Defender(72)

'I'm pretty sure that's the way they would have played him."

"So, we push him some more. Bring him in and shake him up a bit. Shouldn't take much effort to get him to talk. This time, he can do some good. Where is he?"

"Boarded a plane for Australia this morning."

"Damn it!" Morgan exclaimed, exasperated. Then he sized up the expression on Davenport's face. "You're letting him go, expecting he'll lead us to Lundt."

"And flush out Johnson in the process. We need to coax Victor Lundt out from whatever rock he's hiding under. I've convinced Hutton and Ashcroft-James to pull back and let Cornell fly the coop so I can use him."

"Right, Sir," Morgan said emphatically. "When do I leave?"

"You're on the last flight out this evening. Your confederate, Commander Sutherland, is already en route," Davenport gave a conspiratorial smile.

"Left this morning. Same flight as Cornell, I believe. Sutherland's recovering from knee surgery, but can still make himself useful. He'll set up the necessary arrangements and meet you when you arrive."

"I'd best get cracking." Morgan stood to leave.

"Just a moment, Alex." Davenport returned to the file he'd been reading. "There's more."

"Sir?" Morgan resumed his seat.

"During the Scotland Yard surveillance of Cornell, we managed to positively identify the SIS agents who had been following him. However, there was one face we struggled to identify. Violet Ashcroft-James had a look, realised who it was, and thought it to be an important development. Perhaps you may recognise her?" the General said, with a raised eyebrow.

Davenport spun a couple of colour images around. Morgan's heart stopped.

Arena was snapped sitting alone at a table by the window of a pub. In another, she was leaving the premises, pulling on a coat. Wearing a beige fitted angora twin-set, a tight black skirt and knee-high black suede boots, Arena's blonde hair and crystal blue eyes were unmistakable. A note below the image said: The Duke, Richmond. The date indicated it was taken two nights ago. She looked lost, troubled, spectacular.

Morgan hadn't seen or heard from Ari since they'd said goodbye in Spain, and he'd stewed about it ever since. Now, without a word, here she was in London. But wrapped up in all this? God knows, he'd wanted to track her down, but that wasn't possible. He was an INTREPID agent and no matter what may have developed, it had happened on a mission and the chance of there being any future to it . . . well, he had to put that idea right out of his mind.

Just then, his BlackBerry burred in his jacket pocket. He checked it.

The red envelope icon told him he had mail.





CHAPTER 46





Belgravia, London





Abraham Johnson, senior civil servant, Companion of the Order of St Michael and St George, and Acting Director General at the Foreign Office, walked back into to the private study of his London residence. The family home was in Exeter. The children were at university there.

Johnson dropped heavily into the plush leather seat at his desk and waited . His gaze fell upon the dark green folder emblazoned with the national emblem of Malfajiri sitting ominously in the centre of the desk. Inside, page upon page chronicled the sequence of events that had resulted in the attempted overthrow of that country. However, the erratic leadership of the rebel leader, Baptiste, was counter to The Renegade Group's original intentions for Malfajiri, specifically the establishment of a stable and enduring government to function in part nership with Renegade. Consideration now turned to an alternate President with plans progressing to arrange a resurgence in rebel violence, ultimately leading to the execution of Baptiste and the return of the exiled, much-feared former President, Doctor Patrice T. Siziba. On assuming the Presidency, Siziba would ensure certain considerations would, as the contract detailed, be made in favour of the Renegade Group of Companies, of which he, Johnson, was a silent partner, although the silence of his association with the Renegade Group did not in any way reflect the extent of his financial interests, which were considerable.

The opportunity to secure the rights to the exploration of oil, gas, copper and gold in key untapped sites throughout Malfajiri would more than make up for the recent setbacks. And while Malfajiri was not totally lost to Renegade, there was no chance of regaining traction without new leadership. Not for a while, at least, and not without drawing attention.

A resurgence of violence and the replacement of Baptiste would be the ideal opportunity for Johnson to redeem himself in the eyes of the Renegade board, that is, the real board, the one that sat well behind, but very much in control of, the public face of the corporation. Johnson thumbed through the file. Latest assessments of oil and gas reserves indicated a potential yield four times greater than original estimates. Success would confirm his appointment to that silent board.