Piranha Assignment (17 page)

“Nice of Roberts to tell us in advance,” Felicity said, biting a piece of chicken. “You think the Navy's right?”

“I've got my own theory. Which doesn't tell me how you figure in this. You're cheating.”

“Sorry,” Felicity said. “This is so good. Anyway, I guess there isn't much that would shock you. I got into security because I've got years of experience defeating it. I used to be a thief.” She held her head down, but looked up, gauging Barton's facial expression. He did not react at all. He was waiting for something else. “I decided to go straight, and now I do security work for all manner of things.”

“And Mister Stark? How does he fit into all this?”

“He was a mercenary when I met him,” Felicity said, glad to move the subject away from herself. “Now he's my partner.”

“Why him?”

“Are you kidding?” Felicity asked. “He's a real professional. We kind of complement each other. He's amazingly capable, but a straight line thinker. I supply the creativity, the imagination you might say. We're partners in a true sense, and best friends.”

“And what else.”

Felicity finally realized where his line of questioning was going. “We're back to back against the world. I love the man, but not in any romantic sense. We're… well it might sound silly but we're too close for that. Nobody could take his place, but in the romance department I'm a free agent.”

“You don't say.” Barton's expression didn't change, but she felt his knee brush hers under the table. His foot slid next to hers, and she could see his pulse in the big vein in his neck. Conversation stopped for a few moments as they
ate. Felicity's last piece of chicken hung on her fork when she whispered her next words.

“So you're not really CIA.”

“Not really.” Barton leaned close across the table. “I was hired by Bastidas to be his contact with the government because I was already in place here, looking for work. After that, the local American intel boys approached me to be their inside man. I already thought there might be some monkey business going on around here, and I was curious, so I decided to go along.” While he talked, Barton ran his fingertips up and down Felicity's arm. She felt a tingle in her spine, and a warm flush in the last place she needed it right then. He was getting to her and she knew they would need some privacy soon. She cleared her throat.

“Let's head back to the boat,” she said, pulling her arm back. “It was a fabulous lunch, Chuck, and I'm ready for another exciting ride.”

His smile said “me too” but he did not say it out loud.

The children were gone when Felicity and Barton returned to their boat, and she didn't know why that bothered her. A slight breeze had come up, raising a small chop on the sea. She hopped onto the small craft, while Barton bent to untie it from the dock. In moments they were gliding across the dancing waters, sliding away from shore. At the wheel, Barton turned to smile at Felicity standing beside him, feeling the wind on her face.

She recognized the tension in her loins with its slight adrenaline rush for the only thing it could be. Despite her years forcing herself into society's upper strata, Felicity was at heart an earthy girl. She never analyzed love when it came. She did not try to classify or separate her physical needs from her mental and emotional drives. Whatever, when it came she accepted it as an old friend that always made her feel good when it arrived. She had not consciously selected Chuck Barton, but her body or her heart had. Why fight it? She could feel her pulse kick into high gear when she put her arm around his shoulders.

“Chuck, do you really want to go straight back to the base?”

“Hell, no,” He answered more forceful than he intended, made a face at his own lack of restraint. “I mean, I thought, if it was okay with you, we could stop off at one of these little deserted islands.”

“I think I'd like that,” she said. But when she looked into
his brown eyes it made her shudder. Was she uncomfortable with something about him? Sure, he was uncouth, but no more so than the Gypsy wanderers she grew to womanhood with in the Irish woods. They were brash and crude, but she had trained one or two to be more than adequate lovers.

The wind was pushing her shirt against her breasts, making her nipples stand out. It was much more uncomfortable than usual, and she tried to turn her body to avoid the shirt's friction. She was having a hard time standing still, which Barton seemed to interpret as anticipation. He slid his hand up her back into her hair. Then, with surprising gentleness, he turned her head to him and kissed her. It was warm, tender, passionate, everything she thought a kiss should be. Yet, she pulled herself away after a moment. This was more than nerves. Did she really fear him?

“Too fast?” Barton's voice betrayed no anger or resentment, only concern and caring.

“No, no. It's not that. It's just…I don't know, Chuck.” She walked to the rear of the small boat and stared into its bubbling wake. She had left him hanging. By her personal code of conduct that was wrong. A statement was needed, even if she didn't really understand her feelings right then. Dear God, was this true love at last? Fear of entrapment? No, it can't feel this awful.

“Chuck,” she called first, then turned to him. Her eyes fixed on the infinite blue sky, then slowly panned down to his angular face. “Chuck I really like you. And I'm really attracted to you. Something is…” before the thought could form her mouth dropped open. Her eyes flashed left, then right. Her fingers splayed out like wavering antennae, and the light of understanding dawned on her face.

“Chuck.” she spoke with urgency now, her self
confidence reasserting itself. “Chuck it's not you. What an idiot I've been. I let my emotions blind me to…shit! Listen, something's wrong here. There's terrible danger. It's right here with us, and it's getting closer.”

“What are you talking about? Right here but getting closer? That doesn't make any…”

“Shut up,” Felicity said. “Not closer in distance, closer in time. A timed danger. It's got to be…oh God. Chuck, overboard, fast.”

“Hold it. We can pull to one of the islands in a couple of minutes.”

“Because of my stupidity we don't have a couple of minutes. Come on!”

Her shouting appeared to take Barton aback more than her words. “Felicity, how can you…?”

“Damn it, let's go!” Felicity said, grabbing at Barton's shirt and pulling him. He stood up and wrapped his arms around her.

“Whatever it is, I'll take care of it.”

