Defender(33)

"You were supposed to be out there, ready to go 15 minutes ago, Turner. You're jeopardising the lives of everyone else who got there on time." Morgan held the door open with his leg and leaned dog-tired against the doorframe. "Let's go."

"But you said that we had plenty of time before we'd have to move.

This is your plan. You told me I'd have time. I've ..."

"There's no time for this," Morgan barked. "We've got ten minutes, if we're lucky, before rebel troops are crawling all over this place. Get out there. Now!"

"You don't understand. I couldn't let ... this highly sensitive company information ... our records ..." Turner gestured with the laptop case and then back at the PC that remained on his desk. "You take this and I'll finish cleaning the hard drive, delete some files and so on. Surely there's still..."

Turner was shaking, clutching the laptop in front of his chest like a shield to protect himself from Morgan, while handing it to him at the same time. Morgan knew what this was. It was panic. Turner had become so familiar with his tiny little corner of Africa that to go outside, out into the reality that was disintegrating around him, would be the point of no return. In his mind, if he could stay safely tucked away, buried in work at his desk, then the world could pass him by. It was denial. The fear was in his voice. Morgan had heard it and seen it before in others. The fat little bastard wasn't going to budge. Morgan's temper simmered. Through the windows he could see the plumes of dust trailing the rebel trucks growing in size, closer and closer. If Turner wouldn't move, then Morgan would move him. He headed straight for Turner, threatening, intimidating.

Turner recoiled. But in his position, even more so as the General Manager of Alga Creek Mining in Malfajiri, he was not about to be rushed by the know-it-all, glorified policeman. Oh yes, Turner knew he was there to snoop. But there were things that Morgan must not discover. He already appeared to be far too inquisitive. Turner had to maintain control, tighten the leash, and let Morgan know who was boss.

Morgan was upon him.

"Listen, Turner. You've had months to prepare for this. You all knew this coup would happen; it was just a matter of when." Morgan grabbed the man's collar, pulling Turner close until their faces were just inches apart.

"Everybody and everything that wasn't nailed down has been salvaged or taken back to Cullentown. There's nothing left here now except you, and those people out there waiting for you. We're out of time. See for your self!" Morgan spun Turner on his axis and forced him to look out of the window.

"Fine!" Turner snapped. "I'll finish deleting what I have to and then we'll go," he spat, shaking, avoiding Morgan's eyes. "But rest assured, Major Morgan, I will be making a formal complaint via the appropriate channels in the Foreign Office the moment I return to London. You're a thug. I will see to it ..."

A deafening explosion shook the building, wrenching a great gaping hole through the concrete and metal at the far end. Sparks spewed from walls torn open by the blast, and instantly, long arms of wild cabling punched out into the open, smoking breach. Shattered office furniture and huge chunks of wall and roof Bew in every direction. Morgan and Turner were hurled to the ground by the blast, showered by shards of glass and debris as they fell, narrowly escaping the path of a filing cabinet as it sailed over them, crashing hard into the wall behind their heads.

"Jesus Christ!" Turner shrieked, petrified, "What's happening?" "Mortars!" Morgan yelled. "There'll already be more in the air."

Morgan was on his feet. "Right, move or I'll leave you here."

"But..." Turner howled, cowering on the Boor, an angry gash spilling blood across his brow and into his eyes, "they can't get their hands on this ..."

The Puma was turning and burning outside, waiting for them. Morgan pounced at Turner and launched him through the door.

"I'll take care of your bloody computer. You get on that chopper now!" He watched as the short, fat, balding Turner stumbled and fell repeatedly, fumbling to retrieve his tortoise shell round-framed glasses from the Boor before hurtling headlong for the doorway, unleashing a torrent of obscenities back at Morgan as he retreated. Turner clutched at the carry strap of the laptop case, dragging it behind him like a kite that wouldn't fly. Morgan turned to the PC, somehow he knew that he would regret destroying it. Destroying what? Turner's secrets? Evidence? But there just wasn't time. At least there was still the laptop. Raising the barrel of his AKM he emptied a burst directly into the CPU, disintegrating it instantly.

Crump! Crump! Crump!

One explosion, then another, and another scored direct hits on the building and vehicle compound, sending more debris and a volley of white hot shrapnel straight for Morgan. The former paratrooper dropped and rolled under the remains of Turner's abandoned oak desk. Waves of glass, debris and furniture hurtled about the wreckage of the room, missing him as he sheltered on the floor. The explosions ignited fires, and in seconds the flames engulfed the vehicles outside and most of the ruined headquarters. Fuel tanks on the abandoned trucks and four-wheel drives erupted, catapulting the vehicles high into the air before gravity threw them back down into crumpled heaps against the building and across the endless expanse of red dirt that surrounded the complex.