Defender: Intrepid 1 Page 8

  An hour later, they’d fulfilled their responsibilities to the dead and were back on the chopper.

  Kruger was a skilled pilot. Leaving the jungle behind, he flew with such effortlessness over the vast landscape, bathed in the blood red of the setting sun, that he might have been driving a car through a country town on an easy Saturday night. Fredericks took the opportunity to brief Morgan and Ari on who the key players were back in the mining town, and how they may try to obstruct Morgan as he readied them all for the evacuation.

  Pallarup would be Morgan’s port of entry into the Chiltonford machine; it was there that the company had centered operations for the duration of their deployment in Malfajiri, supporting the massive Alga Creek Mining Corporation’s remote African outpost. Morgan knew that when he finally arrived at Pallarup, he would likely be confronted by panic and confusion. Other than Fredericks, who’d been nothing but professional and clearly welcoming of a spare pair of hands, he’d yet to meet any of the Chiltonford crew or Alga Creek employees, so he decided to err on the side of caution and prepare for the worst.

  CHAPTER 16

  The plan to kill President Namakobo was basic. It had to be.

  While there had been planning, and it had been elaborate, it was by those who believed there would be time to organize, recruit and prepare. There were plenty of ways to assassinate the president, and many willing to do it among those loyal to Baptiste.

  A martyr dying a glorious death in a spectacular explosion would send Namakobo to hell, the willing sacrificial lamb to his virgins, and the triumphant Baptiste to the presidency. An assassin’s bullet, with discipline, meticulous timing, and the precision of perfect flight, would catch the unsuspecting Namakobo right between the eyes without him ever having heard the shot. Or it could be poison administered by a trusted aide or associate – a cold and intimate murder, akin to slipping a blade between the ribs of a brother, forcing the slender silver steel in, up to the hilt, watching the life withdraw from the eyes of the victim.

  Such was the inveigling flavor of the great Baptiste’s call to his willing, mindless flock. Incredibly, there was no shortage of sheep ready to pay the ultimate sacrifice for their fearless shepherd. Stupid bastards, thought Lundt amid his latest musings on the blind fervor of Baptiste’s followers. If only they knew.

  While the more senseless, extravagant options held great appeal for Baptiste – keen to capitalize on making Namakobo’s death a glorious transition of power to the rightful leader – Lundt would not entertain them. It wasn’t in his makeup to do so. He had endured countless hours of Baptiste’s cocaine-induced exhortations and rants, foretelling Namakobo’s death in visions. Of the hundreds he had heard, Lundt recalled Baptiste’s fantasies of the president dying by a bomb, gun or poison, as the most likely to succeed.

  And so, as the time for planning a spectacular death had passed, and excess had fallen into place behind economy, Lundt issued his instructions.

  There would be a primary and a backup.

  Both would be blunt.

  Both would be ugly.

  He wondered again about the two new arrivals from London. Whoever they were, they were too late to stop anything.

  CHAPTER 17

  Alex Morgan looked at his watch, a battered old Tag Heuer he’d had since he was a lieutenant. It was 3pm on his first day at Pallarup and the place resembled a massive three-ring circus being dismantled, ready for the road trip to the next town. But in this case, most of the gear would be staying; only the people and critical communications equipment would be moving on. He took off his sunglasses, wiped the sweat from his eyes with the bottom of his T-shirt and turned back to help a couple of the expats and local staff who were struggling to dismantle a HF radio antennae that wasn’t coming down without a fight.

  Half an hour earlier, Morgan had wrapped up a few hours of training with the staff, running them through a series of arduous but necessary exercises to prepare for an emergency evacuation.

  Embarkation and disembarkation drills in and out of the helicopter were exhausting in their repetition but, for the mostly uninitiated group of civilians, absolutely critical if they were to be ready to operate under pressure. When the moment came to evacuate, Morgan had told them, it would arrive without notice and they would have no time to waste. He’d ended the session with a final: “Everybody hold up your passports and personal information cards!” He tugged his from the lanyard under his shirt and held it high above his head by way of example. Satisfied that they all had their own, he said. “From here on, they stay with you – and I mean ‘on your person’ – until you get home.”

