The Orion Assignment (19 page)

Fifteen minutes later Morgan was securing the boat to a small pier, whipping half hitches into the nylon line.
Sean handed their gear up onto the wharf.

“Shake a leg, fellows,” Felicity said. “I'm so hungry my stomach thinks my throat's been cut.” She marched off toward the car, parked near the road.

The temperature was in the upper sixties on shore with a gentle breeze that reminded Felicity that the area held some good memories for her. How odd, she thought, that geography affected a town less than its style. Looking around, she realized that Wicklow could easily be mistaken for Kennebunkport, Maine. Same weathered buildings. Same weathered people. Same salt smell, same sound of gulls and boat motors. And lobster pots are lobster pots the world over. Perhaps all fishing towns were really the same. Maybe the people in all fishing communities were in a way related.

“'Tis a fine day the Lord's given us for fishing,” Sean called out to a group of men passing on their way to the shore. Some yards behind Felicity, he and Morgan meandered toward the road. Morgan only nodded while Sean waved to these hearty fishermen, some professionals there to make a living, some sportsmen like himself. The smiles that split those lined faces were comforting because they were genuine.

Sean's smile faded when his gaze fell on Morgan again. The black man's head snapped up, as if he was listening to a faraway voice. Sean felt a chill run up his spine, although he didn't know why. He followed Morgan's gaze as it focused ahead, toward the road.

“What is it, lad? You look like you've just seen a will o' the wisp.”

“Something's wrong,” Morgan said, not turning. “Felicity's in danger.” Then he was off at a sprint, moving faster than any man Sean had ever seen.

Icy sweat slid down Morgan's back as he ran. His breath came in ragged gasps. The nine millimeter tucked into his waistband rubbed his hip raw. It was no pocket pistol, but under the bulky sweater it wasn't too conspicuous.

When he reached Felicity she was scanning the area with worried eyes. She stood in a slight crouch, fingers extended. He imagined he could see her ears perked up like a cat's.

“You feel it?”

“Yes,” Morgan replied. “But so vague. No direction. Not really a danger signal, but…” His right hand slid under his sweater at the sound of an approaching automobile. The two adventurers formed a still life study in tension as a bulky gray Mercedes limousine rolled toward them. The driver, a nondescript man in full livery, looked through them. Then the single passenger in the back seat glanced out the window.

Ian O'Ryan's eyes locked onto Morgan's with a strength that threatened to bore through the back of his head. In the four seconds it took for the vehicle to pass, one could see a burst of rapid fire connections, calculations and conjectures pass over the intense leonine face. O'Ryan's face clouded over, his bushy red eyebrows arching until they almost touched. Blood flushed into the already florid face, and one expected to hear a roar issue forth from behind the tinted window glass. As the car slid past, Morgan's hands dropped to his side.

“Well, we're blown now.”

“That him?” Felicity asked.

“That's him. And we're made.”

“Afraid so,” Felicity said. “Your presence here after the air show is way too much of a coincidence.”

“And I'm sure he knows by now it was a black man who emptied his London account.”

“He might even know about the deposit slips by now,”
Felicity said, shaking her head. “And the red headed night visitor. It was stupid of us to hang around.”

“Agreed. But now what…” Morgan was interrupted by the sound of an engine over torqued. The limousine roared toward them in reverse. They stood their ground as the car's brakes locked and it skidded to a halt in front of them. When the rear window powered down, Felicity found herself eye to eye with perhaps the most electric presence she had ever encountered.

The wavy red mane, the broad shoulders, even the tan eyes with flecks of red in them, none of these was the answer in itself. Something about his aura was overpowering. Her heart hummed in her throat, her knees weakened and without thinking, she licked her lips. When he smiled she felt waves of pure sexual energy flowing out of him, washing over her. Then he spoke, and it was the voice of a lion in human form.

“Mister Stark, aren't you going to introduce me to your charming companion? No matter. My dear, I am Ian O'Ryan.”

O'Ryan's gaze never left Felicity, and she felt quite naked before him. Morgan was also looking at her, looking worried. Could he see she was captivated?

“Mister Stark and I met in Paris recently,” O'Ryan said, not waiting for Morgan to speak. “He travels a great deal. I've heard he's been visiting in England lately. And I imagine he's also been touring our little island. All the way down to the southern coast.”

“Mister Stark is quite the adventurer,” Felicity said, recovering from the spell. “That's what I like about him. We're partners, and I go by Felicity O'Brien.” Behind her, Sean approached. From the way his pace slowed she knew he must recognize the car's occupant. And it was just as clear that he was recognized as well.

“Ah, Father Sullivan. I might have known you'd be somehow connected to this pair.”

“Get away from me niece, you grinning devil,” Sean said.

“Let's not be unpleasant, boyo,” O'Ryan said. “I was just about to invite the young lady and her adventurous friend to a little fox hunt tomorrow.”

“I don't think we can make it.” Morgan leaned on the limousine's roof, bringing himself within striking distance. The big Irishman did not react, the significance of which was not lost on Felicity, and she could see that it was not lost on Morgan either.

“What do you say, girl. I'd have thought you the type of lass who loved to live dangerously. Besides, if you refuse my hospitality, I'll just have to ask your kind uncle to join me later.” He looked up into Morgan's deep brown eyes. There was no doubt of the meaning of his words.

“We wouldn't dream of disappointing you.” Felicity said. She kept her voice even while waving her uncle to silence. “I think we ought to keep this between the three of us. Don't you agree?”

“Oh, absolutely. Let's keep non-players off the green. My estate at seven a.m. I think you know the way.” The window slid up. O'Ryan tapped his chauffeur on the shoulder with a gold headed cane and in response he popped the clutch. Tires squealed and in seconds the big gray automobile was in the distance. Silence hung in the air until the dust settled and the car was out of sight. Sean was the one who broke the stillness.

“You can't go.”

“We have to, Uncle Sean,” Felicity said with an affectionate smile. “You heard him. We could run, but you couldn't hide. You wouldn't hide.”

“You're bloody well right I wouldn't. I'm not afraid of that snake.”

“And that's why we'll be at this hunt tomorrow morning,” Morgan said.

“Oh you can be sure it's to be a hunt you're going to, all right. Only it's you two who's to be the prey this time, and that's for sure.”

Both Felicity and Morgan nodded their heads.

At six fifty-four in the morning Felicity drove her uncle's ancient green Volvo around the huge building known as Orion House and parked it amidst the Mercedes, Jaguars and Peugeots. Morgan still could not believe people drove around there indifferent to things like cracked windshields. His elbow hung out the passenger side window for the entire drive. Thanks to one of O'Ryan's helpers, he did not have to roll it down.

They disembarked, and Morgan stood for a moment, taking in the massive Georgian structure which served as his present enemy's home. It made him think of
Gone with the Wind
.

“A huge monument to the man's mammoth ego,” he said. “I knew he was nuts. I mean the man tried to have me killed because I embarrassed him. I just never dreamed the scale of his delusion.”

“Let's just keep in mind,” Felicity said, “that he may be a lunatic, but he's a dangerous lunatic.”

“Lunatics usually are.”

A man with the look of a bar room bouncer walked toward them across the sward. He was dressed in traditional fox hunting gear. His red blazer's sleeves and shoulders were being stretched to their limits. As he drew closer Morgan did a subtle double take. The man was familiar, like the ghost of an old acquaintance.

“You must be Miss O'Brien and eh…Mister Stark, eh?” The man's enunciation was unnatural, almost eerie in its clarity.

“That's us,” Morgan said. He and Felicity had considered and rejected the idea of wearing fox hunting clothes, opting instead for corduroy pants and blazers.

“We will be riding to hounds in ten minutes. Please
follow me.” They walked into the nearby field. The grass was short, the ground soft and springy. It only took fifty yards for Morgan's curiosity to get the better of him.

“What's your name, pal?”

“Liam, sir,” the guard returned. “Liam McCallister.”

“Have we met somewhere?”

“No sir,” Liam answered. Then he stopped and turned to make eye contact. “I understand you met my brother in Paris. And I believe you may have seen him again after that.”

The image rushed into Morgan's mind unbidden. He last saw that face, with a few subtle differences, at the other end of a telescopic sight. Liam was even bigger than his brother had been. As they came upon the field Morgan wondered if he would have to kill this man too.

“It's like a picture from one of my childhood storybooks,” Felicity said under her breath. The mist rose up from the moist earth. Thin, wispy clouds hung above, whipped by a high wind into a skeletal form, like the bleached white rib cage you see in desert pictures. An omen, she wondered?

“Ah, the fire haired light of this morning's hunt has arrived.” O'Ryan sat his stallion like a prince. He controlled the animal like an extension of his own legs. Staring down at Felicity, he was dripping charm. Felicity's breath caught in her throat. Perhaps because of her earlier story book thoughts, his broad smile under the hat brim somehow made her think of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.

She could see in his eyes that O'Ryan was appraising her, maybe just the way that wolf would. If so, then he saw a Red Riding Hood in slacks so tight they might have been sewn around her, displaying the excellent curve of her hips; riding boots with heels that brought her legs into perfect tension; a jacket that was a perfect fit at her shoulders but could not close in front because of her chest; and a long red mane as fiery, though not as unruly as his own. He might see her as an exciting
possible conquest, but would that make him forget she was sent from the enemy camp?

“Benson has your horse, and Mister Stark's,” O'Ryan said. “Would you like to see the fox?”

“Only one fox here worth seeing,” Morgan said, giving Felicity's rump a playful slap. “Want a leg up, Red?”

“I can handle it,” Felicity said, blushing even though she knew none of the Irish natives got the joke. She swung up into the saddle with a natural rider's easy grace. Morgan mounted his steed in a somewhat less graceful movement, and they followed O'Ryan at a trot. Felicity pulled close to Morgan and spoke in a low tone.

“The field will be moving erratically, so stay sharp.”

His brows pushed together. “The field will move?”

“Sorry,” Felicity said. “The field is also what they call the pack of riders chasing the animal.” She pulled her horse closer to Morgan and lowered her voice even further. “and thanks, pal.”

“For what?” Morgan asked in an equally low tone.

“Breaking the spell. This guy warps my thinking, but I'm straight now.”

O'Ryan waved them toward him. “Here he is, my friends, and isn't he a beauty?” The two newcomers pulled their horses over to the small cage and stared down. The skittish creature kept glancing around, as if in a desperate search for an escape route. For no reason she could tell, Felicity was sure it was a vixen, a female. Her fur was long and a bright rust red. Her black legs stood out in stark contrast to the white fur of her underbelly. She was maybe two feet long, with the white tipped tail adding another foot or so. She pricked up her pointed ears, giving the impression of alertness.