Defender (34 page)

"He's on that boat. That flash cruiser," Morgan cried, gesticulating wildly as Sutherland dragged him inside. "He's heading west, inland."

The POLAIR's Observer, Terri, gave the details to Chuck through her radio headset. The boat had vanished into the driving rain.

Sutherland slammed the cargo hold door shut. "Who were they?" he yelled over the weather and rotors, indicating the two bodies Morgan had pulled out of the water and left on the jetty.

"Not sure. Civilians. I was checking for Arena," replied Morgan, exhausted. "But I guess it was their boat. Bastard shot them and threw them off. Better get some cops there ASAP."

Terri nodded, she was already calling it in.

Chuck extinguished the NITESUN as he, Terri and Sutherland began searching the endless expanse of the harbour for signs of the fleeing cruiser. The pilot powered the aircraft west toward the Opera House and Harbour Bridge. They struggled to see through the great grey blanket of water, land and sky. The foul weather was hiding the cruiser as though night had fallen, and they were flying without lights or night vision of any kind. At the back of the cargo hold, Morgan checked that his SIG was full of ammunition.

"Got him! Dead ahead coming in on the starboard side," Sutherland yelled, directing the pilot onto target. "How do you want to handle it, Alex?"

"Tell Chuck to get me aboard."

* * *

Victor Lund t was exhilarated.

He'd done it, he'd escaped. What's more, he still had the girl - his bargaining chip if Morgan actually managed to catch up with him. Beautiful! Inspired!
If
that didn't screw with Morgan's mind, nothing would. Lundt laughed, toasting his success as the Sea Ray skipped across the burgeoning swell. He pushed her up to 27 knots and looked both ways to be sure he had the banks of the harbour in view. I might just have to get me one of these, he told himself.

Across the long bench at the rear of the Sea Ray's open deck, Arena Halls lay still. She had been drifting in and out of consciousness, too exhausted to know where she was. But slowly her awareness was returning. Freezing bullets of water buzzed and stung at her cheeks. Huddled on her side, Arena's arms and legs were clenched foetal-like to maintain what little heat she could retain about her vital organs. Her entire body throbbed. From what? Soon she became aware of an incessant pounding, as though she was being dragged and bounced up and down; every downward collision bringing a new jarring pain along her sodden flank. The weather shrieked at her, plucking her from obliviousness, dropping her straight back into the heart of chaos.

The realisation that she was on a boat, a speed boat, in the middle of a raging storm, struck Arena like a hammer. Suddenly, panic reached for her. The last thing she remembered was men coming for her. But there was more: Hyde Park, being manhandled into a car - by the police? - No, not police. A face came to her - a fierce, merciless face with terrifying, bi-coloured eyes - Victor Lundt. She knew him from photographs. They were the eyes that had sneered at her as his fist came crashing down across her cheek in the Land Rover, the same eyes that sneered back at her now from the controls.

Arena was wearing only what she had on in her suite back at the Regency: a t-shirt, light track pants and trainers. Her teeth were chattering and the extremities of her slender limbs were numb with cold. Where was she? She needed something to shield her from the relentless blast of wind and rain. She was no good to herself or anyone like this.

Arena heard Lundt laughing to himself at the controls. Bastard! She looked around the deck and saw a jacket lying across a large barbeque gas bottle nearby, close to her feet. Was it his? Maybe, though she couldn't be sure, and didn't care. She was freezing. Avoiding his attention, Arena gingerly pulled the jacket across and slipped into it.

*
* *

Chuck came in on a direct line with the stern of the Sea Ray. He needed to get as close as possible before Lundt realised they were upon him. They had been lucky so far. The weather had shielded the noise of the chopper's thunderous rotor slap and Chuck didn't want to give Lundt the opportunity to take any rash evasive action that would be difficult to counter in the high winds. Even now,
it
was suicide to be airborne in these conditions. But with the nose down, Chuck was heading in fast, while in the back the crazy bastard from INTERPOL was preparing to make
his
move.

* * *

At the wheel, Lundt became like stone. He was no longer jovial, his thoughts focused only on his escape. He needed to disappear without trace, recover his losses and re-establish himself as a legitimate player on the international scene. Nothing could get in the way of that.

