Avenger (19 page)

They were sitting out on the terrace of the Bouchon Bistro overlooking the Beverly Canon Gardens. Alex Morgan had never been to Beverly Hills, he’d never had the need. His first impressions, particularly given the contrast between his current surroundings – a stone’s throw from Rodeo Drive – and almost everything else between LAX and here, was that it was all a little too perfect. The houses, the lawns, the palm trees, the cars, and especially the people, were a thousand miles removed from the life he knew. That said, and despite the circumstances, he wasn’t averse to soaking up the affluent atmosphere, although he couldn’t get over the nagging sense of shame he felt for every moment he spent pretending to be nice to Voloshyn. The devastation she left in her wake every day as a result of her business endeavors, the ruined lives, the broken families, the heartbreak, the suicides, the penury, the imprisonment and the bondage of innocent people simply trying to get by, none of this collateral damage seemed to register with the woman. It was nothing more than the consequences of the slave trade, and not something she concerned herself with.

He couldn’t accept that any human being could be so indifferent to the suffering they caused others without there being some kind of medical reason for it. From what he’d seen of her so far – the erratic shifts in her moods and attitudes; the highly vulnerable, unsure and confused Dee, paranoid about her personal safety, pitted against the aggressively assertive, violent contradiction of her alter ego, the Night Witch – Morgan was leaning toward dissociative identity disorder. In fact, he’d put money on it.

He took another glance across the gardens, trying to quell his revulsion, distracting himself by studying the Spanish Colonial style of the Montage Hotel where they were staying. Morgan, Voloshyn and her business adviser, a man introduced only as Dariusz – but who Morgan recognized from the Belizean passport photos he’d seen back in London – had flown to Los Angeles via Houston and arrived in LA late the previous evening. There’d been little conversation en route, not even during check-in, and what he had gleaned so far was the result of snippets of overheard conversation between Voloshyn and Dariusz. On arrival at the Montage a grand deluxe suite had been retained for her and a standard guest room each for Morgan and the business adviser, who was at that moment back in his room, neck deep in their financials, preparing for a meeting with an investor group apparently eager to take over Voloshyn’s business.

Morgan wasn’t hungry. He’d eaten an early lunch in his room before meeting her in the lobby and knew he wouldn’t need anything else until dinner. Besides, he wanted to maintain the pretence of being serious about her personal security, which after all was what she was paying him to do. Leaving her to order the
soupe à l’oignon
followed by the
salade maraîchère au chèvre chaud
while he sat quietly sipping black coffee, monitoring their immediate area, obviously made her feel like she was safe – confirming her complete lack of understanding of what security really was. While the entire charade made Morgan feel sick to his stomach, it was an absolute grand slam in terms of General Davenport’s ultimate objective of bringing down the global trafficking cartels. Morgan had been forced to maintain a communications white-out while he was working under cover as Voloshyn’s security consultant, but knew the team at headquarters would be tracking his passport and so would at least be aware of his location.

Morgan was glad that Voloshyn had followed his guidance and left her pet dog Kajkowski at home. Apparently he was usually never more than two paces from her whenever she traveled abroad – or left the house for that matter – so it was a huge turnaround to convince her that he wasn’t necessary on this trip. The only fly in the ointment at this point was Dariusz. He was openly suspicious of Morgan, even hostile, but he wasn’t a gunslinger and therefore unlikely to be a problem. Morgan gave him as little attention as possible, focusing on her instead and the pantomime of his security responsibilities. That he had finally managed to get her alone while she ate her lunch was nothing short of a miracle.

“So, Mr Security,” she said, “what are your thoughts so far?”

“What about?”

“All this,” she began. “Beverly Hills. This trip. Do you think I’m safe?”

“It’s very hard to say,” he began. “So far, you’re utilizing me pretty much the same way that you employ your bulldog Kajkowski. Apart from handling any threats within the immediate vicinity, I’m not a great deal of use to you like this.”

