It was too much for the soldier Cook, who stepped up and drilled her fist into the ex-military man’s jaw.
‘Hold yourself like a bloody soldier, you coward, and tell us what we need to know!’
The blow brought some composure back to the Duke. ‘Shaw,’ he said. ‘Shaw was handling it.’ A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
‘Shaw’s dead,’ Knight stated.
‘He brought in someone else. Shaw must have lost control of him,’ the Duke told them, confirming Morgan’s suspicions that Shaw had been killed by someone he trusted.
‘Who?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know! I don’t know! Shaw organised it all, and Sadie took care of the money!’
Morgan cursed, knowing that their two best leads to Abbie were now dead. Before he could press the Duke further, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket.
So too did the phones of Cook and Knight.
‘Watch him,’ Morgan instructed the pair, stepping away. ‘Morgan,’ he answered.
‘Boss, it’s Hooligan. I matched the isolated blood I found at the apartment with Grace. She was there at the time of the kidnap.’
‘Is there more?’ Morgan asked, hearing the excitement in Hooligan’s voice and expecting that there was.
He was right.
‘I inspected the wound to her throat, and I think I’ve come up with the kind of blade that was used to kill her. It would also be consistent with what I thought cut the strands of fibre I found in the blood.’
‘A hunting knife?’ Morgan asked.
‘A very specific one,’ Hooligan confirmed. ‘It’s called a KA-BAR. You know it?’
But Morgan didn’t reply. Instead, he hung up the phone and left the room, needing to be alone, needing to breathe.
Because the kidnapper wasn’t only a killer.
He was a United States Marine.
Chapter 23
‘Are you OK?’ Cook asked as a stony-faced Morgan re-entered the Duke’s office.
Morgan nodded and turned his hard eyes to the Duke.
‘We don’t have any powers to arrest or detain you, but I’m assuming that for your own protection you’d like to be escorted to Private headquarters.’
The Duke understood that he wasn’t really being given a choice, and gave his stuttering consent.
‘Take him to HQ, Peter,’ Morgan instructed Knight. ‘I want you to work with Hooligan there. See if you can come up with anything about a US Marine working as a bodyguard in London.’
‘A US Marine?’ Knight asked, knowing it was Morgan’s former service.
The American gave him a curt nod in reply. ‘He used a Marine blade. See who you can find, then cross-reference it against Aaron Shaw. See if they cross paths.’
‘Will do,’ Knight promised. ‘Where will you be?’
‘The gym,’ Morgan told him, without a trace of a smile.
Chapter 24
From the outside, Power House Gym looked like any other industrial unit in London. There were no signs to announce its presence, or gaudy banners promising discounts on joining fees. Power House was home to a hard-core fraternity of bodybuilders and membership was by invitation only, each member being given their own key to the building.
Luckily for Morgan and Cook, the June dawn was already warm and muggy and a dumb-bell propped open a fire escape to let in some air. Sounds of grunting and shouting emanated from within.
‘There’s a lot of testosterone in there,’ Cook commented as they approached.
Morgan stayed silent. The information that their kidnapper — murderer — could be a former comrade had left stones in his stomach.
They walked through the open door and into an industrial space that was packed with racks of dumb-bells and heavy-duty exercise machines of every description. Dusty mirrors lined the walls, and an array of flags hung from the ceiling. Morgan saw the red banner of the United Stated Marine Corps amongst them, its globe-and-eagle insignia staring down at him.
‘Flex,’ Morgan called across the room.
The big man turned. He was topless. His body was thick with muscle and scars. Alongside him, Flex’s gigantic training partner shot an ugly look at whoever was daring to interrupt their routine.
‘Who the hell are you?’ the training partner challenged, and Morgan’s fist clenched at the sound.
The man was American.
Morgan said nothing as he strode over to Flex and his partner. On an early Saturday morning, they were the only two training at the exclusive lock-up.
‘This is Jack Morgan,’ Flex answered for him, his eyes narrowing under his meaty forehead. ‘What are you doing here, Jack? I didn’t see any calls from you.’
‘No calls,’ Morgan told him. ‘I wanted to ask you this in person.’
‘OK.’ Flex shrugged, trying to be casual, but Morgan could see that the big man was tensing to spring. ‘What do you want to know?’
The time for tiptoeing was over. Morgan went for the jugular.
‘Where’s Abbie?’
For a moment there was only silence. A split second later, Flex launched himself at Morgan like a missile, but Morgan had been expecting the attack and sidestepped the bull rush, drilling a fist into Flex’s hard skull as he stumbled past.
Flex’s American partner wasted no time and scooped a barbell from the gym floor, swinging it at Cook’s head in the same movement. Like a limbo dancer Cook arched backwards, the metal whooshing through the air above her head. As the American fought to regain control of the weapon, Cook rolled away to her right, taking a bar of her own from a rack.
‘You twat, Jack!’ Flex spat at Morgan. ‘Who the hell do you think you are, sticking your nose into my business? My world!’ he roared, charging.
This time he caught hold of Morgan and the pair tumbled to the ground.
But Morgan had allowed himself to be caught, and now threw his legs up around Flex’s thick back and pulled the man’s head down towards his chest. Flex was caught in the jiu-jitsu move known as the triangle, but with his immense size and strength he was able to prevent Morgan from closing his windpipe and putting him to sleep.
Metres away, Cook ducked and danced to avoid the wild blows of Flex’s training partner. The man’s veins bulged like snakes beneath his skin, and Cook knew he could kill her with the power in his swings. She also knew that, with muscles that big, the man would tire quickly, so she ducked and danced, prodding the end of her own bar into his rock-hard stomach when she saw the chance.
‘Tell me where she is!’ Morgan hissed into Flex’s ear, fighting for leverage, his legs slowly slipping from the man’s sweaty torso.
Flex cursed, and doubled his efforts to break the hold. Morgan could see there was no way to finish the move, and holding Flex in position was rapidly sapping his own strength, so he let go. Flex’s sudden release caused him to shoot backwards.
Flex was on his feet again quickly and came charging once more. Morgan let him come, then knelt, picking up a small weighted disc in his hand. As if he had all the time in the world, Morgan threw it side-handed, as though skimming a stone at the beach.
The weight plate hit Flex in the centre of his face, smashing his nose and sending him staggering like a drunkard. Morgan knew it would take more than a broken nose to stop the monster, so he rushed forwards to take advantage of the moment and delivered a series of furious blows. A low leg kick to Flex’s shin connected with a crack and forced the man down onto his knees with a cry of agony.
Across the room, Flex’s partner had slowed down, his massive muscles outstripping the capacity of his heart and lungs to deliver blood and oxygen to them. His huge chest billowed as he fought for breath, his swings increasingly wild and ragged.