  “Alex! Got a minute?” It was Fredericks, calling out from the cabin of one of the Chiltonford Land Rovers as it braked to a sudden halt in a cloud of red dust. He clambered out, heading straight to Morgan.

  “Sure,” Morgan responded with a grunt, as he managed to release a cable tie from a piton in the ground. The men around him let out a much-relieved howl of approval. The obstinate cable tie had been the one point in dismantling the antennae assembly that had been halting progress.

  “My guy in town tells me there’s been a lot going on since we flew up here yesterday.”

  “What?” asked Morgan. “Trouble already?”

  “You could say that,” Fredericks answered. “The Defense Minister was hacked to death at his home last night – he’d just finished dinner and, apparently, answered a loud banging on his front door. They used machetes and tomahawks.”

  “Jesus,” Morgan hissed.

  “Later, a couple of cops pulled over a car under their curfew stop-and-search powers, and were shot for their troubles, point blank in a street full of people. Nobody saw a thing.” Fredericks’s voice was low.

  “Sounds like frayed nerves,” said Morgan. “Rebel foot soldiers waiting to get off the leash. Losing control.”

  “You got it.” Fredericks nodded. “I reckon we’ve got less than twenty-four hours before this thing goes down.”

  “How reliable is your man?” asked Morgan.

  “You don’t have to worry about Adam Garrett,” Fredericks answered bluntly. “Ex-Royal Marine, sergeant major. I’ve sent him ahead to liaise with the US Navy over the evacuation plan and to prepare our staging point at the hotel. He’s a good man.”

  “OK. So, what else has he said?”

  “Well, over the past two days there’s also been movement out of the city by more Malfajirian Army officers known to be loyal to Baptiste. They’ve been abandoning their military posts and heading to the hills to join the rebels.”

  “Subtle,” Morgan said.

  “That’s not the worst of it,” Fredericks continued. “The rebels have been establishing forming-up positions at strategic locations all over the country. Take a look at this.”

  Fredericks extracted a well-used map of Malfajiri from the side pocket of his Canadian Army-issue combat pants. He dropped to one knee, Morgan following suit. Fredericks spread the map out on the ground and began directing Morgan’s attention to key points marked upon the map’s plastic cover.

  “Well, there’s some real experience behind this plan, that’s for sure,” Morgan said. “They’re preparing to launch.”

  “I agree, bud.” Fredericks started drawing imaginary lines around the areas identified by Garrett as the launch points for the rebel coup. “This group’s headed for the television and radio stations out to the north of the capital. This group is poised to take the airport and army garrison there, and this one to the west will take the port. And these guys,” Fredericks indicated, “are headed for the power station and the water supply out east.”

  “The power station and dam are within spitting distance of here,” Morgan noted. “There’s only about twenty miles separating us.”

  “You said it.”

  “Any idea how many men Baptiste has out there?”

  “Can’t be certain, but Garrett reckons one hundred plus.” Fredericks was grave. “That’s a company worth of troops on our doorstep.
”

  “It’s not a stretch to expect they’ll take the dam pretty easily, seize control of the country’s power supply, leave a small contingent to secure it and then head north, straight to us. Any more good news?”

  “Like I said, bud, twenty-four hours tops.”

  Morgan turned his attention back to the groups of expat and local staff as they all scampered around the site, getting everything together ahead of the evacuation order. He noticed a number of the expats offering personal effects to the local staff who had run the domestic arrangements at Pallarup, some for many years; they would not be evacuated. Strong ties had been formed and the prospect of leaving behind friends to an uncertain future was the source of much distress on both sides. “We better get this lot to wrap up and then get ’em fed before the kitchen gets shut down for good. Then they can rest before our final evacuation briefing tonight.”