“How the fuck
am
I supposed to utilize you then?” she demanded. “You tell me. I’ve had to take care of my own security for a long time and I’ve gotten pretty good at it. What makes you so fucking special?”

“If your security is as stitched up as you’re trying to convince yourself it is, then why do you need me at all? You asked me along, remember?”

Voloshyn remained quiet for a moment as a few Hollywood-looking types shuffled to the next table. They were a group of men in their thirties and forties, all animated and laughing. Morgan picked up on conversation about a new book franchise they’d just acquired. The guy who appeared to be the center of all the excitement was Californian cool, most probably a producer: leather jacket, black T-shirt, sunglasses and jeans.

“I’ve had a strategy,” Voloshyn began, once things had settled down over at the Hollywood table. “But it seems to be unraveling.”

“I’m listening,” said Morgan.

“Have you ever seen that movie
The Thomas Crown Affair
, with Pierce Brosnan?”

“Sure.”

“Do you remember the end, in the art gallery, how he tricked the cops by paying a whole bunch of people to dress exactly the same as him in overcoats and bowler hats? There were so many of them that the cops couldn’t work out which one was him.”

“I remember.”

“That movie gave me the idea – the whole bowler hat and overcoat concept was inspired by a painting called
The Son of Man
, a self-portrait by René Magritte. It’s featured in the movie. I own the original now; it’s in my house. I thought, why couldn’t I employ girls who look and dress exactly like me to go to meetings in my place? No one need know if it was really me or not. It worked for a while. We lost a couple, but at least it wasn’t me, right? But now I think the system’s run its course. We’ve had one close call too many.”

“What do you mean by ‘lost a couple?’ Did some girls resign?”

“You could say that,” Voloshyn replied. “They were killed. But the people who killed them were actually after me. Does that shock you?”

“No. I’ve seen enough of the world to know a lot about death. But did these girls know what they were getting themselves into when you hired them?”

“Of course! They got to live the high life, with all the clothes and travel and whatever else they wanted. Better than the lives they had before, that’s for sure. They knew enough to understand it was dangerous. What’s the matter – are you squeamish?”

Morgan managed to contain his anger and ignore her question. He was sure the girls didn’t have a clue what they’d been getting themselves into. How many had there been and, most importantly, how many were left?

“Listen, you need to bring me up to speed on what it is we’re really doing here,” he said. “Apart from a vague reference to your life being in some sort of danger, and getting the better of my professional curiosity by coaxing me here with a free ticket to LA and a room in a flash Beverly Hills hotel, you’ve yet to explain the actual source of your problem, or the business you’re in, for that matter. If you want me to look after you properly, you’re going to have to give me some details. It’s impossible to know what I’m dealing with unless you do.”

“You know, before we left Belize, I had you checked out,” she said. “Your story stacked up. Army officer. Captain. East Timor, Afghanistan and Iraq. Injured. Honorable discharge. Now a private consultant. I wasn’t surprised, but I needed to be sure.”

“I’m glad you did that,” said Morgan, knowing his cover was solid. It was based exactly upon the CV of one of his oldest friends. Morgan and the real Daniel Culliford were the same age, not dissimilar physically, and had known each other since day one in the army. When Morgan was establishing his mission profile, he’d contacted his friend to give him the heads up and get the all clear to borrow his identity. Dan was more than happy, knowing only that Morgan was now involved in some kind of secret work. In return, he received an all-expenses-paid vacation so he could lay low for a while.

“I thought you were exactly what I needed,” she continued. “Someone from the other side of the world who has no idea who I am or what I do, and an expert in security who doesn’t ask questions.”

“You’re right on everything except the ‘doesn’t ask questions’ bit. I need to know,” Morgan said, pressing home his point. “Protecting you from an ex-husband, the paparazzi or an angry debt collector is vastly different from protecting you against, say, the mob. So, which is it?”

Voloshyn squirmed a little in her seat, not accustomed to being spoken to on an equal footing, but Morgan could see she was taking the bait. He needed to know all about her operation, though of course not for her protection.

