Defender(12)

"What's up, Sir?" Morgan asked, noting the smile.

'I'm obviously not keeping you away enough, or we're going to have to find somewhere else to drink."

They began to eat. Davenport continued between mouthfuls.

"It was like drawing blood from a bloody stone, but I did manage to establish some background to the missing agents. SIS planted an agent into Chiltonford when the company was awarded the contract to operate in Malfajiri. Agent named Lundt. Victor Lundt. Former soldier. Served in the Falklands as a young guardsman. Promoted through the ranks, went on to become an Officer in the Brigade of Guards. Outstanding record in Northern Ireland, spent many years with 14 Intelligence Company, before being recruited to SIS. Been in the game a long time and served in just about every trouble spot you can think of. But after only a short time in Malfajiri, he disappeared. Communication channels dried up overnight."

"They think he's dead?"

"Possibly. Under pressure, Ashcroft-James reluctantly agreed to the deployment of another agent - a man to replace Lundt. Easy enough done. The Foreign Office had final say over recruitment and experienced soldiers are highly sought after in the top end private military companies. This time they went for a new recruit to SIS - an ex-Special Air Service soldier named Collins. Was a good lad, by all accounts," said the General, his tone somber.

"Collins. Not Sergeant Sean Collins, Sir?"

"Yes, that's right, Alex. Why? Do you know him?"

"Yes, I do. Very well. He's one of my best mates, in fact. We served together in 3PARA before he went off to Hereford. Loves a pint, old Sean." Morgan smiled at some memory then paused abruptly, feeling sick to his stomach. "You said he was a good lad?"





CHAPTER 7





London





There was an icy silence at the end of the line. Emptiness consumed the room, and the sound of his own breathing echoed around him. He immediately regretted the accusatory tone of his last question. Lundt would not like that.

Gregory Cornell scratched nervously at his unkempt hair, patted his pockets for a cigarette and waited for a reply. There was none. He felt compelled to fill the void. 'I'm sorry. I'm not used to all this. You don't understand," said Cornell, his voice trailing off meekly.

"You're the one who doesn't understand. You're supposed to be my link, my finger on the pulse. " Lundt's voice was deep. It held no emotion, no empathy. "Do you remember that?"

"For God's sake. There must have been some other way of handling it?

I mean, the man's remains were . . ." Cornell left the sentence unfinished.

"These people don't think like that," Lundt stated boldly. Silence again. It extended for some time before Lundt finally added: "Your fat little friend out here is getting nothing from you lot, which means I've got to risk being compromised and deal with you direct. That makes him and you less than useless. Do you actually have the faintest clue what's going on?"

"I've no idea," Cornell replied, too quickly. But it was true. "Christ! Do you know the trouble you've ..." he uttered awkwardly. He was annoyed that he felt so intimidated by this voice, this man he'd never met, thousands of miles away in a festering scab of Africa. "I've a great deal at stake, you know," he added. "A lot to lose."

"Yes, you do. You and your fat little mate," came the disturbing reply from Lundt. "A lot to lose. So, what are you doing about it?"

"I don't know. I really don't," Cornell assured Lundt. "All I know is that there's a real flap on and everything is being kept to a very select few."

"Ah, we few, we happy few." Lundt's tone grew darker. "I suggest you make sure you're one of them. It's time you started delivering. If you're no good to me..."

"It's not that easy. This has gone straight to the top. New people are coming and going. From different departments. Defence? The Army? Scotland Yard? I can't be sure," stammered the civil servant from his swivel chair in London.

"Find out!" hissed Lundt. "This place is about to collapse and I'm in the middle of it. Everything has gone toplan, but now we're sailing too close to the wind and I don't want to be worrying about things that you and your sodding boss should have taken care of. Got it?"

"OK! OK! I'll find out whatever I can."

"See that you do. I need to know exactly when Namakobo's arriving in London and where he'll be. You've got 24 hours."

The line went dead.





CHAPTER 8





The Red Lion Whitehall, London





'Im sorry to have to tell you this, Alex, but Sergeant Collins is dead." Morgan's expression barely altered, but Davenport knew better. He knew soldiers and news of a friend's death, particularly those still in the business, held a peculiar significance to men like Morgan who lived constantly in its shadow. Death always arrived without warning - a stark reminder of mortality and the absolute importance of comradeship and loyalty.