resting on top of a nearby desk, arms folded across his chest. He looked tanned and strong. God, get a grip, she thought. This is too much.
"I needed a few minutes to take a load off and I just happened to come in here . . . and there you were. How lucky am I!"
"Lucky? Lucky, how?" Arena responded, startled.
"Well, coming in here," Morgan smiled broadly, "and finding you." "Are you action-man types always this . . ." she stumbled for a moment. "Interesting?" Morgan offered.
"Obvious," she corrected. "There is a war about to start."
"Doesn't mean we have to drop basic courtesy, does it?" Morgan swung his legs from the desk, straightened himself and walked towards her. "So, anyway, what are you up to?"
"Oh," she was expecting someone might ask her that question but, coming from him, she felt slightly rattled. "Just checking through personnel files, looking for any medical conditions amongst the staff that might cause us some problems on the evacuation. You know, heart conditions, epilepsy, that kind of thing."
"Can't you just ask them? It must be a huge pain in the arse to plow through all those files."
'Tm a stranger to these people, Major. Our experience is that when people are under pressure and all they want to do is escape danger, they're more likely to conceal a condition than volunteer it. Now, we won't be leaving any of them behind, but there'll be at least one amongst them who will be so paranoid about an ailment that they'd already have convinced themselves that we will leave them if it means saving the others. This way, we'll know who to keep an eye on. Make your job easier, that's for sure."
"Well, nobody can say you're not thorough," he said, unable to work her out, but his instinct told him she wasn't a problem for him. Maybe she was an auditor from Alga Creek. Given the job of doing the final due diligence before the place collapsed. Who knew?
"So, how are you coping with all this? You OK?"
"Yeah, thanks." Jesus, stop being so considerate, she thought. 'Tm holding up OK, I suppose. Like everybody, though, I have no idea what to expect when this coup happens. Any more news?"
Morgan had moved closer to her now, very close. He had perched on the edge of a desk just inches from her, sitting quietly, watching her with an intensity she would normally have associated with a predatory animal gauging its prey. But, in this case, she knew she wasn't prey and somehow, his quiet strength gave her comfort, even made her feel safe.
"There is news, Ari," he answered familiarly for the first time. "But, it's not good I'm afraid."
"Oh God," she said. "How long do we have?"
CHAPTER 18
"Carnage in London today as explosions and machine-gun fire rocked the streets of Mayfair..."
"Hey, turn that up, would you?" Morgan called over the top of the chaos of the Alga Creek mine site office. There was plenty of activity as expats and local staff prepared for the evacuation that could be initiated at any moment.
Judging by the news, Morgan thought, that moment had come.
He left the table at the back of the large open-plan office where he and Fredericks had been going over the mine site layout and various maps of Malfajiri, Cullentown and Pallarup. The two had been meticulous in their planning. Morgan would coordinate the extraction from Pallarup to ensure that no one was left behind, and all operating systems were shut down - permanently. He would be last out. Fredericks would go out on the first chopper and receive each sortie as it arrived at the rendezvous - the RV - and coordinate the onward movement of the expat staff onto US Navy helicopters and, ultimately, to a US Navy aircraft carrier. The RV would be the Francis Hotel. Fredericks was familiar with it.
Morgan snaked his way through the desks, chairs and filing cabinets to join the cluster of staff who had been drawn to the BBC World coverage of a developing incident in London. It didn't take long to realise that the actions occurring thousands of miles away in central London were about to have an immediate and shattering impact on each and every one of them, frozen in front of a television screen on the edge of Africa. The room fell eerily silent, but for the television.
The reporter continued: "...the attack began when two vehicles rammed the motorcade of visiting head of state, Dr. Namakobo, the President of Malfajiri. Both exploded on impact. We cross live to BBC World reporter ..."
Morgan stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the staff. The frosty reception he had received on arrival the night before had almost thawed. He understood the reticence amongst them to become involved or even be civil toward him. He was third in a line of men who had apparently been sent out to protect them. The first two, for reasons unknown, had suddenly gone 'off the reservation', never to return. If only they knew.