Piranha Assignment (21 page)

They almost could.

The breakfast table was the usual mealtime tableau. Bastidas held court with his close cabinet. Navigational questions and weather updates occupied one side of the table. Bastidas' scientists and guards all dressed for meals in a standard fashion. Morgan would have stood out in his khaki safari outfit, if not for Barton who appeared in jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. They and Felicity discussed the base's security, which was satisfactory on all points. At the right time, Felicity made a smooth transition to another subject.

“How do these people tolerate the boredom here? Isn't there any kind of activity nearby to divert your mind from all this?”

Morgan was just about to suggest a short trip to the big city when Bastidas cleared his throat and spoke across both conversations.

“Miss O'Brian has raised an interesting point,” Bastidas said, flipping his cape wide and raising his arms like a monarch making a proclamation. “I believe my loyal staff deserves a break from all their hard labor. Shop talk at the table is not only bad manners, it is also a sign of overwork. Why don't we take a drive into Panama City and enjoy civilization for a few hours? I say we meet at the garages in an hour and take off for some relaxation.”

Morgan and Felicity looked at each other as if they had
won the lottery. Everyone else lit up with broad smiles and two men actually applauded. Bastidas was a hit. Morgan appreciated how easy Bastidas had made his life, but he wondered if Bastidas might also be pursuing some hidden agenda.

Meanwhile, they had to advance the other parts of their plan. As the breakfast club broke up, Felicity would focus on her next target, Franciscus, the navigator, while Barton struck up a conversation with Morgan.

“So, what do you think you'll want to do in the big town, Morgan?” Chuck asked. “I figure to do some sightseeing, and I was kind of hoping you two would come along.”

“You hardly need my company,” Morgan replied, prodding Barton's ribs with an elbow. “To tell you the truth, I'll split from the pack as soon as we're there. I figure to find myself a decent hotel room and some company that isn't necessarily a rocket scientist, if you know what I mean.”

While he kidded with his new friend, Morgan watched Felicity out the corner of his eye. He saw her step into the midst of the small knot of scientists as they headed for the door. He saw her turn to tell Bastidas how much she enjoyed breakfast. He saw her foot catch on something, and watched her stumble against Franciscus. She twisted so that his rising right hand pressed against her left breast as he reflexively tried to catch her. She righted herself and apologized immediately.

“It was surely the high point of my day,” Franciscus said through an embarrassed smile. He blushed, and Felicity giggled.

Lord, she was good. Morgan never saw the dip, but he had no doubt she made it.

Then everyone scattered to handle last minute
preparations. Morgan returned to his room to reconfirm that he had secured everything. After changing into a light blue suit he took his chair to the window to relax and spend some time staring out at the clouds racing across the sky.

Ten minutes before departure time, he was back at Felicity's door. She popped out to walk with him to the vehicles waiting outside.

“You do good work,” Morgan said as they walked, “But won't Franciscus miss his little book?”

“Just like a man with his wallet, the poor guy won't miss it because it's always in his pocket. I've memorized the navigational notes. They don't really mean anything to me but it's all here, for you to get it to our friends up north.” She handed him a small piece of paper.

“So you're finished with the notebook,” Morgan said as they approached the door.

“Oh yes. Now all I have to do is return it.” Then she opened the door and the sun blinded them for a moment. Morgan whispered, “Good luck” as they split up.

“Hey, I'll drive one of those things,” Morgan said, climbing into the driver's seat of one of the khaki colored Land Rovers. He got no argument from anyone, as expected. Felicity shared a bright smile with each man in turn, although Varilla and Herrera declined to return them. Then, taking Barton's arm, she maneuvered herself so she was seated in the back seat of one of the vehicles between him and the blushing, flustered Franciscus.

Bastidas stood in the front seat of the one white Land Rover, with Herrera at the wheel. Glowing in a ruffled white suit complete with wide slouch hat, he waved an arm like the wagon master in an old Western movie, and the three car column lurched forward.

Morgan drove behind him, wondering for the hundredth time just what went on in the little long haired, earless
man's mind. Morgan was now certain he was driven by a fanatical patriotism, and he knew what that could do to a man. He had seen patriotism gone wrong plenty of times before. As a mercenary he had fought against any number of terrorists who saw themselves as freedom fighter trying to preserve their nation or their way of life. Was there really a conspiracy here, and if so, did Bastidas know about it? Morgan was not sure. Had he and his partner put the clues together to get the right answer, or were they a hundred and eighty degrees off base?

Maybe this team of scientists and technicians was just paranoid. Maybe Felicity and Barton were attacked because someone believed one of them was a danger to the Piranha project. Perception was a funny thing. Herrera, under the emotional influence of steroids, could be seeing spies under the bed. Maybe one of the boys killed Matthews, unauthorized, because he mistook him for a threat. Herrera might have killed the killer to cover the murder.

Lost in thought, Morgan didn't come out of his reverie until the group was well into the jungle. Again Panama's raw beauty struck him. He was at home in the rain forest, and seemed to draw energy from the lush variety of color, the constant flow of life pulsing beneath the underbrush.

Of course, he could not see any of it. Dense tropical foliage concealed a world of activity, all the complexities of life. Just as he suspected flashy clothes, long hair and a dashing manner concealed a world of mental activity behind Bastidas' blinding smile.

As they drove into Panama's central mountain ridge, Morgan didn't see any of the bystanders or field workers he had spotted on the way in. This time he drove all the way to the Pan American Highway without seeing a soul. Had Bastidas sent men ahead to secure their path into the city? Or, did Bastidas inspire such fear that the local population
didn't even want him to see them? Either way, maybe there was such a thing as too much security.

