Avenger (24 page)

“What’s this all about?” snapped Voloshyn, annoyed by the sudden interruption. “What are you all doing up here?”

“I caught this piece of shit sticking his nose where it shouldn’t be. He was in our muster room downstairs, and fucking about with the security equipment. He has no business being there.”

“Is what Godek says true?” she asked. “Were you in their room?”

“Yes,” Morgan replied, unperturbed by the inquisition. “Apart from the ‘no business being there’ bit.”

“Fuck you,” Kajkowski growled behind him. “I think this fuck is a spy or a cop! You should let me kill him right now!”

Morgan had allowed himself to be frogmarched by Kajkowski and his apprentice all the way up to Voloshyn’s private quarters. They’d spilled into the space to find her sitting at a dining table out on the balcony, the remains of her evening meal being cleared away by one of the servants. For some reason, Morgan got the impression the table had been set for two, his subconscious must have picked up something, and he noticed that her eyes kept darting to the slatted sliding doors that separated this area from her bedroom.

Morgan reasoned that allowing Kajkowski to make yet another commotion in front of the Night Witch would only reinforce his own standing as an objective professional who was constantly being diverted from his responsibilities by an interfering fool.

“Explain yourself,” she ordered.

“Of course.” He walked over to a huge digital screen that sat on an ornate wooden cabinet on the far side of the room, collected a remote control and switched on the screen. Then he selected the channel he was after, dropped the remote casually onto a nearby sofa and turned to the Night Witch.

“May I borrow your iPhone?”

“What? What for?” she asked. “No, you can’t have my phone.”

“I assure you it is completely necessary if I’m to demonstrate to you once and for all that this man’s obsession with derailing my work is doing nothing but putting your life at risk. If you ask me, he and your friend Dariusz are just waiting patiently until this deal is done before they conduct a hostile takeover of your business. And then they’ll kill you, along with whoever it is you’ve got hiding in there.” His gaze flicked to her bedroom and his hand reached out for her phone.

Voloshyn stared at him, clearly uncertain again of how to take him or what to believe. Her eyes moved across to Kajkowski but instantly turned away. She picked up her phone from the table beside her and tossed it across to Morgan.

“Thank you,” he said as he caught it. “Now if you’ll just bear with me for a moment while I download an app …”

He stood in the center of the room, halfway between Voloshyn and Kajkowski, and tapped away on the screen of her phone.

“This is fucking bullshit,” said Kajkowski. “This fucking guy has been ordering everybody around all fucking morning. You made Dariusz fly all the way to America just to turn around and fly back. And I’ve had one of the boys sitting on his ass at the airport all day, waiting for the chinks to turn up and, so far, nothing. This guy’s full of shit and he’s making fools of all of us – of you!”

“No, I think you’re doing a good enough job of that yourself,” said Morgan, still focused on the phone. “I haven’t heard you offer one legitimate suggestion yet.”

“Shut up, both of you,” said Voloshyn. “I’m sick of this shit. Godek, not another word from you until I say so! And you – you have exactly one minute to stop fucking around with my phone and make your point or I will let him kill you.”

At that moment the digital screen flickered and an image came to life. After a few seconds of adjustment, the image intensified and became clearer.

“What is that?” Voloshyn asked, suddenly interested.

“That is the inside path along your western perimeter wall. This morning you wouldn’t have seen any more than ten feet from the camera due to the amount of overgrown vegetation obscuring the view. In fact, this morning, you wouldn’t even have seen that far because that camera and most of the others were not actually switched on. God knows how long they’d been like that.” Morgan turned an accusatory look squarely on Kajkowski and then continued. “The shot is taken from the camera that’s up on the back corner of your house, over on this side.” He pointed in the general direction. “With the vegetation cleared you can now see almost to the back corner of the property, but not quite. So now we’ll check in on what the camera there can see.”

Morgan tapped a new set of commands into the phone and the image altered. He noted Voloshyn’s demeanor had changed completely, from unimpressed to totally engaged. Her paranoia over her personal safety had skyrocketed ahead of the arrival of the Chinese and the representative from the investors, and Morgan’s simple but effective display had obviously captured her attention. The screen was now displaying the reverse image of the first, the view from the opposing corner facing the house. The two cameras had been sited well and between them provided an expansive and detailed view of the entire west side of the property.

“When your man found me downstairs, I wasn’t snooping around their muster room. I was activating and checking every security camera so I could be sure that the measures I’d taken to clear the fucking jungle that had been allowed to grow wild had been effective. In addition, I set up this program so that we can run and check the cameras from our phones.” He waved hers and then handed it back to her. “I’ve downloaded the same program to my phone so I can check all of them from wherever I am. That’s what you’re paying me to do.

