‘Mr Morgan.’ Colonel De Villiers greeted him with the minimum courtesy his aristocratic upbringing would allow. ‘I trust you have a good reason to interrupt my preparations for tomorrow’s parade.’
‘The best reason, Colonel,’ Morgan replied, remaining civil for the sake of Abbie. ‘To save lives.’
‘Major Cook said as much on the phone, which is why I’m here.’
‘And I appreciate your time.’
‘I find most Americans to be direct, Mr Morgan. Would you be so good as to tell me what this is about?’
Morgan was happy to oblige, his manner calm. ‘Abbie Winchester has been kidnapped, and will be killed during tomorrow’s parade if a ransom is not paid.’
‘According to whom?’ De Villiers asked, dismissively.
‘Her kidnapper.’
‘Who is?’
‘We’re working on that,’ Morgan answered, holding the Colonel’s disdainful stare.
‘By “we”, I imagine you mean Private, otherwise I would be having this conversation with the police, as would be proper. However, I suppose it is the Duke’s money to throw away as he likes.’
‘Who you are talking to isn’t the important part, Colonel.’ Morgan spoke evenly, restraining the urge to shake the sneer from the man’s empty skull.
De Villiers smiled and looked out over the Thames as he answered, perhaps wishing he could throw the American into its waters. ‘Mr Morgan, I have worked closely with the royal family for the past two years. Abbie Winchester is a drunken slut and an embarrassment. No doubt this whole ploy is some kind of attention-grabbing exercise of hers to get into the tabloids. I shan’t be a party to it.’
‘There was blood at the scene, Colonel,’ Morgan revealed. ‘Enough to suggest the person it came from is dead.’
He expected the revelation to hit home, hard. Instead, De Villiers merely shrugged.
‘Then perhaps she finally pissed off the wrong drug dealer or fucked the wrong brain-dead rock star,’ said the Colonel. ‘I don’t pretend to know what goes on inside that girl’s head, Mr Morgan, but I do know that it is no concern of mine — the security of the inner circle of the royal family is, and my focus is on tomorrow’s parade. Good evening, Mr Morgan. I have a final planning meeting to attend.’
‘You may want to revisit those plans, Colonel,’ Morgan told him, his patience at an end and his tone hardening.
‘Oh really, Mr Morgan? And why is that?’
Morgan thought of holding back the information, but the life of Abbie Winchester had to come before his dislike of De Villiers, and so he told the officer the reason why. ‘Because the man whose blood it is was from your own ranks.’
Chapter 12
Rejoining Cook in the Range Rover, Morgan instructed the soldier to follow the Thames along its northern bank. ‘Head towards the Tower of London.’
On the way, Cook asked, ‘You think this is all a smokescreen for a heist?’ referring to the precious Crown jewels held within the Tower’s walls.
Morgan shook his head. ‘No, but I like your lateral thinking. We’re going to see an acquaintance of mine. An ex-SAS guy known as Flex. Falklands and Desert Storm vet. You know him?’
‘Those guys stick to themselves.’
As they neared the Tower of London, Morgan told her, ‘Flex runs a private security firm now.’ He pointed Cook in the direction she should drive.
‘So he’s your business rival?’
‘Not really. Cases like Abbie, people come to Private. If someone wants mercenaries for Africa, or an escort into Syria, they go to Flex.’
‘And it’s all above board?’
‘You tell me.’ Morgan smiled, eyeing the half-dozen Bentleys and Aston Martins in the security firm’s underground garage.
‘He buys British, at least,’ Cook offered as they walked towards reception. ‘Won’t he be back at home at this time?’ she asked, glancing at her watch. It was coming up to midnight.
‘He lives here. Hates to commute, and he has people in every time zone.’
‘Why would someone want to live in their office?’
‘You’ll see.’
And after a thorough security check, and a twenty-storey ride in a lift, Cook did. The office’s view was breathtaking: the building looked out over the iconic features of Tower Bridge, HMS Belfast and the Shard on the opposite side of the Thames.
The sight of Michael ‘Flex’ Gibbon was almost as impressive. Standing at five foot eight, Flex was a fifty-year-old muscle-bound mass who looked as if he’d been carved from granite.
‘Jack!’ he said, taking Morgan’s hand in his vice-like grip. ‘Who’s this?’ he asked, looking at Cook.
‘Good to see you, Flex,’ said Morgan. ‘This is Major Jane Cook.’
‘Major?’ Flex asked, surprised. ‘You look more like a cop,’ he told her, taking in the trouser suit and causing Morgan to break into an ‘I told you so’ smile.
‘So, I imagine it’s business at this hour?’ the big man said.
‘It is.’ Morgan nodded. ‘Hope we didn’t wake you up.’
‘Not at all, mate. Just got off the phone to Nairobi. All going to shit down there — again. I took the kids on holiday there once. Can you believe that? Now look at it. Bloody savages, all of them, but they keep a man in business.’
‘Business is good?’
Flex shrugged his mountainous shoulders. ‘The glory days have gone, mate. Too many companies now, and too many ex-soldiers with war in their heads who can’t settle into working a civvie job. Everyone’s undercutting everyone. Times are tight, so I hope you’re not here for a loan.’
Morgan laughed. ‘It’s a personnel matter, actually.’
‘Oh? I’d be happy to subcontract guys to you, Jack. You know I only take on the best.’
Morgan shook his head. ‘I’m working a kidnapping,’ he explained, ‘and something the kidnapper said has me thinking he may have crossed your path at some point.’
‘Go on?’
‘He used the word “operator” in the ransom call to describe the bodyguard. That’s a term only someone in our circles would use.’
Flex nodded in agreement. ‘Private military contractors are usually known as operators, yeah, but still, I don’t see how that can really help you, Jack. There’s hundreds of thousands of guys working this kind of gig now, from all over the world.’
‘But how many of them crossed paths with our victim’s bodyguard?’
‘Why don’t you ask him?’ Flex said, puzzled.
‘He’s dead.’
‘Oh.’ Flex was no stranger to death. ‘He won’t be much use then.’
‘His name was Aaron Shaw, and it looks as if the killer was able to get close to him. There were no signs of forced entry at the site, so we’re working on the theory that he was probably a friend, or at least trusted. We need to know more about Shaw. Did he have a clique? Regular work partners?’
‘One moment,’ Flex told them and left the room.
Cook joined Morgan at the window in silence, the pair enjoying the tranquillity of the city’s glittering lights.
‘Aaron Shaw,’ Flex announced on his way back in, tossing the file in his hand onto the spacious desk. ‘He applied to work for me two years ago, but you’re shit out of luck I’m afraid, Jack.’
‘And why’s that?’
‘Shaw was in the Household Cavalry Regiment, and I only take on ex-infantry or special forces. I don’t trust a soldier who doesn’t want to look his enemy in the eye when he kills him.’
‘I was a helicopter pilot.’
‘I know.’ The big man grinned. ‘But I like you anyway, Jack, so I’ll make some calls.’
Chapter 13
Abbie opened her eyes. She looked around her, and she wanted to cry.