The waves were growing more brutal and the boat was smashed harder as Lundt pushed the engines to their limits. The Sea Ray was shuddering at almost 30 knots, but Lund t was resolute. He was wasting no time. He had to keep heading inland and find a concealed spot to drop the

boat, somewhere he could get
his
hands on a car. The cops would not be expecting him to tackle weather like
this.

A fierce bang suddenly rocked the cruiser. A massive wave broke against the bow and then - nothing. The Sea Ray was lifted from the water a full 15 feet, sailing through the air before it came crashing down again. Lundt lost his footing, slipping from the wheel, falling backwards onto the deck. Behind him, Arena was flung from the bench and fell amongst the blood and debris of Lundt's shooting spree. She cried out in pain. Lundt heard and turned to check her.

"Fuck me!" he cried.

All he saw was rotor blades.

The nose of the POLAIR Kawasaki BK-117 was almost kissing the stern of the Sea Ray, the rotor blades slicing through the air directly above the rear deck. Chuck, moving in as close as he dared, was overwhelmed by the drastic surge in weather that had brought the two machines so dangerously close to impact. It was like riding a bucking bronco. He instantly wrenched the chopper back to port then surged forward, once again closing alongside the Sea Ray. The winds were hurling the chopper up and down in the sky, and Chuck was struggling to keep her steady, but the starboard side cargo door of the chopper began to open.

Morgan was braced in the door. Sutherland was at his side.

"You crazy bastards!" Chuck cried from the controls, shaking his head. "We'll never manage this!"

"Just get me over that boat!" came Morgan's chilling response.

There was only one solution: cut your losses, Victor, old boy! Cut your losses!

The searchlight thrust a piercing white circle upon the Sea Ray with the intensity of an interrogation lamp. The boat bounced recklessly in and out of the spotlight, across heaving waves.

Hanging from the door, Morgan saw it all: the Sea Ray racing across the white-topped water; the Opera House, its billowing white sails luminous against the ominous grey of the storm; and, dead ahead, the world's most famous coat hanger, the Harbour Bridge. At the controls of the POLAIR chopper, Chuck Bowler's jaw tightened.

Bowler knew that there was only 50 metres of clearance for shipping below the main span of the bridge. Flying at high speed over water in the middle of a raging storm, 50 metres might as well have been five. To complicate matters even more, there were at that moment, three passenger ferries negotiating their way into Circular Quay, squeezing through the same 600 metres of space between the bridge's north and south pylons. Chuck was forced into urgent edge-of-the-seat manoeuvres. He jammed the cyclic forward and the chopper's nose dived. He fought against the winds to bring the bird level, skirting the waves and skimming beneath the bridge's 50,000 tonnes of steel, eight lanes of traffic and commuter trains. Everybody on-board POLAIR held their breath, hanging on tight to whatever they could reach at the sudden, rapid drop in altitude.

Morgan could see Arena, cradling herself on the rear deck of the cruiser. Lundt was at the wheel, struggling to keep control. Get me closer, Morgan willed the pilot. Get me closer!

Lundt left the wheel. It looked as though he had set the craft to cruise and was rushing back to Arena. The boat was hurled up and down, out of control without anyone at the wheel. He was grappling with her, lifting her roughly to her feet. She fought against Lundt, taking him on, punching and kicking with ferocious determination. Arena was strong, but she didn't stand a chance. Lundt was a killer, a man who would act without compunction. The fact that Arena was a woman was of no consequence to him. He hit her hard, as hard as he would a man, deep in the centre of her solar plexus. The last of her air expired and she crumpled to the deck. Then the Sea Ray was hit by another big wave. Lundt, too, fell to the decks, but recovering fast he was upon her again, dragging Arena to the side. Morgan's sheer helplessness compelled him to act.

"Come on, Chuck!"

Finally the chopper was in position. Morgan leaned forward, hands braced either side of the door, selecting the precise moment to make the jump. Then, disaster.

"No!" Morgan cried.

