Defender(68)

"So, Miss Halls," he began finally. He raised his eyes from the file and fixed his empty stare upon her. "The recent task I set you after your return from Africa, to keep a discreet eye on that deplorable creature from our International Security and Institutions branch, did you mention it to anybody?"

"Well no," she replied indignantly. "Of course not. I..."

"When I brought you into my confidence and bestowed upon you the great opportunity to do some field time and build some much-needed credibility, I made it clear that you were not to mention it to another soul. To do so would put the entire INTERPOL operation and potentially thousands of lives at risk. You do recall that conversation?"

Halls was bristling with rage. How dare this pompous Iago accuse her of mouthing off like some giggly schoolgirl desperate to broadcast her first secret.

"Mr. Johnson," she started, "at no time have I betrayed your confidence.

I admit that I was initially puzzled by your direction that I follow one of our own people, despite the apparent benefits to my experience." Arena was fighting to control her temper, but she had to tread very carefully around Abraham Johnson. "I have not discussed those duties or any of the issues associated with my duties in Malfajiri with any person outside this office." Arena had chosen her words carefully, for she still considered William Evans to be very much 'this office'.

Johnson glowered. How much did she know? Did she come across anything in Malfajiri about his association with Lundt or Cornell, or even Turner?

The assassination attempt on Namakobo had been an unmitigated disaster. The man had lived and was now a hero in exile. There was even talk of an intervention force being raised by neighbouring African nations to throw out Baptiste, followed by a full complement of UN troops and administrators to maintain the peace. Peace!

The plan was in tatters and time was of the essence. Johnson's masters, his real masters, were not happy. He could feel a noose about his neck growing tighter and tighter with every second. They were expecting action, and Johnson was expected to deliver. To make matters worse, the first breath of a scandal had already whispered its way from the Palace of Westminster. It was clear that the 'what' was already widely known, the 'who' was yet to be established, but the 'when' was inevitable. The path that led to him was becoming far too well-travelled.

He had to distance himself from all of it, to establish an out clause shielding him from suspicion, but still he had to ensure that the plan to install an appropriately aligned President in Malfajiri got back on course before the UN stepped in. Time was of the essence. Baptiste would have to go. A new face was required. Johnson could not afford to fail.

But now there was the more immediate problem of this meddling little bitch whom, he realised, he had seriously underestimated. If there was to be any hope of keeping things on track in Malfajiri, there were things that needed to be done to contain the fallout from the coup and the assassination attempt against Namakobo. And those were things that Mr. Lundt would have to do. Since the coup, it had been agreed that Lundt would remain invisible to enable him the freedom to move, as and when required. Turner had already been dispatched, and arrangements had been made to squirrel the hapless Cornell out of the country. His fate awaited him in Australia. Perhaps Lundt could kill two birds with one stone.

"You are certain?" Johnson asked absently, not ready to believe her, but now not caring either way.

"Absolutely certain, Sir." Cur, she thought.

"Very well." The idea cemented in his mind. Johnson stood and sauntered over to his window. "Mr. Cornell has left on an unauthorised absence," he lied. "He boarded a flight for Australia this morning. Do what you need to do, but get after him. I want to know about every move he makes and every person he speaks to. We will communicate in the usual way. Your detailed instructions will be available by the time you arrive. I want you Sydney-bound tonight."

"But..."

"Not a word, Miss Halls. Not a word to another soul. Ifyou mess this up, you can consider yourself finished. Permanently."

Arena stiffened. She stood in silence and straightened her jacket.

As she stood, her eyes raced across the assortment of things strewn across Johnson's desk. There was something familiar, yet out of place. Something she had seen before, nestled amongst the scattered papers and files. What was it?

That's it! There was just enough showing for her to make out the letterhead with its distinctive logo tucked away beneath some official documents. Something she wasn't supposed to see. But she had. Now it was all starting to make sense.

Arena Halls walked out without another word.