“He’s had the first part of his revenge, Morgan, but he won’t be satisfied until you’re dead.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
“Good. Flex is not only a murderer, but by virtue of who he was, he is a national disgrace. Better he be dealt with quietly, rather than dragged through the courts.”
“You’re helping me because you want this kept quiet?”
“I’m helping you because it’s the right thing to do. There are two pieces of paper in your pocket, Morgan. One is the address, and the other is a copy of my letter of resignation. Lewis and Perkins were hurt under my command. As I can’t take their place in the hospital—which I wish I could—I can only give up my command. I’m staying in my post only to be useful until this bastard is dealt with, Morgan. Then I will resign my commission.”
“We have to deal with Flex first,” Morgan replied.
“We do,” De Villiers agreed. “So you’d better go get your gun.”
Chapter 80
COLONEL DE VILLIERS walked eastward along the Thames’ northern bank, his eyes on the pavement as the wind began to whip off the water, finding every opening in his clothing.
“It’s supposed to be bloody summer,” the man grumbled to himself as he reached inside his Barbour jacket for his phone.
“Yes?” the voice asked as De Villiers’ call connected.
“I met with Morgan,” the Colonel replied after a look over both shoulders. “I gave him the address.”
“Will he go?” the voice asked.
“He will. He’s on a rampage. You could see it in his eyes.”
For a moment there was silence, all quiet in De Villiers’ ears except the slap of his brogues against the Embankment’s damp paving stones.
“Did he buy your resignation?” the voice finally asked.
“He did,” De Villiers replied.
“Good. It’s important he trusts you.”
“I don’t know if he trusts me, but he believes me. With the state of mind he’s in, I think that will be enough.”
“Very good, Colonel. You’ll see this through for me, won’t you?”
“Anything for you, Your Highness.”
Chapter 81
JACK MORGAN STARED intently through the Audi’s windshield, his fingers tight on the wheel. The car’s navigation system told him that he was one minute away from the destina
tion given to him by De Villiers, and Morgan intended to make his first reconnaissance in the car.
The venue’s location was in Knightsbridge, which struck Morgan as no surprise. Given that the streets were dotted with Ferraris and Maseratis, where better to hold a private party for London’s mega-rich and ultra-connected?
It was the appearance of a tall woman that first gave away the location. She was every inch the Russian millionaire’s wife, with blonde hair piled on top of her head, and fur over her shoulders. Knightsbridge was home to rich clichés, and Morgan watched as she was followed out of the golden Lamborghini by a bearded man whose clothes were twenty years too young for him, and two chest sizes too small. Morgan slowed and watched the couple as they climbed the steps to a black door. The bearded man gave his woman a helpful grab on the ass as she slipped slightly in her heels, then knocked on the door. The couple waited patiently to be admitted. As there was no one else outside the building, one thing was clear to Morgan—the security, and the weapons he wanted, were behind that black door.
“Dammit,” Morgan swore softly, pulling his car into a side street a block away so that he was clear to think—how the hell could he get inside there without starting World War Three?
And then he had it.
“Hello,” Morgan said into his phone when it was finally answered. “I know, it’s been a long time,” he went on politely. “Listen, I’m calling because I need a favor.”
Chapter 82