Defender(67)

Turner's blood, conjured by a racing heart, was rising up from his shoulders and chest like a creeping vine. His neck and round head looked ready to burst. "You can't be serious!" he said. "I wouldn't do that. There's no point. It would ruin everything."

"You're doing alright, Turner. I've got half the world after me and you're living down here in the lap of luxury. How much did you spend on this place?"

"It's not mine. I've leased it. Lying low 'til things cool down. That's what we agreed ..."

"Lying low! You call this lying low? You've got a brand new Bentley sitting down there in the courtyard. You've got servants waiting on you hand and foot. You've got whores on tap. You stupid git, you've got everything but the Goodyear blimp overhead flashing: TURNER IS HERE! You couldn't flash any more money around if you wanted to. Are you trying to advertise your ill-gotten gains? I've made you a very wealthy man, Turner. But whether you've deliberately sold me out or not, you're leaving a trail ten miles wide. Eventually, people like your friend Morgan, if he's still alive, are going to follow you all the way to me."

"Why would I sell you out? All this work, all the hell you've put me through. I didn't put up with that for nothing! It's Cornell. Of course! He must have broken, talked. Been caught by the Police. Has to be him." Turner could see that no matter what he said, it wasn't making a scintilla of difference. "God, come on! If I've been careless, I'll move. Another country. Anything. Just tell me what to do."

"It's too late for that, Turner," Lundt snapped. "My personal security has sprung a leak that'd sink a battleship, and you and a couple of others are going to patch it up for me."

"OK. Tell me." Ttlrner's face was creased with stress. His lips were pursed and his breathing laboured through tightly clenched teeth. "What do I need to do?"

"You've done enough. I made my decision before I arrived tonight. But don't worry. I don't expect you to shoulder all the blame." Lundt's eyes were cold, level. "Cornell's going to get a visit, too."

The discussion was over. Turner's heart raced. Jesus! Blood pumped from his foot as his hands opened, appealing to the man he now knew was about to kill him.

"How much, Lundt?" he spat. Visibly shaking, Turner leaned forward. "How much? Just tell me what it will take to make you walk away and I'll make it happen. Money? That's all you're interested in anyway. I can disappear. No one needs to know."

Without warning, Turner was cut short. Lundt stood, took one deliberate pace forward, closed the gap between them in a split second and swung his right hand in a violent backhanded swoop. Still carrying the Glock, Lundt's right hand was a block of iron and, catching Turner directly under his right cheek, the blow forced him over the armrest of the chair.

Turner rocked sideways in his seat. His face pounded from the force of sudden impact and his vision became a tunnel of stars. He clawed at his throbbing cheek, searching for Lundt through a kaleidoscope of fireflies when another crushing blow, this time from a booted foot, hit him squarely over the heart. The force toppled his chair, sending him into a heap on the floor.

Lundt was upon him in a flash, slamming his foot down hard on Turner's neck, pmning him naked to the floor. Lundt held his gun arm straight, the line of the barrel and silencer tracing a direct line, straight for Turner's exposed right temple.

"Any last requests?" Lundt sneered.

"No!" Turner tried to cry out, his voice garbled as Lundt's foot pushed his face harder into the floor.

"Fair enough." Lundt squeezed the trigger. The round punched through Turner's temple.





CHAPTER 43





London





Arena Halls sat anxiously across from Johnson.

His manner had been decidedly cold ever since she'd arrived outside his office at 8a.m. sharp. He'd left her sitting in the waiting area near his secretary's station for 40 minutes. A cheap tactic, she thought, designed to intimidate. As his secretary came in and out of his office without any hint that Johnson was ready to see her, Arena remained outwardly impassive, yet kicking her heels.

Now opposite him, she conjured all the revulsion that she harboured for the man, and felt herself strangely empowered by it. She watched his head bent over a file, his ridiculously dyed purple-black hair thinning at the crown, his disreg:ird palpable.

What was it that Mr. Evans had said yesterday when she had taken the day off to visit him, and raise her concerns about Johnson? Oh yes, Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look. It was true. Johnson was a dangerous man and she knew he would bite the hand that fed him without compunction. Of course, she could never admit to visiting her ailing Chief at his home on her day off. That would make things even worse, if that were possible. Johnson was obviously rattled by the avuncular nature of Evans's relationship with her.