culvert. There was no getting around it. The driver expertly turned the Cadillac hard to the right and brought the SUV to a dead stop across the road, directly in the path of the approaching Chevy.