“I told you the only way I’d accept this job was if we did it my way, with no interference from Gorbachev over there, or anyone else. If he had half a clue about security he would never have put up with the outdated system you have in this place. Now, if you can spare a few more minutes, I’d be happy to show you how to run all of the cameras from your phone and either watch them on it or else here on the big screen. Up to you.”

Voloshyn was sold. “Of course,” she replied. “Godek, get out. I’ll deal with you tomorrow.”

Morgan watched as Kajkowski and his buddy stormed from the room. Morgan didn’t relish having such a hostile enemy working against him while he was trying to establish and maintain his cover, but the memory of their first encounter and the man’s constant interference had made conflict between them unavoidable. A showdown was inevitable at some point and, as he watched Kajkowski disappear down the darkened stairwell, Morgan knew that it could only end in the death of one or both of them. There’d be no in between with Godek Kajkowski.

Morgan spent about ten minutes more with Voloshyn, taking her through the basics of maneuvering her way around the CCTV system via her phone, but she was clearly distracted by what he’d suggested about Dariusz and Kajkowski. Sowing the seeds of uncertainty and distrust among Voloshyn and her closest associates was definitely the way to go. Her paranoia and precarious mental state would do the rest. When the scared-out-of-her-mind Darja Voloshyn withdrew, it would take only half a second for the reappearance of the Night Witch persona, the one everyone hated and feared, even her closest associates.

And when the time came to take her down, any hesitation or reluctance among her so-called protectors to go above and beyond for her could mean the difference between life and death for Morgan. There was no honor or loyalty among thieves.

Eventually Voloshyn was done with the novelty of controlling and viewing the CCTV, so she dismissed him. He headed to his room, which was beneath hers. On the way he stopped off in the kitchen and grabbed some fresh fruit, vegetables and bottled water to sustain himself. He heard raised voices down in the bowels of the house somewhere. It sounded like Kajkowski, venting again. No doubt there’d be booze involved. Hopefully the man would be smart enough to keep his anger contained, at least until after tomorrow’s meeting. But Morgan knew how volatile and unpredictable Kajkowski was and the last thing he could afford to do was assume that there wouldn’t be trouble ahead of time.

Back in his room, Morgan finished off his scrounged meal of fresh produce and washed it down with a bottle of water. He quietly wedged a wooden chair under the door handle, checked that the windows were latched, stripped off and took a shower with the Beretta resting on the soap shelf. Then he toweled himself dry, checked that the door and windows were still secure, dressed in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt – just in case – adjusted the ceiling fan to a lower speed so that the noise wouldn’t impede his hearing, and stretched out on top of the bed.

Morgan’s body seemed to submerge into the mattress. His limbs felt like lead and his head slumped readily into the soft caress of the pillow. He did not want to fall into a heavy sleep but he feared that his exhausted body would soon betray him. Mechanically, he reached underneath his pillow and closed his fingers around the butt of the Beretta. OK, he was settled. The room was as secure as it could be. If anyone tried to break in he’d hear them for sure.

Moments or hours later, he couldn’t be sure, there was a quiet
tap
-
tap
-
tap
on the door. Morgan was instantly awake. He lifted himself up and moved cautiously across to the door. The gun was in his right hand.

Standing clear of the door, he said “Who is it?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” came a very quiet, very timid, local voice. “I need your help.” A pause. “I’m frightened.”

Morgan thought it was the voice of the housekeeper, a small woman of Mayan ancestry he’d seen and spoken to a handful of times. Reluctantly, he moved the chair aside and opened the door. He was right. The housekeeper was standing in the dimly lit corridor, shaking and cowering. Apology and fear were written all over her face.

No sooner had he read all of the warning signs than he realized his fatal mistake. He’d been conned.

The door burst wide open, a Taser appeared from nowhere, and Morgan bore the full brunt of fifty thousand vaults directly above his heart.

Water was pouring down his face. It was incessant, barreling down in endless torrents, threatening to drown him. The noise was overpowering. His body was rigid with trauma, heavy and unresponsive. He couldn’t make sense of it. There was pain everywhere and an unnerving sensation of small creatures crawling all over his skin. He tried to move, to scrape them away, but his arms wouldn’t budge. He tried again and again to get them moving but all he got in return was searing pain burning his wrists through to the bone. Exasperated and fighting off an illogically panicked reaction to the bugs, he tried to pull himself up but both shoulders failed him, feeling as though they were about to dislocate.

The pain made Alex Morgan emerge from the stupor that had brought him here.

The water and noise were caused by a tropical downpour thundering through the scant canopy of the mangroves. But why was this so sparse? He remembered it as being thick, almost impenetrable, even to heavy rain. Then he remembered his room, the housekeeper, fear, a Taser, electrocution, convulsing on the floor, a blow to the head and darkness. Morgan’s body shuddered at the memory of it all and reports of pain of every kind raced in. His face, ribs, back, arms and legs had all been battered, kicked, most likely. Everything ached like hell. His head was pounding. He became particularly aware of a throbbing pain emanating from his right thigh – the flesh there felt as though it was split wide open. What the fuck was that? When he attempted to look down, he realized that the area around his eyes was swollen and pulsing with pain, too.