Then Herrera hit the accelerator and they were highballing it due west on the long asphalt ribbon toward Panama City. Morgan had the pedal on the floor most of the way, trying to keep the lead vehicle in sight. Exhaust fumes replaced the sweet jungle scent, and the ride became less bumpy and more of a steady vibration. Tires designed for off-road work whined against the smooth pavement.

After a less than exciting drive with an old sailor and a young physicist, the tall palms gave way and Morgan cruised into Panama City in the middle of the three part convoy. Bastidas pulled them over in the heart of the city, before the ancient seat of the new government, the massive presidential palace. Morgan jumped down to the street and went forward to lean on the side of the lead vehicle. He thrust his face into the window, to within inches of Bastidas' glowing smile. He looked at the twisted bottom teeth, then up into the crazed eyes.

“I'm traveling solo. I stay at the Ambassador when I'm here, and in an hour I won't be alone. Get it?”

“All right,” Bastidas said after a moment. “We'll meet here at seven p.m. and find a nice place to dine together.”

“No thanks. I can find my way home.” Morgan was still looking at Bastidas, but he heard a low rumbling from the other side of the car. Herrera was tensing, ready to put Morgan in his place. Morgan's fingers dug into the back of Bastidas' seat, but he controlled himself. This was neither the place nor the time for a confrontation.

“Okay, you're signing the paychecks,” Morgan said, forcing a smile. “I'll see you at seven.” He pushed off from the side of the vehicle, walking away without a backward glance. The sun remained bright, but with an edge of black cloud on the western horizon. That told him that some
weather was coming in. He felt some discomfort at leaving Felicity, but a quick glance at her reassured him that she was in no danger.

After a wink at Morgan as he left, Felicity spun onto the sidewalk like a spring breeze, capturing all the men's attention. “Well, gentlemen, where shall we go first? I've never seen the canal. And I understand there's a historical area on the southern peninsula.”

Barton wasn't quite comfortable with Felicity's scheme, but he thought she might pull it off. Felicity wanted to keep them all together, to make sure no one followed Morgan. Barton took her arm, trying to join in her holiday mood. Varilla, Herrera and the scientists gathered around Bastidas.

“I have some financial business to attend to,” Bastidas said, then looked at Felicity and smiled. “Oh please don't pout, my dear child. You are right, it is too fine a day to devote to business. I shall go alone, but for Herrera of course, and meet you in two hours. Do you know the place that bears Herrera's name?”

“Herrera Plaza,” Barton said, squinting against the sun and Bastidas' suit. “Near the ruins of the original city. I know it.”

“Then please start there. Show these overworked scientists, Miss O'Brien and Mister Varilla here, the city.”

Herrera drove off with Bastidas. The others, more talkative than usual, split into the remaining Land Rovers. Varilla drove one, while Barton took the wheel in the other. He turned to his lovely passenger, now in the front seat.

“What now, Felicity?” he asked.

“Now, let's make like tourists.”

Morgan Stark hung his jacket in the hotel room closet. He wriggled out of his shoulder holster rig and hung it on the back of the chair. He unbuttoned his tan linen shirt, slipped it off, and hung it with the jacket, buttoning the second and third button to keep it in place. Finally he peeled off his tee shirt and dropped on the beige shag carpet.

“Free at last,” he said aloud and stretched his arms wide, filling his lungs with sterile, air conditioned air. It was quiet in the room, like a glider's cockpit. The cool air gave him a slight shiver as the perspiration dried on his body. He bounced onto the bed and shucked his boots.

His mood was light. For the first time in four days he did not wonder if his room was bugged or if an ambush was approaching. Propped up on a pillow, he picked up the telephone. From memory, he gave the AT&T operator his credit card number and a thirteen digit number in France.

When he checked into the hotel, Morgan had chatted briefly with the young lady at the desk. He was convinced she was guileless, and his calls would be as secure as possible.

On the third try, the extended collection of systems Morgan still thought of as Ma Bell made the connection. Cutting through transcontinental static, the honeyed Haitian voice at the other end said, “Claudette. Qui est-ce?” and the past rushed back at Morgan like a hit of speed.

“It's me, baby. Morgan.”

“Un seconde,” she said. There was a brief pause. He could see her in his mind's eye, with straight raven hair and eyes of jet, and skin like dark sweet chocolate. She would be flashing those perfect teeth and disentangling her slender model's form, telling her guest it was business and she needed to get to another extension.

They had known each other for years. Morgan was a corporate bodyguard in those days, private protection for big business types who worked in Central and South America where kidnapping is a cottage industry. Claudette Christophe's business was industrial espionage. After she victimized Morgan's client, they became fast friends and when convenient, lovers. A sort of love existed between them, but not a possessive variety. Besides, his life had changed while hers had not. So he knew whoever she was with at ten o'clock at night Paris time, her time with him was much more likely business than pleasure. Her business was information, and beauty and charm were the tools of her trade.

“All right darling, I'm here.” He could hear the smile in her voice fifty three hundred miles away. “It's good to hear from you. Miss me?”

“Mon cour batte tres vite,” he said. My heart beats very fast.

“Moi aussi.” Me too. “But your very welcome call comes at an awkward time. I'm…in a meeting.”

“Well then I don't feel quite so guilty. This is business too. I need to get a message to a friend. I'm pretty sure my conversation's secure, but I'm in a hotel and I think someone might come around to ask what numbers I called.”

“I see.” He waited through a pause while she registered the situation. She would know he was on a case, maybe in danger. He imagined her reaching for a pad and pencil.
Then she said. “Go ahead. Bullets, mon amor.”