  *

  Arena Halls hadn’t found anything even remotely suspicious among the mountains of files and paperwork she’d been poring over for most of the afternoon.

  She’d managed to discreetly peel herself away from the main group at the end of Morgan’s evacuation training session and had made her way to the head office complex under the pretense of checking on personnel files, specifically to check for any medical conditions that could cause problems during the evacuation.

  Now she found herself thinking of Alex Morgan.

  While, on first meeting, she’d thought that he might be arrogant, more contact had shown her that his experience and knowledge were obvious but understated, with not a hint of the bravado or egotism she’d expected. He’d been respectful and empathetic toward the expats, every last one of them, throughout the training. He wasn’t obnoxious or condescending and he had a very natural way of imbuing them with a sense of confidence in him and in the knowledge that he would get them out alive.

  Absently, she pulled out another filing cabinet drawer, but this time too hard. With a loud clatter of loose roller wheels and slides, the drawer, heavy with files, crashed to a stop as it slid out. “Damn it!” she exclaimed.

  “You should take it easy on those filing cabinets, Ms Halls,” came an amused voice from behind her. “Turner’s likely to invoice you for damages, you know.”

  “Oh shit,” she said. “Where the bloody hell did you come from?”

  Morgan was sitting languidly a few feet away, legs resting on top of a nearby desk, arms folded across his chest.

  “I needed a few minutes to take a load off and I just happened to come in here … and there you were. How lucky am I!”

  “Lucky? Lucky, how?” Ari responded, startled.

  “Well, coming in here,” Morgan smiled broadly, “and finding you.”

  “Are you action-man types always this …” she paused for a moment.

  “Interesting?” Morgan offered.

  “Obvious,” she corrected. “There is a war about to start.”

  “Doesn’t mean we have to drop basic courtesy, does it?” Morgan swung his legs from the desk, straightened himself and walked toward her. “So, anyway, what are you up to?”

  “Oh.” She had been expecting someone might ask her that question but, coming from him, she felt slightly rattled. Ari was caught between the professional objectives Johnson had set for her to support Morgan, albeit without Morgan’s knowledge, and a surprising realisation that she must fend off any personal connection between them, which, she knew, was a distinct possibility. After all, his manner was disarming, he was respectful – once she’d made it clear she wasn’t a pushover, and, bottom line, he was also pretty scrumptious in a reckless, dangerous way. No, she told herself. No! Career first. “Just checking through personnel files, looking for any medical conditions that might cause us some problems on the evacuation. You know, heart conditions, epilepsy, that kind of thing.”

  “Can’t you just ask them? It must be a huge pain in the ass to plow through all those files.”

  “I’m a stranger to these people, major. Our experience is that when people are under pressure and all they want to do is escape danger, they’re more likely to conceal a condition than volunteer it. Now, we won’t be leaving any of them behind, but there’ll be at least one among them who will be so paranoid about an ailment that they’d already have convinced themselves that we will leave them if it means saving the others. This way, we’ll know who to keep an eye on. Make your job easier, that’s for sure.”

  “Well, nobody can say you’re not thorough,” he said. “So, how are you coping with all this? You OK?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Jesus, stop being so considerate, she thought. “I’m holding up OK, I suppose. Like everybody, though, I have no idea what to expect when this coup happens. Any more news?”

  Morgan had moved closer to her now, very close. He had perched on the edge of a desk just inches from her, sitting quietly, watching her with an intensity she would normally have associated with a predatory animal gauging its prey. But, in this case, she knew she wasn’t prey and somehow, his quiet strength gave her comfort, even made her feel safe.

  “There is news, Ari,” he said. “But, it’s not good I’m afraid.”

  “Oh God,” she said. “How long do we have?”

  CHAPTER 18

  “Carnage in London today, as explosions and machine-gun fire rocked the streets of Mayfair …”

  “Hey, turn that up, would you?” Morgan called over the top of the chaos of the Alga Creek mine site office as the expats and local staff prepared to evacuate. Judging by the news, Morgan thought, the moment had come.

