Morgan was certain that Arena's presence, her effervescent and naturally easy manner with everybody, had helped immeasurably. He knew that he'd been accepted, albeit reluctantly, during the last 24 hours as a direct result of his apparent association with her, based purely on the fact that they'd arrived together. Whatever it takes, he smiled to himself. He stole a look away from the screen, searching for her face in the cramped space, looking for those fabulous blue eyes. Morgan couldn't spot her. He had been so engrossed in his deliberations that he'd lost track of her. She was obviously off doing whatever it was that she was here to do. What was she here to do? It occurred to him that there were still a couple of people who had remained fractious towards him, most particularly, the site manager - the man Turner. Could be something there, Morgan thought. Was it just a deliberate intent to shut him out, or a pig-headed attempt to control turf? Morgan caught sight of Turner. He was a short, balding, repugnant little frog, who sweated profusely and mopped at the slime with a brightly coloured bandana handkerchief clutched in his fist. He was standing in front of the staff, closest to the television, in everyone else's way, staring at the images on the news with an expression that Morgan couldn't decipher. But for the moustache, Morgan was reminded of Richard Attenborough in the role of serial killer ]ohn Christie in the old movie, '10 Rillington Place'.
"...As the explosions subsided, a group of armed men emerged from the surrounding buildings and began firing deliberately and indiscriminately into the motorcade with automatic weapons and throwing grenades. At leastfour people are believed dead, including - we understand - two of M r. Namakobo's personal security detail. An unknown number of others are injured and wreckage remains strewn across the streets of Mayfair. Sources close to the M alfajiri Embassy have blamed 'Le Conseil de la Liberation des Peuples Africains' - the 'Councilfor the Liberation of African People' - lead by the renegade, self-proclaimed Colonel Jean-Claude Baptiste. We understand that Dr. Namakobo has been taken to an undisclosed medical facility. His condition is unknown..."
Instinctively, for he couldn't explain it any other way, the moment the reference was made to Namakobo, Morgan's gaze snapped back to Turner. Turner caught Morgan's scrutiny and sank back among the staff.
At the very moment he needed time to follow the leads he had discussed with Davenport back in London, fate stepped in. Instead, Morgan was surrounded by 100 imploring faces desperate to survive, and his cover story would become his obligation.
As so often happened in life, reality had arrived unannounced and changed everything.
* * *
With leaden fingers Arena Halls tapped frantically across the keys of Turner's notebook. Her eyes glued intently to the flickering screen, she suddenly became aware that she felt lightheaded, her vision tunnelled and her breathing had become shallow. On impulse, she lifted her fingers from the keyboard and found that they were shaking. Ari raised a hand to her chest and placed the other slowly down to grasp the edge of the desk. She closed her eyes and forced herself to take a series of slow, deep breaths. She knew enough from her self defence classes that her body's primal 'fight or flight' instinct had kicked in. She was scared, petrified of being discovered.
Turner's office had been free of him for hours, he'd been off on one of his apparently infamous errands in the capital, but no sooner had Ari finally managed to sneak in unobserved, than she heard him return. It was impossible not to hear him, she thought with disdain. His intolerably irritating squeal of a voice rang clear over the rising tumult out in the main office. He was no doubt running around outside trying to give the impression of being in charge.
What was all the commotion about out there?
She knew she had to wrap up before being discovered, but there were still files she hadn't managed to access. So far, she'd had absolutely no luck in finding anything that looked even remotely suspicious, apart from some disgusting internet downloads that she was not in the least bit surprised to find. What did Johnson expect of her? Then she spotted something within her peripheral vision, a corner of paper, a letterhead. With shaking hands she tugged it from beneath the batch of discarded papers that lay strewn across Turner's desk, constantly stealing glances to and from the door. It was a stylised business emblem incorporating the profile and headdress of a Native American Chief. The logo was blood red, and beneath the emblem was the title: 'The Renegade Group of Companies'. Where had she seen that before? She scoured through the text of the document, scanning references to Alga Creek, various joint ventures, oil platforms in the Timor Sea, goldfields in Kazakstan. God, where had she seen this Renegade thing before? She was searching her memory, usually so easy to access, but the upheaval from the main office area erupted into full-scale panic, making any further thoughts impossible. Using the furore outside Turner's office, Ari took a gamble that whatever was going on would provide an effective distraction allowing her escape from the administrators room. Cracking the door slightly, she slipped out using the side door and found herself in the midst of escalating chaos.