Defender(11)

"About 200,000, actually," concurred General Davenport. "Some of which you found on that fishing trawler, transferred from the Marengo; God only knows what else has made its way our into the marketplace. Hence, this elusive and, to date, unidentified consortium operating out of the Middle East and Africa that has drawn my attention."

"Well it's got to be someone with an established connection in Iraq who can get their hands on those weapons," Morgan mused. "Especially on that scale. Takes real resources and contacts to move those kinds of numbers around."

"Agreed," Davenport replied. "It's no secret that the rutile mining concessions alone in Malfajiri are worth billions of pounds. Hard to believe that this rock is the basis for the production of titanium, but there you have it. Malfajiri rutile accounts for 65 % of their exports and 30% of the world market, and with a projected mine life of 20 to 30 years, the fortunes to be made are astronomical. When you throw their projected diamond reserves into the mix, there's more than a fleeting incentive to be playing for the right team when the shooting eventually stops."

"So, what happens now, Sir?"

"Well," replied Davenport. "That's where you come in. Two days ago I met with the Chief of SIS, Dame Violet Ashcroft-James." Davenport smiled at the sound of her name. "She came with hat in hand to seek my assistance in tracking down her lost agents. To sweeten the deal she let on that her people have been monitoring a Foreign Office official who's come to their attention as a result of certain unexplained funds making their way through accounts linked to him - conflict of interest as a civil servant and so on. Given that this aspect is very much a British problem, she was reluctant to divulge his name - not keen to air Britain's dirty laundry to INTERPOL, she said. However, she did reveal that this man's position within the Foreign Office immediately raised alarm bells which rang all the way across the Thames to her office at Vauxhall Cross. So, through a series of telephone and computer intercepts - bloody techno gobbledygook to me - SIS identified an association between this Foreign Office man and an unknown person, a Briton, operating in Malfajiri. The information to date is largely circumstantial. Most of the communication was encrypted and, despite all of the state-of-the-art technology at their disposal, SIS apparently haven't had any luck deciphering it. So, they're yet to confirm the identity of his contact. Astonishing." Clearly unconvinced, Davenport took a drink. "Fortunately, this Foreign Office person has absolutely no idea that they're interested in him. Or, so I'm told."

"What does he do at the Foreign Office?" probed Morgan.

"Well, it seems he's the man to know if you're a private military company and you want a British Government contract," answered the General.

"And you think his contact in Malfajiri is with Chiltonford?" Morgan asked.

"It's highly likely. That said, I doubt Chiltonford are behind it. As you say, they are well regarded and to all intents and purposes, a good outfit. But I've been wrong before, so we can't discount it. Let's say that it would be reasonable to surmise that a couple of the in-country people may be implicated in some way."

"Whoever he is, he'd have to be supported from outside. It'd be impossible to coordinate anything significant inside Malfajiri on your own. Especially now," Morgan hypothesized.

"Indeed," agreed Davenport. "And despite Ashcroft-James's reticence to give too much away, I believe she considers Mr. Foreign Office the obvious candidate." Davenport took another pull at his whisky. He was dissatisfied with the information he had been provided by the SIS Chief, old intimacies aside. There was still something important that she hadn't told him. Morgan could see that the General was conflicted.

"You trust Ashcroft-James, Sir?" It was an open question.

"I've no reason to distrust her; known her for years. But there's something going on that she's not disclosing. We must remember that, despite still being incredibly beautiful, she is after all a spook. Promises you the world ..."

"And gives you an atlas," Morgan rejoined. They both laughed.

"Here you go, handsome," came an enticing voice. Davenport looked up to find the pretty girl with the mischievous eyes, who'd taken Morgan's order at the bar, coming towards them juggling plates, knives and forks.

Morgan eased around, with his broad, crooked smile, said "Thanks, darlin'," and retrieved the lunches from her. Her eyes remained locked on him and his on her, before she skillfully negotiated her way back to the bar, swiveling her hips through the Lion's usual assortment of parliamentarians, civil servants and tourists. Davenport noted the girl's obvious interest in Morgan. Morgan averted his eyes as he slid a pasta concoction across their ledge to Davenport, then placed down his own sausages and mash. Davenport smiled and shook his head.