Lundt had Arena around the waist, and without remorse tossed her into the deadly swirling waters. She disappeared instantly beneath the waves, swallowed by the grey mouth of the raging storm.

"Dave, save her!" Morgan bellowed, and then, without hesitation, Dave Sutherland fearlessly plunged into the churning sea after Arena. At the same moment, Alex Morgan leapt for the surging deck of the cruiser.

The waters pulled at Sutherland as he dived for Arena. Chuck kept the chopper directly above. With the spotlight on them, he guided Sutherland towards Arena's body, floating face down. The Observer strapped herself into a safety harness, manipulating the rescue winch behind the pilot.

* * *

Morgan landed on the deck of the Sea Ray with a boom, the impact shuddering first through his knees and then jarring his body. The enraged Victor Lundt could scarcely believe his eyes.

"You fucker, Morgan! I should have known!" he screamed through the rain. "Won't you ever die?"

"You've had your day, Lundt," Morgan spat the words. "It's over."

Lundt reached for a long-handled, serrated grappling hook and coiled his reptilian fingers around it like a vice. Thus armed, he hurled himself at the INTREPID agent and with erratic, maniacal stabs, thrust the weapon towards his adversary. Morgan dodged and swayed against the attack like a drunken sailor traversing his ship in rough seas. The seesawing of the deck worked in Morgan's favour, making it almost impossible for Lundt to find his target. Suddenly, a crash of waves pelted the decks and Morgan lost balance. Lundt made contact. The point of one of the three curled blades bit into the back of Morgan's leg, its razor-sharp metal point slashing through his flesh. Morgan howled but rolled away in time to avoid another stab. A massive anvil of water fell upon the boat, smashing Lundt to his belly and Morgan onto his back. Lundt dropped the grapple, shook his head and launched at Morgan, fists thrashing.

The two fell in a death struggle, entangled, each fighting to subdue the other within the eerie darkness that swam across the decks. Fists and feet flew in a frenzy of uncontrolled violence while all around, pitiless winds shrieked, rain pounded and huge waves crashed, threatening to capsize the boat as it careened pilotless across the harbour. Lundt had his hands clasped tight around Morgan's throat, thumbs clawing for the windpipe. But Morgan had waited too long for this moment. This was his chance to crush Lundt, once and for all. Alex Morgan's eyes were fierce with rage and hatred. He knew that by night's end he would have blood on his hands - Lundt's blood. But it was rough justice. Swift retribution for the thousands Lundt's guns had killed, for the young fellow in the park, whose only mistake was to get in the way, and for Morgan's friend, Sean Collins, doing his duty only to be betrayed in order to save Lundt's miserable skin. At that moment, Morgan had no conscience. There were no rules out here, no police, no judges or juries, no INTREPID, no General Davenport,

no control. He was an animal with a blood lust, just like Lundt.

It was the only way.

* *
*

Sutherland grabbed Arena under her arms and lifted her semi-conscious body as high as he could, trying to keep her head out of the water as he struggled to swim back towards the winch harness. Chuck was above them, the searchlight isolating them from the storm that continued to besiege the normally picturesque harbour. Sutherland could see the bright orange harness being lowered down to them. Strangely, it reminded him of a huge tea bag being dunked into a brew. He reached for it, floundering as wave after wave sought to take them both under.

* * *

'Shock - Stun - Blitz!' The mantra of one of his old Army unarmed combat instructors rang in Morgan's memory. Shock!
In
one rapid, skilled movement, Morgan freed his arms, and with cupped hands struck inwards, hard and fast, at Lundt's exposed ears. The impact was sudden and powerful, and Lundt instantly released his grip on Morgan's throat, dazed for a precious speck of time. It was all Morgan needed. Stun! Back on his feet, he grabbed Lund t's shirt front with one hand and drove the other in a closed fist straight for Lundt's throat. The blow connected, driving Lundt backwards into the cockpit, gasping for air. Morgan followed. Blitz! He was upon him in a second, and struck at Lundt furiously, over and over until the man yielded. With savage intensity, Morgan continued to punch and kick the stupefied, bloodied figure back into a corner against the control panel.