Private Princess

Chapter 64

Morgan watched almost in a daze as their car slid through the rain-slicked streets of London. Traffic became a blur. Faces were meaningless. It was a procession of life — hundreds, maybe thousands of people — but all Morgan could think about was death.

Jane.

Gone.

He blinked hard to try to clear the image from his eyes. It was the picture of Jane, her face pleading and terrified as Flex held the gun to her head. Then Morgan had seen that most beautiful face turn to ruin as Flex had pulled the trigger.

“Pull over,” he instructed the driver. “Pull over!”

The man did so, drivers honking angrily as Morgan pushed opened the door and threw up onto the curb.

“Are you all right?” Knight asked as Morgan stepped back inside the car.

Morgan ignored him. Instead he closed the door and waved for the driver to go on.

“Jack, are you all right?” Knight insisted.

Of course he wasn’t all right. He had fallen for Cook, hard, and then he had watched helplessly as her brains were blown out onto the floor. Who could be all right after that? But he was Jack Morgan, after all. He almost laughed to himself, thinking of how Private’s agents saw him as both the unstoppable force and the immovable object.

Hadn’t he seen enough death? He could still remember the helicopter crash in the Afghan mountains. He could still remember the screams and the smell of burning flesh. He could still remember the nightmares and bed sheets soaked in sweat. He could still feel the guilt that hung from his shoulders like the heaviest rucksack he had ever carried as a Marine. And now this? Now Jane’s death, too?

“Why are we doing this?” Morgan asked himself, but the words came out loud enough for Knight to hear. The Englishman frowned in confusion, as if the answer were so simple.

“For justice.”

“For justice.” Morgan smiled. What justice could there be for Jane Cook? Her life was worth a million Flex Gibbons. How could her soul and presence ever be replaced? How could there be real justice when the world was an emptier place without her?

“I miss her already,” he confessed to Knight. “And it hasn’t even hit me yet. Not really.”

“We’re here for you, Jack,” Knight promised. “All of Private London. We’re here for each other, as a family.”

Private London. So caught up was he in his own loss that Morgan had yet to consider the wider ripples of Jane’s tragedy. Cook was beloved of every member of the London office, he knew. She had family there, and family in the wider world. What of her comrades from the army? People who had fought and lived beside her in the hardest of circumstances. Flex’s actions would cause distress and grief to hundreds of people. His attack had been not just on Cook and Lewis, but on hundreds, maybe thousands of people. He was a monster, and he had to be stopped.

No matter the consequences.

“Peter, are you ready to step up? If the time comes, are you ready to step up, for Private?”

It took Knight a moment to grasp the implications of what Morgan was saying. “I am, Jack,” he promised. “But I won’t need to.”

We’ll see, Morgan thought.

Because he knew this was only going to end one of two ways — with the death of Michael “Flex” Gibbon, or with the death of Jack Morgan.