"This is One. Heads up everybody." His pulse racing and venom surging through his veins, Morgan calmly whispered his observations into the miniature radio microphone on his collar. "Old man standing next to Cornell. Baseball cap, grey short hair - the grey's fake - dark blue spray jacket, jeans and brown boots. This is our guy. Victor Lundt. Wanted by INTERPOL. Usually armed. Very dangerous. Acknowledge."
Immediately and in predetermined order, the members of the police team returned their acknowledgment. Morgan listened to the reassuring crackle of each response.
"Two, seen." "Three, seen." "Four, seen." The three officers in the park had each pinpointed Lundt, and would now track his every move and every inch of the area surrounding him.
"Great. Stay put. Let's see what he's up to. Five, can you update me on those Malfas?"
Morgan dared not take his eyes off lundt, in case the man's appearance turned out to be nothing more than wishful thinking.
Again, the earpiece crackled: "This is Five." It was Stojakovic. "They're 20 feet from the end of the lake, but they've just slowed right down. Looks like they're sussing something out. I'll pull back a bit."
* * *
Lundt was sizing up his surrounds, looking for danger.
He felt suddenly exposed, and was instantly on guard. He didn't trust Johnson, not that he trusted anybody, but with all that had happened, he wouldn't put it past Johnson to be planning a hit to take him out. Everything now smelled of a set-up.
Lundt's dichromatic, gun-barrel eyes fixed on Cornell.
Fuck it! Lundt thought. He would take it easy to start, to avoid any confrontation that would draw attention. He wanted it nice and simple, so, if he had ro, he could act before anybody realised he'd done it. Bur, first sign of trouble and he'd take Cornell out, right here in the middle of fucking Sydney; give the Aussie coppers something to shit themselves about. Today was the day.
Lundt gave the silenced nine-millimetre Walther P99 an imperceptible but reassuring squeeze within the pocket of his jacket. Then he turned completely around in a sweeping circular motion, taking in the immediate vicinity, ensuring his safety precautions were in place - his back-up crew - one, two and, he looked around, yes, three, just as he'd arranged. Satisfied, he turned to Cornell.
"How's it going?" Lundt asked hospitably.
"Well, thank you," replied Cornell nervously, his teeth clenched around a cigarette that danced as he spoke. "We finally meet."
"No shit, Sherlock." Lundt couldn't believe he was having to play along with the charade. Did this wannabe chav who had stumbled into a very tough game actually believe they had business to attend to? Lundt scanned his surrounds in every direction. Once he was satisfied that everything was kosher, he'd lure Cornell away to a conveniently discreet spot where he'd do away with him and the girl. Although, killing her was going to be a real waste.
'I'm not sure how this is supposed to work," said Cornell. He was fidgeting, patting his pockets for a cigarette. "All this cloak and dagger stuff, as it were." He extracted a pack from his pants pocket and tapped one out.
"You've already got one going, you daft twat," said Lundt. "Sorry?"
Lundt nodded towards the half-smoked cigarette already in Cornell's mouth. He knew something was amiss. Trouble had arrived; he could taste it. His face became tight.
"Did you come here alone?" Lundt demanded urgently, through clenched teeth.
"Of course," Cornell lied. His eyes darted about the park, bravado gone.
Lundt caught Cornell's pained expression and read that he was looking for back-up. A phone buzzed within the folds of Lundt's jacket. Fuck! Rummaging, he angrily pulled the phone out from its burrow, his senses alert, predatory eyes scrutinising the immediate territory for the threat. His other hand closed tightly around the concealed P99.
* * *
What the hell's going on? Morgan was eager but concerned.
He'd made a positive visual ID of Lundt, and knew the police were now taking high-resolution photographs of Lundt, Cornell and the Malfajirians approaching from the north. Digital images would already be on their way through to INTERPOL.
It was a dangerous time. The principal characters had gathered and the first scene was underway. It was important to stick to the plan. It was, after all, still technically a surveillance operation, designed to draw Lundt out into the open before arresting him elsewhere - somewhere safely out of the public domain. Too late, however, Morgan saw everything change.
Lundt was looking around like an animal who knew the cage door was about to be clanged shut.
"OK, everybody," it was Stojakovic, tailing the Malfajirian group. "My guy is definitely in on this. He's approaching Lundt. Jesus! Guns! The M alfas are tooled up..."