  He left the table at the back of the large open-plan office where he and Fredericks had been going over the mine site layout and various maps of Malfajiri, Cullentown and Pallarup. The two had been meticulous in their planning. Morgan would coordinate the extraction from Pallarup to ensure that no one was left behind, and all operating systems were shut down – permanently. He would be last out. Fredericks would go out on the first chopper and receive each sortie as it arrived at the rendezvous and coordinate the onward movement of the expat staff onto US Navy helicopters and, ultimately, to a US Navy aircraft carrier. The RV would be the Francis Hotel, which Fredericks was familiar with.

  Morgan snaked his way through the desks, chairs and filing cabinets to join the cluster of staff who had been drawn to the BBC World coverage of a developing incident in London. It didn’t take long to realize that the actions occurring thousands of miles away in central London were about to have a shattering impact on each and every one of them, frozen in front of a television screen on the edge of Africa.

  The reporter continued: “… the attack began when two vehicles rammed the motorcade of visiting head of state, Dr Namakobo, the president of Malfajiri. Both exploded on impact. We cross live to BBC World reporter …”

  Morgan stood shoulder to shoulder with the staff. The frosty reception he had received on arrival the night before had almost thawed. He understood the reticence among them to become involved or even be civil toward him: he was third in a line of men who had apparently been sent out to protect them. The first two, for reasons unknown, had suddenly gone “off the reservation”, never to return. If only they knew.

  Morgan was certain that Ari’s presence, her effervescent and naturally easy manner with everybody, had helped immeasurably. He knew that he’d been accepted, albeit reluctantly, since his arrival as a direct result of his apparent association with her, based purely on the fact that they’d arrived together. Whatever it takes. He smiled to himself. He stole a look away from the screen, searching for her face in the cramped confines, looking for those fabulous blue eyes. He had been so engrossed in his deliberations that he’d lost track of her. She was obviously off doing whatever it was that she was here to do. What was she here to do? He wasn’t convinced by the Red Cross story at all. Maybe she was an auditor from Alga Creek. Given the job of doing the final due diligence before the place collapsed. Who knew?

  It occurred to him that there were still a c
ouple of people who had remained fractious toward him, most particularly the site manager, Maxwell Turner. Could be something there, Morgan thought. Was it just a deliberate intent to shut him out, or a pig-headed attempt to control turf? Morgan caught sight of him. He was short and balding, sweating profusely and mopping at it with a brightly coloured bandanna clutched in his fist. He was standing in front of the staff, closest to the television, in everyone else’s way, staring at the images on the news with an expression that Morgan couldn’t decipher. But for the mustache, Morgan was reminded of Richard Attenborough in the role of serial killer John Christie in the old movie 10 Rillington Place.

  “… As the explosions subsided, a group of armed men emerged from the surrounding buildings and began firing deliberately and indiscriminately into the motorcade with automatic weapons and throwing grenades. At least four people are believed dead, including – we understand – two of Mr. Namakobo’s personal security detail. An unknown number of others are injured and wreckage remains strewn across the streets of Mayfair. Sources close to the Malfajirian Embassy have blamed Le Conseil de la Liberation des Peuples Africains – the Council for the Liberation of African People – led by the renegade self-proclaimed colonel, Jean-Claude Baptiste. We understand that Dr Namakobo has been taken to an undisclosed medical facility. His condition is unknown …”

  *

  With leaden fingers, Ari tapped frantically across the keys of Turner’s notebook. Her eyes glued intently to the flickering screen, she felt lightheaded, her vision had tunneled and her breathing had become shallow. On impulse, she lifted her fingers from the keyboard and found that they were shaking. She raised a hand to her chest and placed the other slowly down to grasp the edge of the desk. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take a series of slow, deep breaths. She knew from her self-defense classes that her body’s primal “fight or flight” instinct had kicked in. She was scared, petrified of being discovered.