"Fuck it!" Lundt stormed toward Turner. "I can't believe I've let you and that weasel Cornell live as long as I have."
Turner said nothing, he just kept mopping away the perspiration, fidgeting.
"How long have we got?" queried Lundt, flicking his still-burning
cigarette at Turner.
"Two days, maybe three," squirmed Turner as the butt struck his shirt. "It depends on how well the talks go with the British Government. There's something else."
"What?" asked Lundt.
Swallowing some rising bile in the back of his throat, Turner answered, "Two people arrived here on the UN shuttle from London this morning."
CHAPTER 14
With the usual lack of ceremony that accompanies the arrival of any military transport aircraft, the UN Hercules made its landing at Cullentown Airport.
As the big plane lumbered toward the terminal, Morgan's mind turned to what he may confront in tracking down whoever was behind the rebels. The strength of his cover as an evacuation specialist was his ticket in, but success was dependent on being accepted into the centre of the Chiltonford operation. Despite working with Ashcroft-James to engineer Morgan's appointment to Chiltonford, General Davenport had serious misgivings about relying on people outside of INTREPID. Morgan's cover story would reflect his actual military service record, rather than risking exposure with a fake CV. On this occasion, Morgan would also stick to his own name. Soldiers, especially experienced ex-soldiers, are notoriously suspicious people, and Morgan knew he would have to work hard to earn their trust. Davenport's parting advice had been cryptic but simple: 'Keep your powder dry.'
In recent weeks, the scale of atrocities committed by rebels in the remote areas of Malfajiri had intensified, carried out with impunity, with the local military powerless to stop them - or worse, complicit. As for the rebel leader, Baptiste, a number of other senior Malfajiri army officers were known to have also broken ranks and aligned with him. They had been identified as now playing key roles within Baptiste's rebel network. They were growing stronger and establishing greater control over the population by force, powered by the gunrunners with their pipeline to US military supplies. The weapons and equipment were rolling in, feeding the terror campaign. Underestimating the enemy was something a soldier could ill afford to do. Morgan would not be making that mistake. In that moment, he realised that he was still troubled by his dream.
Morgan was shunted from his thoughts by the sudden halt of the C-130 as it rolled to a stop. Minutes later, he stepped out into a fierce, dry blast of heat, a feature of Cullentown. The intensity of activity around the airport was nothing short of chaotic. Aircraft, military and civilian, fixed-wing and rotary, were taking off, landing, or being unloaded. Forklifts, trucks, beasts of burden and men were in constant motion. Scattered throughout it all, a company of Malfajiri Army conscripts, with automatic rifles draped lazily across their chests, tried to maintain the pretence of a security force. Morgan knew he was at more risk of being shot by accident than for any real reason. He searched the small cluster of faces gathered at the edge of the runway closest to his aircraft.
"You must be Morgan," a voice called out from somewhere behind him as he wrestled his field pack and tattered Army echelon bag from a cargo pallet. "Mike Fredericks," came the introduction.
With the RR T56 engines of the Hercules still turning, and a hot wind whipping about them, Morgan struggled to catch a word of the welcome, but he did recognise the light brown, close-cropped hair and broad, toothy grin from the dossier he'cl seen before leaving London. Lieutenant Colonel Michael Fredericks, retired, ex-Canadian Airborne Regiment and Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry. He'cl been instrumental in the formation of the Canadian Special Operations Regiment and, when not selected to command it, he left the Army and went private, serving with a couple of the major outfits in Iraq and Afghanistan before joining Chiltonford six months ago as their lead man in Malfajiri. There was nothing on record to indicate that Fredericks was anything other than the professional that his background suggested.
"G'day, Mike. Good to meet you," Morgan yelled over the din of background aircraft noise. Fredericks grabbed Morgan's field pack, hoisting it over his shoulder as they moved off the tarmac. Morgan smiled and shook Fredericks' offered hand firmly. "Alex Morgan. Thanks for coming out to get me."
"Welcome to the shit-hole, bud," said Fredericks without humour, waving his arm in a mock gesture of grand presentation. "What do you think so far?"
"I'll let you know," said Morgan.
"It's no secret, things are getting worse by the day, or the hour if you watch close enough. The locals who are able are leaving the city in droves to hide out in the mountains. They know better than anyone that it's only a matter of time before Baptiste makes his move against the President. Anyhow, I'll bring you up to speed on everything once we get to the mine site at Pallarup."