“OK, but you must respect my privacy. There’s only so far I’m prepared to go in terms of talking about my business, because I really don’t know you at all and I’m taking a huge fucking gamble already in bringing you on board … but I’m desperate.”

“I’ll be a lot more use to you if I understand what we’re dealing with.”

“I run a multi-million-dollar business specializing in … let’s just say, manpower,” she said. “I’m currently in the middle of a major business transformation where one of the biggest global players in my field wants to take me over. Just prior to their making their intentions known, I was in the middle of my own takeover of a similar business operating in Asia, specifically Hong Kong. Just as we were about to close that deal, something happened that put it back by weeks. Now my soon-to-be new business partners want the Asian deal sorted before they’ll progress to the next level. I’ve assured them it will be and this trip is all about me reassuring them that it is back on track, while giving them the full financials on my business as it is right now as well as where it will be when I’ve closed the deal with the Hong Kong group.”

“So where are these threats to your life coming from?” Morgan asked. “It sounds to me like this is all pretty straightforward. But who wants you dead?”

“Interpol. The Triads. My new partners. Hell, my own people, for all I know.
”

“Fuck me,” said Morgan. “What are you into?”

“Like I said, I need you to respect my privacy. For now, at least. Until I know I can trust you. I’ve already gone out on a limb telling you all this. I really shouldn’t have. Does it shock you?”

“It’s a bit late to ask me that now, even if I did want to bail,” he replied, trying to sound agitated. “If you’ve seriously got Interpol
and
the Triads after you then there’s probably someone with eyes on us right now! Why the fuck are you accepting meetings like this, out in the open and away from your base? It’s crazy.”

“I had no choice, alright?” she snapped. His tone had had the desired effect. “You’re freaking me out. Are you serious about them watching me right now?”

“Hey, you’re the one telling me who’s after you. Do you actually know all this for sure?”

“Of course I don’t know for sure. What I do know is that Interpol had an undercover operative on the inside, working in a factory in Hong Kong that I was expected to visit. All hell broke loose. I lost a couple of people and the Chinese lost a few more. They’ll be pissed about it and probably suspect my organization of being the source of the leak.”

“How do you know there’s a leak?”

“How the fuck did they manage to get someone on the inside if there wasn’t?”

Morgan didn’t answer for a moment. He needed to give her the impression he was considering this like it was all new to him, which, of course, it wasn’t. He took the chance to check their immediate surroundings to make sure that their conversation hadn’t attracted any attention from the other tables. Fortunately, the Hollywood crew were so into their own celebrations that their volume was covering just about everything else. Good.

“So, you don’t even know if it’s one of your own people, right?”

She nodded.

“Which is why you’ve opted to confide in the first seemingly competent outsider that you came across. Yes?”

Another nod.

“OK, Dee, here’s what I think you should do.” He leaned across the table, encouraging her to incline her head closer to his. “I heard you and your man Dariusz saying something in the cab about getting the Chinese to come to you. Is that right? Because if so, that’s the best idea I’ve heard so far. If you’re serious about your security and you really believe you’re under scrutiny, by the authorities or these Triad guys, then your best chance is to stay on home turf until it’s sorted out. As soon as you’ve finished your business here we get on a plane back to Belize.”

Morgan noticed a slight tremor in her hands. That was good. He wanted her to be a little rattled. Feeding her paranoia was definitely the way to go.

“OK,” she said quietly. “So you’re saying we shouldn’t even stay here another night?”

“We may have no choice,” he answered truthfully. Connections out of the US to Belize weren’t exactly regular. They’d just have to try their luck. “I suggest you leave that to me. I’ll check out our flight options while you’re having your meeting. If we have to stay another night then we’ll just have to take some precautions. But the sooner we’re on a plane and back there, the better. Meanwhile, I’d get your boy working on the Chinese and tell them to come to you. At least then you’ll know how serious they are about closing the deal.”

The cell phone on the table buzzed.

“It’s Dariusz,” she said. “They’re ready for me.”