Unable to move his arms, he shook his entire body, forcing it to respond, and the barely audible rattle of the cyclone-mesh fence he was lashed to brought his situation home to him. He was tied by the wrists, arms strung high above his head, to the fence around the cabin; the isolated place he had seen the night before in the center of the mangroves. But he was on the outside, exposed and incapacitated in the no man’s land of the deadly swamp, facing all its vicious dangers.

He moved his legs and felt the sludge of the swamp lapping around his calves. His memory instantly turned to the crocodiles that had taken
Ş
tefania. They had hunted and closed in on her as a pack, then dragged her down to a slow, terrifying, lonely death. The same end that Kajkowski had now chosen for Morgan, only this time the victim had been presented like a sacrificial lamb, tenderized and skewered, with absolutely no chance of escape.

But Alex Morgan was not yet willing to surrender his life.

He fought to recover his senses and reinstate his instinct for self-preservation. He tried to yank his legs clear of the mud and felt the swamp instantly pulling against him, unwilling to give him up so easily. He fought back, pulling, slipping and losing ground and energy in a bizarre tug-of-war with the living swamp. It took him minutes finally to pull his feet free.

With some control regained, albeit minimal, his confidence surged. Still hanging by his arms, he shuffled his mud-encrusted feet back out of the sludge until they were directly beneath him again. They were not quite ready to take his weight but he pushed them regardless. Tentatively, his body slid up against the fence and the unbearable pressure on his arms was instantly relieved. Now his elbows were bent, his shoulders returned fully to their sockets and his hands were close enough to his head to allow him to get to work on the rope bindings with his teeth.

Morgan turned his head away from the rain and gratefully took a series of deep breaths. He couldn’t think about the crocs. If they were closing in on him he couldn’t hear them, so he wouldn’t know anyway. If they attacked he’d just have to deal with it. He shut down a relentless stream of thoughts and images of what that death would feel like, and tried to focus his rapidly expiring energy on his immediate objective – escape.

Morgan craned his neck awkwardly as far around to the right as he could possibly manage without actually breaking it. Painfully he bit down hard, got a solid purchase on the rope with his teeth, and began the impossible task of easing apart the knotted, rain-soaked, swollen strands.

A face suddenly appeared through the honeycomb of the wire fence, close by, just inches away through the mesh. Morgan recoiled, ready to fend off another attack, but the rope grappled him back against the fence. A torch illuminated the face for a moment, rain strobing against its light as it bounced around. Morgan saw a tuft of white-blonde hair and blue eyes wide with fear, level with his own. A hand appeared, clutching a knife. It sawed through the rope on the other side of the fence. The blue eyes held his then looked away at something or someone else. He couldn’t tell who his rescuer was. Voloshyn? It couldn’t be. The hand with the knife and the hand with the torch were now working in unison. For a second Morgan was blinded but he clamped his eyes shut, feeling the desperate energy of the stranger, the girl with the knife, as the fence shook under her assault, and slowly but surely the ropes around his wrists began to give way. The moment he felt the strands fall apart he pulled himself free.

“Here!” the girl cried above the rain, and he saw she was now standing at an open gate in the fence just a few feet from where he had been tethered. “Quickly!”

Morgan raced for the gate but stumbled, his legs barely able to support him, and fell headlong into the putrid muck of the mangroves. All he could think of was crocodiles. He clawed desperately for the fence, fighting for a lifeline in the darkness, something, anything, to grab on to. The girl shone the torch at him but then let out a scream.

Morgan knew he would never forget what he saw. The beam of light fell upon two crocodiles that had somehow broken through the thick wall of mangroves and were less than five feet from him and moving in fast. In the briefest glimpse by the wavering light of the torch he saw two sets of eyes, trained on him, targeting him from the surface of the water. The eyes of one of them were about as far apart as the headlights on a school bus.
Fuck!
FUCK!

“No!” the girl screamed. “Come on!”

Morgan’s arm shot out of the swamp, stretched to its limit. He found a solid purchase against the roots of the mangroves, kicked with everything he had left and launched himself up. Mercifully his fingers closed around the latticework of the fence and he dragged himself free from the swamp with one heave. Then he was back on his knees, then his feet, and tumbling through the gate just as the girl slammed it shut behind him.

Morgan collapsed in a heap at her feet, sucking in deep breaths before he managed to get up on his hands and knees.

“Who are you?” he said.

“Jovana,” she replied. “You have to get me out of here!”