Defender (29 page)

"Yeah, Dave, and a drink?" "You got it. Oh, and Alex..."

"Yes, mare," Morgan picked up his atrache case and turned back to Sutherland as a porter came and collected his luggage.

"I told Arena you were due in this afternoon," Sutherland said. "So, she's expecting you, and even seemed keen to see you. Must be something wrong with her after all. Anyway, she's pretty shook up about being sent out here by Johnson like a sitting duck. So, go easy. You and I both know that Celtic convict blood of yours has a tendency towards a fiery disposirion."

"Anybody home?" Morgan tapped lightly on the door of room 109.

Inside, there was a shuffle of sounds. A teacup being placed back on a saucer, a remote grappled, music turned down. A muffled cough, a few seconds of silence. Then, the door opened and, instantly, it was as if everything stopped and the two faces staring at each other through the sliver of the partially open door were the only two faces within 1000 miles. Morgan stood transfixed, absorbing the collection of things that encircled his view: the number on the door, the access-card reader on the wall, the room furnishings. And in the centre of it all, the same dazzling smile and ocean blue eyes he bid farewell weeks ago on the other side of the

world, looked up and held him.

"Hello, you," she said eventually, her voice soft and gentle. Arena too was studying his eyes; the familiar deep pools of green and brown with the dark specks that were the chapter references
to
his life. "Am I allowed a hug?"

"Well, I'm not sure that's such a good idea," he said lamely. "It's important that..."

Arena opened the door fully, stepped forward, grasped him by the lapels of his coat, pulled him into her room and threw her arms around him. Morgan gazed into her eyes moistening with tears. He leaned down into her and circled his arms around her waist as she closed around him instantly. Her hands flicked through the hair that sat on his collar, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing her face against his. He'd forgotten how good she felt, and immersed himself in the physical sensation of her body pushed up hard against his. Arena stood on her toes and nestled herself into his neck. Morgan smelled her hair and tightened his hold. She responded. Her thighs inched forward until she was completely pressed against him.
It
lasted just a few more seconds, but it was enough. Their bodies perfectly aligned, meshed, neither wanting to let go.

"So good to see you," she whispered.

"You too," Morgan replied, breathing in again. "Ari, I..."

Slowly, she peeled herself away, but remained close, looking up at him. Her arms were still clasped about his neck. She straightened his collar. Morgan did not want the moment, the contact, to end. He kept his hands around her waist and held her gaze.

"What are you grinning about, Morgan?" she asked.

"Nothing," he smiled. "Just well, you look spectacular. There, I've said it."

She beamed back at him and slowly released her grip. She took him by

the hand, closing the hotel door behind them. The moment had passed, but was not lost.

The room was furnished in standard four-star fare, Morgan noted, as they settled on a comfortable sofa. A ri was fluffing about distractedly with various bits of female paraphernalia scattered close by, before finally curling her legs up under her at the other end of the same sofa. Morgan noticed a copy of
The Count of Monte Cristo
on the side table. He'd once told her it was his favourite. Arena Halls remained as beautiful and inscrutable as he had remembered.

She wore lightweight grey track shorts and a fitted pale pink t-shirt with what looked like a 50's image stretched tightly across her breasts. Her feet were in anklet sports socks and she wore no jewelry or make-up.

"Don't they let you wear anything else?" she chided, gesturing at his suit. "It must get pretty uncomfortable, especially for someone who prefers jeans."

"Ah, nice of you to remember. I am working, you know." Morgan saw her bristle. Did he intend that as a barb? He tried to recover. "I always keep jeans within easy reach."
It
didn't work.

"Alex..." She shifted on the sofa and, gathering her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them. "There've been things happening in my life. Not just work things. Personal things."

"You don't have to explain," he said. "I get it. Wrong time, wrong place. Happens to lots of people."

"It's not like that, Alex." She could see that he wanted to know, but he was clearly not in the right frame of mind. Things had been so incredible with him in Spain, so perfect. He had been kind, thoughtful. But then it was time to go back home, back to work, back to her life before Malfajiri, before Alex Morgan. "There are things you should know, but not now. With everything else that's been going on - Malfajiri, Johnson, this man Cornell, gun-runners, all the death and destruction..." The tears formed rivulets upon the soft down of her cheeks and she clutched her knees even more tightly to her body. "It's all too much. In the middle of it all, you came into my life. And even that's complicated. You're a bloody INTREPID agent. For God's sake! I can't understand why this is happening. I need time to make sense of it all, but time isn't something I have right now. I have to be here, stuck in the middle of all this. Can you try to understand?"

Morgan sat quietly, watching her. Listening intently, not something he was usually good at. He was biting back the frustration from the past weeks. He'd been such an idiot, allowing his deep feelings for her to cloud his view of the big picture, and to cloud his view of her. Was it a selfish yearning for a normal life? A desire to settle and forget about the solitary, cat-and-mouse life he had embarked upon? Probably, he thought. An element at least. But, no. It was more, much more than that.
It
was Ari.

The tears were rolling freely down her tanned cheeks. At that moment, she was so fragile and afraid, finding herself in the midst of a game for which she was ill-prepared and ill-equipped. Of course, Morgan now knew she was with the Foreign Office and not the Red Cross. But it was also clear she had been deliberately cast adrift by someone desperate to discredit her, or worse, someone intent on using her to distract play - Johnson. Davenport was convinced of it, and Arena's eleventh-hour email cry for help had been all the confirmation they needed.

Morgan reached a hand across. Arena looked through her tears and held a hand out to him. He took it and pulled her close. She fell into his arms, sobbing.

Lundt took a deep breath. He looked around to see if there were any faces becoming too familiar. He was using a public phone booth in the shadows near Sydney's Central Railway station. There were no obvious signs that he was being followed. "Make sure you're there, Cornell. Go to the spot where I told you, and then you make yourself invisible. Try not to stand out by being weird."

He hung up and dialed another number.

"You got the email I sent before I left Perth?" Lundt asked when the phone was answered.

"Got it," the reply was deadpan.

"All I need is top cover. You've got the pies I sent you, the man and the blonde? He'll be easy to recognise, pasty faced bastard, starting to go bald. First sign of him in the park, you let me know. And I need to know if he has anyone with him or anyone that looks like they're hovering around him. Detailed descriptions. Understood?"

"Understood." A pause. "The blonde's a real looker. I wouldn't mind getting my hands on that for a while."

"You may get your chance if this goes to plan. How many guys have you put together?"

"Four. One driver, me and three other guns. One guy will stay with the driver and they'll sort out the girl. The other two will be with me in thepark. Enough?"

"Yep. Car?"

"Old model Land Rover Discovery. It's clean. Got the side opening rear door, like you asked."

"Good. Tell your crew to keep their eyes peeled for cops or another crew. First sign of trouble and we're out of there. If plan changes... take my lead."

Lundt hung up, then headed off to find a bed for the night.

"I think I'll freshen up and slip into something more comfortable." There was that mischief, albeit accompanied by a sniff and dainty dab of a tissue. The sparkle had once again returned to the beautiful big blue eyes he remembered so well, although they were now red and swollen.

Morgan and Arena had sat in silence for 20 minutes, holding each other. Ari had cried and cried until, eventually, she'd stopped, said she was sorry, and clung to Morgan as tightly as she could. But now a familiar lightness had returned.

"Seeing you in something even more comfortable sounds like a great idea," he replied with equal waywardness. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, whatever I decide, you'll have to leave. A gentleman should never be present when a lady is changing. I believe that the exceedingly efficacious Commander Sutherland has arranged a room for you along the corridor," she teased, laughing. "So, you'll have to run along."

"I think I'd rather stay put, thank you very much," he replied. "I'd hate to miss anything."

"Anyway, you're the one who should be getting changed," as she flicked his tie. "Sydney's in the middle of a heat wave, Major."

"Habit, I'm afraid. I'm meeting Dave a bit later to go over the game plan." "Oh, God! That's right," she said, with a suddenly distant, discomposed

air. "I'd allowed myself to forget that you, we, have work to do. It's so good seeing you, being with you again; our reason for being here slipped away from me. For a moment."

"I know, Ari, for me, too. But, I guess that's obvious." He meant it. "Are you OK about all this? Cornell and Lundt, I mean."

"Not really. I just want it to be over.
If
what you suspect of Abraham Johnson is correct, he's as good as condemned me. For all I know, this Lundt person could tap on my door, announce 'Room Service' and blow my brains out the moment I open it. I feel so exposed, Alex. So vulnerable."

'I'm sure it won't come to that," he said reassuringly. "We've got counter-terrorism officers all over this place and at the Novotel where Cornell's staying. I need you to lie low. Johnson doesn't have to know that we've got you under wraps. You just respond to him via email as per his instructions, and assure him that you're carrying them out to the letter. Meanwhile, you sit here, watching movies, working your way through the room service menu. Safe and sound. OK?"

"Will you come back to me after you've met with Dave?"

"I hope you're not planning to distract me from my duties. I'm supposed to be looking after you."

"Spoilsport," she said, jokingly. Then, more seriously, "Anyway, we have to get through this. \Xf hatever happens, happens. And when it's all over, we have a lot of talking to do. I've been so worried about you, Alex, after everything that happened in Africa, and then after we left each other in Spain. Your friend, Sutherland, hasn't let on much, and you sure didn't let on anything in your email either."

"Well, Dave's not exactly the world's most engaging conversationalist at the best of times. He usually only lightens up when he's about to bust someone in half."

"Funny, that's what he said about you." They laughed. "Have you two known each other very long?"

"In truth, only about a year. I was in the Paras, while Dave was in the US Navy SEALS. Somehow we both ended up in this outfit, but when you've served in similar units and environments, the links and commonalities are so strong that you might as well have known each other for 20 years."

"That's nice. Rare, I suppose."

"It's a brotherhood. You're either in it or you're not. There's an unspoken loyalty and understanding." Morgan was fascinated by her genuine interest. Her eyes had not left him once.

"Now tell me this, and I swear on the Official Secrets Act that I will never divulge a word to another living person," she flicked her right hand up, playfully taking a sacred oath. "But how is it that you guys, INTREPID I mean, are part of INTERPOL? I always thought INTERPOL was full of policemen, not soldiers."

"It is full of policemen. It's just that after 9/11 the UN Security Council decided that INTERPOL needed some gunslingers. So, that's us." Morgan wanted to avoid discussion of INTREPID, and the conversation was definitely heading that way. "This is really great music. Who is it?"

"Oh, she's one of my favourites - Madeleine Peyroux. This album's called 'Careless Love'. Beautiful, isn't she?"

"Yeah, definitely. Different to what you were listening to in Spain, though. Lily Allen, wasn't it?"

"Oh, yeah!" she laughed, acknowledging the obvious contrast. "I love her, too. But this is my quiet music. It soothes me."

"I can see why."

"Listen. " She reached for a remote, lifting the volume.

Ari luxuriated in the music. Her eyes closed and her breathing fell into a peaceful unison with the gentle murmur of the harmonies. Morgan sat watching her, enjoying the moment. He was almost unable to comprehend the connection that had grown between them in such a short space of time. It all felt so natural.

After a time, Arena slowly opened her eyes. Her gaze fixed straight on Morgan. Unhurriedly, she unfolded herself from the sofa and moved to the edge of the bed. She pushed aside some clothes and stretched out, lying on her side, knees bent, propping herself up on one elbow so she could see him. She raised her left arm and held her hand out open, beckoning Morgan to her. "Come and lie beside me," she breathed. "Just hold me for a while. Please."

Morgan stood, his eyes never leaving hers. He took off his jacket and, as discreetly as possible, removed his gun from the small of his back, dropped them onto the sofa and walked over to her. He rook her hand and she pulled him down. He lay back upon the pillows and Ari immediately nestled her head against his chest, left arm draped across his body. Morgan slipped his hand onto her shoulder and held her comfortably. He could feel her melt against him, drawing a leg across his and nuzzling naturally into his neck.