The Orion Assignment (8 page)

“One well timed riot or wave of killings would shatter the peace process,” Felicity said, almost to herself. “He could bring it all down.”

“Maybe.” Grey allowed himself a small smile. “Maybe, but we think he's living a bit too well and may have over spent or over gambled. He might be in danger of being accused of misusing his sponsor's money.”

“Well, thanks for the background briefing,” Morgan said, “but none of that explains why you followed me around, or why you're telling me all this.”

“It wasn't you I wanted, but the girl.”

“What?” Felicity paused in the middle of pouring a second cup of coffee. “How could you know I was even coming here?”

“Oh, we didn't. We just got lucky.” Grey stood removed his coat, since the house was warming up. “You see, we've been watching the situation here for some time. O'Ryan's money and lifestyle have made him very influential in these parts. Young men flock to him. Father Sullivan's been resisting that influence. We thought there might be violence and we hoped O'Ryan would slip up. Then during our surveillance, your uncle got you over here.”

“I take it you don't really have anything on O'Ryan legally.” Morgan held out his cup and accepted a refill from Felicity.

“You got it, boyo.” Grey stirred more sugar into his coffee. “He's dead crafty. We can't prove any terrorist activity. But when the young lady entered the picture, I
saw a chance to stop him, indirectly.”

“And just what is it you think I can do for you?” Felicity asked. “I'm a security expert, not a policeman.”

“Well our information leads us to believe that you have certain special talents,” Gray flicked a brief glance toward Sean, “perhaps best discussed in confidence?”

“I have no secrets from my partner,” Felicity said with a smile, “or from my uncle, now. Morgan?”

“I trust Father Sullivan,” Morgan said. “Maybe I should have a little sooner.”

“Thanks, lad,” Sean said.

“Well then, here it is,” Grey said. “We understand that you, Miss O'Brien, have been involved in some highly daring and successful thefts in the past several years. Our information is that you mostly collected expensive jewelry, but also some rather special artwork appears to have changed hands, thanks to you.”

“Can you prove it?” Felicity asked.

“Of course not,” Grey said, waving a hand at the notion. “We could no more convict you of a crime than we could Ian O'Ryan. Nor would we want to. On the contrary, we want you to commit one.”

“Ah,” Morgan said, grinning and nodding his head. “I've been dense here, but the light finally dawns.”

“Well I still don't get it,” Felicity said, dropping to the floor and walking to the fireplace. She tossed a log on and stirred it with a poker.

“Stop me if I go wrong,” Morgan said to Grey. “O'Ryan's juggling funds, right? He's robbing Peter to pay Paul, so to speak, to keep up his flamboyant lifestyle for the public. He also has to maintain the appearance of full time terrorist for his private audience. He's been managing but he's short of dough. If he was to suffer a sudden financial loss, his backers would never believe he was ripped off. They'd assume he swindled them. Embezzlement in those circles usually brings swift retribution.”

“Exactly, sir, and well put,” Grey said, pointing his
pipe's stem at Morgan. “If the terrorists from the Middle East were to eliminate him themselves it would do more than just rid us of this one evil man. It would destroy his reputation and prevent a martyr reaction. Do you think you can help us in this?”

“It's not my call,” Morgan said. He leaned back, looking at his partner. He could guess the conflict in Felicity's mind. She would want to strike at the force which caused her parents' death, however indirectly. She would want to make her only known living relative happy and this would make her a heroine in her uncle eyes. On the other hand, after her experience with Adrian Seagrave months before, she hated the idea of working for anyone else. Besides, she bristled at the thought of helping the police no matter the cause.

Felicity paced the kitchen now, looking at the three men in turn. Her face was blank, expressionless. The solution to her dilemma seemed obvious to Morgan, but it was not his place to speak. He new she needed to arrive at it on her own. When she looked at him next, her expression remained unchanged but he recognized the sparkle in her eye and knew she had hit upon it. Then she stopped and focused on the stranger from the C.I.D.

“First, Mister Grey, are you authorized to make decisions in this matter?” Felicity asked.

“I have absolute authority.”

“Good. Now, let's say some money were to leave O'Ryan's control. Where does it go?” she asked.

“I suppose the funds stay with whomever is in possession of them when they leave O'Ryan's control.”

“That's the right answer,” Felicity said, pacing again. “Now, a person would have to be dead crackers to officially inform an agent of Her Majesty's government of their intention to commit a crime which may take place, in part, on British soil, eh?”

“Agreed.”

“Good. Now, one more thing,” Felicity said. “You
mentioned information you had about my past. I assume we're talking about official records. Your government records will have to be updated, to officially recognize that I'm retired from all criminal activity.” It was not a request, a demand.

After a thoughtful pause, Gray said, “I can see to that. In fact, I'm fairly certain that after a thorough update, there may be no record at all of past suspicions.”

That brought a smile to Felicity's face, but she was not finished. “And I must not be interfered with, or even observed by any agent of your government for the next thirty days.”

“Miss, we have a very effective intelligence machine which could…”

“I have no connection with any intelligence service. Why would your organization be in contact with me, if I have no illegal intentions? Besides, even if I were doing anything unusual, I have always worked alone. I repeat, there must be no interference or observation.”

“It would be physically dangerous for anyone to do so,” Morgan added in a low monotone.

“Message received,” Grey grimaced, rubbing his back for emphasis.

Grey and Felicity locked eyes in a way which, in ancient times, would have been more significant than a signed contract. Then she reached out to shake his hand, bringing an abrupt end to their conversation.

