Defender (36 page)
Johnson shifted uncomfortably as Davenport continued.
'I'm sure you're aware that Violet Ashcroft-James has been carrying out a cull of the SIS. She has a number of officers who, like you, also considered themselves above the law, no doubt because they enjoyed the support of a very senior member of the diplomatic community - support which I am glad to say has come to an end." A small clock on the mantel of a Victorian fireplace quietly intoned 3p.m. "It was only a matter of time before her investigations linked one or other of them back to you, Johnson. Now all that's left is to follow the trail to your financial backers. But that's for another time."
Davenport allowed his words to sink in. Johnson sat dead still, hands sweating, flat against his knees. His eyes darted nervously between Davenport and Morgan.
"Victor Lundt is dead," Davenport said, flashing a casual glance over at Morgan. "Major Morgan took care of that, and it's been everything I could do to convince myself that I should not allow him to put you to the sword. Trust me, the thought crossed my mind, and I'm certain he would relish the opportunity."
"This is outrageous!" Johnson said indignantly, although his eyes implored mercy. He daren't allow himself to even look in Morgan's direction.
"Outrageous?" Davenport responded, his voice calm and measured. "When I consider the devastation that has resulted from your profiteering, I would think of it more as justice finally being served. But then, we're civilised people."
The General paused. "You know, when I was asked to establish INTREPID, Johnson, I accepted it on the basis of my faith in the inherent good of humankind. I adopted the motto of the Celts - To the brave belong all things - to mark our commitment to defending that faith." Davenport fixed his stare upon Johnson and his tone became dark and foreboding.
"In
our line of business, we are on occasion responsible for sending brave young men and women into harm's way. You know that. The fact that you would deliberately use your own people and others, and put them in harm's way in order to amass your fortune and further your career is astonishing. To then suggest an out clause is beyond comprehension. No, Johnson, there'll be no out clause for you. You're right about one thing, though. We will be avoiding a scandal."
"In
our line of business, we are on occasion responsible for sending brave young men and women into harm's way. You know that. The fact that you would deliberately use your own people and others, and put them in harm's way in order to amass your fortune and further your career is astonishing. To then suggest an out clause is beyond comprehension. No, Johnson, there'll be no out clause for you. You're right about one thing, though. We will be avoiding a scandal."
The General stood. "Mr. Cornell is currently under the protection of the Metropolitan Police, and will remain so until you have been tried and sentenced. At this moment, Chief Superintendent Hargreaves and his officers from the Special Branch are waiting outside. They will take you from here to Scotland Yard where Commissioner Hutton himself is awaiting your arrival. Once in his custody, the wheels of the British justice system will begin to turn. Your trial will be held in secrecy and your sentence passed accordingly. Abraham Johnson will disappear from public life, stripped of status and Honours, to rot in a cell somewhere in the bowels of this island."
"But... you can't! There must be some other way?" Johnson was on his feet. His body shook with dread, knowing that his life's work was crumbling around him, dreams of a knighthood, power and respect, all so close, now sailing away before his eyes. He thought nothing of the lives lost, or the damage he had inflicted on others. Those things were not real to Abraham Johnson. General Davenport saw it written all over the man's utterly defeated expression.
"Greed was your undoing, Johnson. The decision to use Cornell was your biggest mistake. He was your Achilles Heel, your weakest link, and we exploited it. Ultimately, your arrogance blinded you to the consequences of your actions."
CHAPTER 65
Farnham, Surrey"Tell me about all this stuff." "What stuff?"
"All these bits and bobs you've got on the shelves and walls."
Alex Morgan came back into his sitting room from the kitchen where he had been pouring drinks. Arena was over by the far wall, in deep thought as she contemplated his personal history, which he now realised was littered throughout his house in various forms. He stood quietly admiring her as she leaned against the bookshelf, captured in the glow of a small lamp on the coffee table. Her faded blue jeans were stretched upon long legs, and her tight, white t-shirt emphasised a flat stomach that arched perfectly into the superb undulation of her breasts. Fine blonde hair fell to her shoulders, and as she stood on tiptoes in her socks to look at a framed parchment on the wall, Morgan was mesmerised.
"You know something? You're too beautiful to be a spook, Halls." "Thanks, but I'm not really a spook, remember? A Foreign Office bean
counter I believe you called me." She smiled in a self-deprecating way, took the glass of red wine from him, and continued surveying the collection of photos and certificates that appeared to compete for pride of place. "So, come on, what's this one?" She pointed to the parchment.
counter I believe you called me." She smiled in a self-deprecating way, took the glass of red wine from him, and continued surveying the collection of photos and certificates that appeared to compete for pride of place. "So, come on, what's this one?" She pointed to the parchment.
"That's my Commission, appointing me as an Army officer," he said with feigned pomp, sipping his wine. "I told you I was a gentleman. I've got a piece of paper signed by the Queen to prove it! How much more proof do you need?"
"You Aussies can never be real gentleman," she chided. "You're too rough around the edges. What about this one? What's this all about?" She was now pointing towards a pewter statuette of Pegasus surmounted by Bellerophon charging into battle.
"Ari, come on. Forget about all that crap. The food's ready, so let's eat.
I'm starving."
"You soldiers love all this, don't you?" She continued her investigations as Morgan went back to serve up their meal. "Is this you? Oh my God, it is you! Too funny!"
"Yeah," Morgan replied, as he returned again from the kitchen, this
time with food in hand. "Me and a mate, both Lieutenants when that picture was taken." The image of two fresh-faced young subalterns, grinning cheerfully, dressed in Army greens, embraced the room. "You were probably still at school when that one was taken."
"Cradle snatcher!" She laughed.
