Defender(14)

"What do you need me to do?" Morgan asked, his tone flat and steely. "A coup d'etat is imminent, Alex," Davenport began, 'I'm of the opinion that there are people within the British establishment intimately involved and who know more than they're letting on. There may not be another chance like this. I'm certain our involvement will lead us to this consortium which has been moving weapons around the globe for years - Northern Ireland, Bosnia, Sierra Leone, Iraq, Afghanistan - the modus operandi and scale of their operation is becoming a trademark. They are a scourge, with absolutely no regard for the innocent victims of their profiteering. Malfajiri is just one of their markets, and Chiltonford, most likely, just one of their outlets. We know that the weapons you found on that trawler were from the US military supply system in Iraq, bound for Baptiste's rebels. No doubt, word of our interest in the Marengo was leaked, so the incriminating cargo was offloaded. Whichever way this goes, according to our charter, they're my problem. Lundt is missing in action and Collins was murdered because he was forced to show his hand too soon. That means these people, whoever they are, know they're being watched. We're running out of time and I have to take a gamble - even if it does involve making a deal with the devil." His face remained grave. "So, I'm sending you in there to take Collins' place."





CHAPTER 9





Foreign and Commonwealth Office King Charles Street, London





"Arena, would you remain behind for a moment?" came the request from across the room.

"Yes, of course."

The two waited for the others to leave, and returned to their seats as the door closed with a heavy echo along the corridor outside. Abraham Lawrence Johnson, the Acting Director-General of the Foreign Office's Political Directorate, moved back behind the ornate Georgian desk he so coveted. Arena Halls, the Assistant Chief-of-Staff to the actual Director General, returned to the chair she had previously occupied, opposite Johnson. She absentmindedly pushed a wayward strand of blonde hair behind her left ear. Her crystal-blue eyes studied Johnson carefully. What was this all about?

"I recently had dinner with a singularly intriguing fellow," Johnson began. "Chap named Davenport. 'Nobby' Davenport."

"Major General Davenport?" "That's right."

"Commanding an SAS Squadron in the first Gulf War when he was injured, if I recall?"

"So I believe. Terrible thing. I understand that when he was told he'd never serve operationally again, he went straight on to read law at Cambridge, transferred to the Legal Corps and never looked back."

"Retired as the Director-General of Army Legal Services," Arena Halls added. She felt compelled on more than just this occasion to remind Johnson that she was not only familiar with his history, but those of other senior people around Whitehall. She'd developed a way of carrying it off without sounding impertinent. Besides, it was her job to know such things. That said, she did it because she knew it nettled him.

Arena's loyalties remained firmly with her actual Director-General, Mr. William Evans, CBE, LVO. However, she'd been forced to familiarise herself with Johnson's CV when Mr. Evans had fallen suddenly ill, and Johnson, far too eagerly she recalled, had leapt from his position as Director of International Security and into the Political Directorate's top job - temporarily - although it had been six months already, and the cancer that had so arbitrarily dug its claws into Mr. Evans was showing little sign of remission. There was little hope that he would ever be well enough to resume his responsibilities. That didn't seem to be of any concern to Abraham Johnson, which only strengthened Arena's resolve to remain the eyes and ears of her DG, in readiness for the day when he would, she hoped, return.

The only daughter of her American father and British mother, Arena Halls had travelled the world with her parents. Her father's career as an expert hydraulics engineer and her mother's relief work in struggling communities abroad, along with an Oxford education, had provided Arena with an upbringing that had prepared her perfectly for a career in the Foreign Office, and she had risen to prominence within a relatively short space of time with, most importantly, her reputation well and truly intact. On this she had taken a leaf from the pages of the successful women around her, whom she admired. Loyalty and career first and, very definitely, love last. She had been 'spotted' by Director-General Evans and immediately appointed as the right hand to his Chief-of-Staff. When the Chief-of-Staff was away, as was the case now, Halls stepped up. It was a role that some saw as a responsibility beyond her 26 years - but her sagacity, intellect and an ability to recall even the most seemingly insignificant facts, were fast becoming lore around the corridors of the Foreign Office. She was a classic polymath, one of the DG's select inner sanctum - Evans's 'Golden Girl'. The ensuing weeks of Evans's protracted absence, had seen Johnson carry out a coup. Evans's key people had been found other duties and Johnson had begun the solicitous task of establishing his own cabinet. Halls knew she'd been kept around merely as window dressing to appease any suggestion that Evans's team had been completely cleared out. Continuing on her recitation of facts, the Assistant Chief-of-Staff went on, her eyes slightly narrowed as the facts came to her. "Served in the New Zealand Army before moving to England to join the Parachute Regiment. Decorated in Northern Ireland with the Para's and later in the Gulf with the SAS. And, despite his injuries, went on to serve as a legal officer in Cambodia and Bosnia. A recognised authority on terrorism, rules of engagement, human rights and international humanitarian law. CBE, DSO, MC. Yes, I think that's it."