“Well, Mister Grey, I suppose you'd better be going,” she said. “I believe our business is concluded.” She walked him to the door and helped him with his coat. As she opened the door, she blessed him with one of her patented smiles.

“Off the record, sir, it does seem that good Saint Patrick did an incomplete job of it those long years ago. So yes, for my uncle's sake, I will help to get this one last snake out of Ireland.”

In the total stillness of dawn, Sean stepped out of his bedroom door on tiptoe. He figured his house guests would still be asleep. After all, he had heard his niece pacing in the kitchen long after he went to bed. He knew the two of them had been up late making their plans for how, in the next few days, they would take everything O'Ryan had away from him.

Sean always got up early, but he didn't know if his house guests were early risers too so he dressed as quietly as possible. But when he stepped into the living room at dawn he found a vacant couch. The sheets and blanket were folded in a very precise, military manner, with the pillow on top of them. His first suspicion proved wrong. Felicity's door stood open and that room was also empty.

Curious, Sean opened the front door and looked out. The air was crisp, perhaps fifty-five or sixty degrees. On his right, Morgan was on hands and toes, back straight, facing away from the door. He wore a gray sweat suit and running shoes. Felicity's voice said “Go,” and the black man's arms started pumping out perfect push-ups.

Felicity, to the left of the door, wore similar attire to Morgan's. Her body was rigid as she stood with her hands together at her chest in an attitude of prayer. Her hands moved upward in slow motion until she was stretching for the sky, then in one fluid movement she bent forward until her palms rested on the ground. Still her knees were locked and her feet had not moved. Her forehead touched her knees, then those knees flexed, her left foot stretched back and her back arched until she looked skyward.

This strange mystique fascinated Sean. He never
imagined the girl was so limber. Her flexibility seemed in direct counterpoint to the power of Morgan's rhythmic rising and dropping.

As he watched, Felicity extended her other leg until it too was straight and she was in push-up position. At first he thought she was suspended there but soon he could see her dropping in an extreme slow motion push-up. Just before her breasts touched the ground she stopped and lowered her head to touch the earth with her forehead.

The priest stepped out for a better view as Felicity's arms straightened. Soon her back was arched, her face turned skyward. Then she seemed to reverse her position, until her hips were thrust skyward with her body in an inverted “V”. Her feet stayed flat on the ground. After a brief pause, she moved her left leg forward, planting her foot two inches behind her left palm. The leg then straightened and the other slid forward, bringing her full circle to the first bent over position. Once more her head touched her knees.

When she stretched up Felicity filled her lungs. Then her arms went out to her sides. The tension was evident when she pulled her hands back in to the prayer position, pushing the air out of her lungs.

“Lovely,” Sean said, clapping his hands. “Like ballet.”

“Thanks.” Felicity had just then become aware of him. “It's just some basic yoga. I need to stretch in the morning.”

“What about him?” Sean asked, hooking a thumb in Morgan's direction.

“He wanted me to time him for two minutes.”

“Oh yes,” Sean grinned. “Felicity O'Brien, the human stopwatch.”

A few seconds later she said “Stop,” and Morgan dropped to his knees, taking in deep breaths of the humid air. Sean walked over and bent down, hands on knees.

“Well? How many lad?”

“Eighty-four,” Morgan said, still gasping for breath. “I'm getting old.” He flipped over and Felicity sat at his feet. She lifted her left foot onto her right thigh, then her right foot onto her left thigh. Morgan hooked his feet under her legs and lay back, his arms crossed so his hands rested on his shoulders. Felicity said “Go,” again and he pulled his upper body into a vertical position. His back remained straight as he did the crunches, rising and falling like some steam powered piston.

“Do you do this every day?” Sean asked.

“Only when we're not near a health club,” Felicity said. “Well, I usually do my yoga routine every day. I'll do gymnastics three times a week if the equipment's available. Morgan usually lifts weights the same days I'm in the gym. On the off days we run together. I think he practices the karate stuff every day.”

“Not Sunday.” Morgan grunted the words between his teeth at the top of a sit-up.

“Oh yes,” Felicity said. You'll be happy to know we both rest on Sunday.”

“Why do it to yourself?”

“Well,” she hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Do you still read the Bible and pray?”

“Of course. Every day.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I keep on getting closer to God, child. Like you should be doing.”

“Well, that's your business,” she said. “My business is protecting people and sometimes that can be a rough business. You don't get to be the best at anything if you don't keep working at it. Besides, I like to stay in shape. You'll see when I do my routine in a bit. Coming up on the end Morgan. And…stop.”

“How many this time?” Sean could not resist asking.

“Ninety-three,” Morgan replied. “Enough for one day.” When he stood and moved to the side, Sean could see that he wasn't finished. He wasn't sure what was coming but it occurred to him that it might require more
focus than simple calisthenics.

“Does either of you mind me watching?” Sean asked.

“It's your house, Uncle Sean,” Felicity said.

“I most likely won't even know you're there once I'm into the kata.”

Still, Sean kept quiet while leaning against the door. Morgan did most of what he called a kata in one place. It was no more than a choreographed series of movements: punches, kicks, and blocks. Meanwhile, Felicity moved around the lawn in a series of balancing maneuvers and running tumbling passes, complete with somersaults and flips. Sean had not been to a circus in a lot of years, but this was much of how he remembered it. And the two went on for a good deal longer than he expected them to. At some silent signal Morgan switched to stretching and Felicity's activity became slow pacing.

“Stopping for a breather?” he asked.

“Actually, we'll run for a couple of miles now,” Felicity told her uncle. “Two miles is just enough to get your heart going. