‘You bitch!’ he wheezed at Cook.
She saw her chance and stepped into the man’s reach, thrusting her bar into his jaw. He dropped as if a switch had been thrown.
Grasping at his knee in agony, and seeing his friend toppled like a demolished skyscraper, Flex knew the game was over.
‘You’ve blown out my knee, you bastard,’ he hissed at Morgan.
‘I’ll smash out your brains if you don’t tell us what we need to know,’ Morgan threatened. ‘Is that him?’ he asked, pointing at the unconscious American. ‘Is that the Marine who took her?’
Flex shook his head.
‘He’s an Army Ranger. Go check his tattoos.’
Cook did. Faded Ranger insignia were inked onto both of the man’s shoulders. ‘It’s not him,’ she said.
‘But you know who the Marine is, don’t you?’ Morgan pressed, putting his boot against Flex’s destroyed knee.
Flex howled. He knew now that to hold out would only cause him further pain.
‘His name’s Alex Waldron. He was a Recon Marine.’
Morgan cursed. Recon Marines were the elite of the service, selected for their mental and physical toughness.
‘If you’d told me this last night, two young women would still be alive.’ Morgan glared at the big man.
‘I couldn’t tell you because he’s a bloody nutcase. I didn’t want any comebacks. The guy killed a bunch of civilians in Afghanistan, but they couldn’t prove it, so they found a bullshit medical reason to discharge him.’
‘And you took him on anyway?’ Cook asked, disgusted.
‘I hire out the right tools for the right jobs,’ Flex answered. ‘And he’s the right kind when it comes to “no questions asked” work.’
‘You knew Aaron Shaw, Abbie’s bodyguard, didn’t you?’ Morgan pushed the big man, who nodded.
‘He came to me with a woman called Wilkinson. They wanted putting in touch with someone who could help them stage a kidnap. I gave them Waldron.’
‘Well, it’s not staged any more, is it?’ Morgan growled. ‘Three people are dead, Flex, including the two who came to you. What does that tell you?’
‘It tells me the fucker’s gone mad,’ Flex grunted. ‘He could have made an easy fifty K. Instead, that lunatic bastard jarhead went off the deep end, and he’s gonna take that girl with him.’
‘You could pretend to give a shit,’ Morgan snarled.
‘Oh, come off it, Jack. Like people haven’t died to make you richer,’ Flex sneered.
The words hit home and stopped Morgan cold.
Cook stepped in. ‘Where can we find them?’
Flex shrugged. A sharp kick to his knee helped him to open up.
‘In between contracts, Waldron and some of the other operators work for a haulage firm called Jones Brothers. They’re big on hiring veterans. Maybe you can find someone there who knows more.’
‘Where is it?’ she demanded, threatening to strike again.
‘Newington,’ he answered, shielding the ruined joint with his hands. ‘It’s the other side of Westminster Bridge from Big Ben.’
‘And Horse Guards,’ Morgan said, his eyes lighting up. ‘That’s where she is.’
Chapter 25
Cook gunned the engine, blaring the horn as she used the Range Rover’s size to bully her way through the morning traffic. Above them, the muggy June skies loomed heavy and grey.
‘I think it’s going to rain,’ Morgan assessed with a pilot’s eye for the weather.
He was right. Not thirty seconds later the clouds opened.
‘You know any shortcuts?’ Morgan questioned Cook, cursing as others in the road braked and slowed as the rain bounced from the tarmac.
‘Nothing legal,’ she replied. Outside, the rain ceased as if a tap had been turned.
‘We can’t risk the police stopping us.’ Morgan shook his head, frustrated. ‘Did you get hurt back there?’
‘He didn’t land a finger on me,’ the soldier said, with more than a little pride. ‘He needs to take some time off the weights and work on his cardio.’
‘The beating you put on him, he’s going to be taking time off from everything.’
Cook’s smile dropped a little.
‘I was praying he was our guy,’ she said.
‘Me too.’
‘I would have beat Abbie’s location out of him if he was,’ Cook promised.
‘I know.’ Morgan considered giving his prospective employee a pep talk on the need for good conduct and rules of engagement, but he held his tongue. The truth was, Jack himself would have done whatever it took to get the information that could save Abbie Winchester — there was an innocent life at stake.
‘Flex will come back at you,’ she warned.
Morgan nodded. ‘He will.’
‘Ex-SAS and he runs mercenaries. The guy has a reputation to protect, Jack. You need to watch him.’
‘I will,’ Morgan promised, hearing the concern underlying the professional warning. ‘Thanks,’ he told her.
‘For what?’ Cook asked, taking her eyes off the road and meeting his.
‘For everything so far, and for having my back.’
‘Oh,’ she said, and paused, weighing up her next words. ‘It’s a nice back to have.’ Cook smiled, and the pair laughed. It was a laugh of relief as adrenaline wore away from tired muscles.
‘We’re almost there,’ Morgan said, checking the GPS, then turning his serious eyes onto Cook. ‘You’re our liaison here, Jane. You don’t have to come in for this.’
‘You think Abbie’s going to be there?’ she asked.
Morgan nodded.
Cook said nothing more. She didn’t need to.
Up ahead was the truck yard. The soldier brought the Range Rover to a stop and, with a look to Morgan, stepped out.
Chapter 26
Morgan’s feet splashed down into a puddle as he stepped down from the Range Rover, his eyes on the haulage firm’s yard in the near distance. Leaving Cook behind, he made off at a casual walking pace, covering all four sides of the truck yard’s perimeter. There was little for him to see save a line of trucks, a Portakabin office and rain-filled wheel ruts.
As Morgan had expected, Jones Brothers Haulage were closed for the weekend, the gate bolted shut.
‘We’ll go through the fence,’ he told Cook, rejoining her at the Range Rover.
‘You found a way in?’
‘We’ll make one,’ he said, lifting a pair of bolt cutters from the boot.
‘They could have CCTV,’ Cook warned.
‘If the police come, we’ll either be gone or have Abbie. Here.’ Morgan handed over the cutters. ‘They’ll be armed. This is the best we can do.’
‘I hate doing this kind of thing without a firearm,’ Cook confessed. ‘I feel naked.’
‘Come work for me in LA, and you won’t have to be.’ Morgan spoke without thinking, and Cook couldn’t help a sly smile.
‘But it’s an option, right?’ she said.
For the first time in hours, a ghost of Morgan’s usual happy, handsome face appeared. ‘Come on,’ he said, trying to fight it. ‘Let’s go and get her.’
‘We’re not waiting for help?’
‘You’re in the artillery, right?’ he said. He moved off, Cook following on his shoulder. ‘When you’re sending forward observers behind enemy lines to spot your targets, do you send the entire unit, or a small team?’
‘A small team,’ she conceded. ‘And they call in the heavy stuff.’
‘There you go.’ Morgan smiled.
‘OK. But who are our big guns?’
‘SCO19,’ he answered — the Metropolitan Police’s firearms unit. ‘If we find Abbie, and there’s no way we can safely pull her out of there, then we’ll call them in.’
Carrying the wheel brace from the breakdown kit, Morgan led Cook to a stretch of fence that was hidden from the haulage yard’s Portakabin by a line of wheeled bins. Cutting a hole through took moments, then the pair ran low across the open ground to the cabin. The curtains were open. Morgan took a cautious glance through the window. The cabin was empty.