“Idiot!” Felicity said through clenched teeth. She pulled back briefly, and Barton reflexively pulled her back toward him. The instant she felt the pressure she threw herself forward. Her strength, combined with his, was enough to throw them both overboard.

The water was warmer than Felicity expected, but still a shock to her. Salt stung her eyes and the brine taste sneaked into her mouth. She clawed her shoes off and struggled out of her waterlogged pullover before breaking the surface for air. When she came up she saw Barton, still sputtering and treading water. Now he looked angry, with hair hanging into his eyes. She hated being on the receiving end of that stare, but had no time to explain.

“Dive for cover,” Felicity shouted. “It's going to blow.” Barton slapped at his own head, trying to free his ears of
water.

“Dive!” she shouted again, then she drove her face into the ocean and her hips flipped out of the water. Her bare feet pushed upward into the air. She was digging for the ocean floor with strong, steady strokes. From underneath she saw Barton, his head still above the surface. His body twisted as if he was looking around, or perhaps trying to clear the water out of his eyes. Against her better judgment, she arced back toward the surface.

Her eyes just broke the surface when the little runabout erupted like a volcano, spraying the sea's surface with shrapnel in all directions. There was a burst of hundred decibel sound, then sharp silence. The world flashed a bright white, then turned black. Her eyes would not open for her, but she felt herself drifting into a slow fall. Her nose burned, and the air tasted so much like salt that something told her it would be a bad idea to inhale.

Morgan stepped into the small clinic at the rear of the big house, expecting to see a bare bones operation. Instead he saw a small waiting room and, beyond it, a bright, clean examination and treatment area filled with state of the art equipment. At a side lab table, Doctor Nunez was doing some kind of blood work, checking a sample under a microscope. Morgan cleared his throat and the doctor looked up, startled.

“I don't want to disturb your work,” Morgan said. “Just thought I'd check about the gymnasium downstairs. Would a midday workout cause any trouble?”

“Oh no,” Nunez said. “Senior Herrera is very structured, and only uses the room in the evening.” He seemed flustered for some reason.

“Don't any of the others…”

“It is a private facility,” Doctor Nunez assured him. “The equipment is too sophisticated for these common foot soldiers, eh?” If he expected agreement, none was forthcoming. Morgan just forced a smile and left.

Thinking for the hundredth time what a bizarre little group this was, Morgan headed down the corridor. It was a long flight of stairs to the basement, but well worth it. The room was big as a basketball court. Eighteen chrome weighted nautilus weight machines lined one wall. A treadmill stood against another wall with machines that simulated bicycle riding, stair climbing, and rowing, plus
an inclined sit-up board tilted at an extreme angle.

A heavy bag and a speed bag hung near the opposite wall, along with a set of ropes suspended by pulleys. Morgan imagined Herrera putting his foot into the loop of one of those ropes and pulling down, stretching his legs. The final wall was lined with cabinets, a long table and four tall stools.

The place looked like a health club, but had the familiar smell of a gymnasium. Herrera must have sweated up a storm there not long ago. Well, good for him. Morgan could follow that example. In his loose canvas pants, without a shirt, he would have enough freedom of movement. He began to pull off his double shoulder holster, preparing for the workout of his life.

That was when the feeling hit him. That raising of the hairs on the back of his neck. The infuriating buzz of a maddened insect trapped inside his head. It was his danger sense. His head snapped back and forth as he looked around to confirm his own safety. But this was not the feeling of impending doom he usually got. He wasn't in danger. It was Felicity.

Like a hungry jaguar he launched himself up the stairs. He was outside, moving at full speed toward the waterline before even he knew why. He had a directional fix on Felicity. His unexplained instincts would lead him to her, hopefully in time to rescue her.

A powerboat stood at the small wharf Bastidas' men had built. Without a word to anyone he jumped into it and started its engine. Three men patrolling on shore called to him to stop, but he was already driving the vessel northward, praying he was in time.

Felicity was spinning, her arms straight out like propeller blades. Water drove into her ears and nose. Sea water balled itself into a fist and knocked the air out of her. Then it all stopped and she needed to breathe. She wanted to head for the surface, but which way was up? She saw no light in any direction. She could not see her bubbles. No landmarks, just water. What an awful death.

No! Not today, she silently screamed at herself. I know I'll die sometime, but not like this. I won't drown. Drowning is an idiotic way to die. Just relax girl. Relax. Feel that tug, pulling you, a slow drift in one direction. With no air in me, no buoyancy, that's got to be down. Now push the other way. Ignore those lungs yelling at you. It can't be far. Just keep pushing. Kick. Stroke. Struggle. That's the way it's been all your life. Just don't quit.

Felicity's hands clawed at the air a few times before she realized her head had broken the ocean's surface tension. She thankfully gulped great lungfuls of air. Her splashing hand hit something big and she clutched at it. She rested a moment while holding onto this large floating object, breathing deeply, giving her mind a chance to clear. When she opened her eyes she realized she was clinging to a large piece of the wood and fiberglass. It was a piece of Barton's boat.

Someone had put a bomb on that boat near the fuel tank. They had been so sure they were in no danger. But what enemy did they have? The Panamanian Defense Force? Soviets out to sabotage The Piranha project? Or was one of Bastidas' followers jealous? One might even be disloyal to the cause. Like Varilla for instance. Whoever the real culprit, she suspected they had paid that Indian to plant the bomb. God, they were stupid.

But how big was the price they paid for their foolishness? She needed to know if she was now alone. She
was holding onto a plank nearly as long as a surf board, but only about half as wide. She straddled it to give herself a higher vantage point and scanned the nearby waters. She spotted Barton not thirty feet away, floating face up among the waves. Filling herself with hope, she stretched out on the board and paddled to him.