"Now, last warning." He gestured to the sofa, handing over one of his chilli con came creations. "No more talking about the fact that this place has turned into a museum. I take the hint. Let's eat."
Arena took the offered plate in one hand, but then shook an already empty wineglass with the other, winking at Morgan cheekily.
"You'd better bring the bottle in, Mister."
An hour later, having congratulated Morgan on his unexpected prowess in the kitchen, Arena joined him on the floor, where he sat with legs outstretched and back against the sofa, sipping his wine with the last strains of Miles Davis's 'Kind of Blue' playing in the background.
'I'm happy you talked me into coming to Farnham. London's a drag when you're in the thick of it all the time. I've always liked Surrey."
'I'm glad you came down," replied Morgan. "What do you think of the place?"
"Cosy springs to mind. I don't think it's a museum. A woman's touch wouldn't go astray, of course, and I love that Vettriano. 'The Singing Butler', isn't it? It all has a certain boyish charm."
Morgan laughed. He slid over towards the iPod remote to change the music. Ari slid over and grappled the remote from him.
"Hang on a minute, you," she said. "Let's see what else you've got in there." She trekked her way through his iPod, commenting along the way. "Enya? You?"
"It's 'The Celts'," he replied indignantly. "It soothes me." He smiled as she laughed at him.
"Ah," she announced. "Here we go!" Stan Getz came on.
"I can't believe you like jazz," he said with a smile as she returned to him on the floor just as the opening bars of 'Love and the weather' kicked in. The two of them sat quietly, savouring the moment and enjoying the wine.
"Alex?" Ari cooed, easing him from contemplation. She shifted closer and was looking at him intently, inches from his face. She wanted to know more about this elusive white knight who had dropped into her life.
"Yeah?" he replied.
"The life you lead. The things you do. I don't know how many times since we met that I thought that you'd been killed. Why do you keep putting yourself through it ?"
"Honestly, I don't really know. As a young guy, I decided I was going to be a soldier. Before you know it, life, career, opportunities take over and you end up where you are. But now I'm here, with you. Can't be all bad." 'I'm serious, Morgan," she said, driving a jab into his side. "I mean,
why not leave it to others. You've been through enough. Surely?"
Morgan paused. "It's not as easy as that, Ari. What we do... it's more than just a job."
Arena Halls shifted uncomfortably. She could see conflict fall upon Morgan's handsome features. He fell silent, gazing into the lustrous pool of red wine swirling around in his glass. She knew it was the worst time to raise it, but she needed to know if there was any future for them. She knew her feelings for Morgan were deep; deeper than they had been for any other man. She moved closer, sliding her body around to face him, placing her hand gently on Morgan's leg.
"So, what's next ?" she whispered after a few seconds. "Where to for the man from INTREPID?"
"Sorry, darling," he said, tapping the tip of her nose, consciously lightening the mood. "I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you."
"Whatever," she replied, glad of the levity. She put her arm around his waist, resting her head upon his chest. She was worried for Morgan, worried about how this might end. As she silently studied his face, his jaw was set firm and his dark green eyes cold. Morgan had returned to memories of Lunde. The satisfaction that he'd felt killing the man now caused him to feel ashamed. Was he actually any better than Lunde?
"It was a miracle that you survived the explosion, Alex," she said, tracing a tender finger across his face.
"The waves saved me, I suppose," he replied. "Threw me off the boat just as the gas bottle erupted. You were pretty lucky yourself, remember?" "Luck had nothing to do with it. If Dave hadn't gotten to me, I'd be at
the bottom of Sydney Harbour by now."
the bottom of Sydney Harbour by now."
"I owe Dave," said Morgan. "I really do. Where would I be if he hadn't saved you?"
Arena decided she would not press him about the future. Not tonight, anyway. It was time to savour what they had right now. Who knew how
long it could last? She buried her fingers deeply into his thick, brown hair and tousled it roughly before planting a passionate kiss on his lips.
long it could last? She buried her fingers deeply into his thick, brown hair and tousled it roughly before planting a passionate kiss on his lips.
Morgan responded.
He turned and took Arena in his arms, lifting her lithe frame up onto his lap. Ari wriggled sensually against him, eager for his attention. As they kissed, he ran his fingers across the smooth, exposed flesh of her waistline, flicking open the top button of her jeans, gently easing down the zip and slipping his hand inside. She moaned, nibbling on his ear, swirling her tongue around and around. Slowly, carefully, Morgan ran his hand around behind to glide across the taught mounds of her buttocks, a lone finger looping through her G-string. He tugged on it, softly at first, then more intensely. Arena arched against his chest, groaning wistfully in his ear.
"No more questions," said Morgan.
"OK, Mister," Arena replied with barely a whisper. "I promise."
"A Rollercoaster Read of Intrigue, Deception and Betrayal. "
Alan Finney, OAM - Chairman of the Australian Film Institute
''
A relentless adventure, fast moving and graphic."
Will Davies - Author of 'Beneath Hill 60' and 'In the footsteps of Private Lynch'
"A complex, visceral story that compels the reader from start to finish."
Company Commander* - The Parachute Regiment (UK) 3PARA Afghanistan 2006
* ·
Name suppressed for
security
reasons
DEFENDER OF THE FAITH
Published by Bright Sea Publishing PO Box 493
Forestville 2087 New South Wales AUSTRALIA
brightseapublishing.com facebook.com/brightseapublishing
@brightsea on Twiner
First Published by Bright Sea Publishing in 2011 Copyright © Bright Sea Publishing 2011
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting rhe rights under copyright above, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission
of Bright Sea Publishing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Allen, Chris Defender of the Faith
ISBN: 1-4565-4541-8
ISBN-13: 978-1-4565-4541-3
LCCN: 2011903330
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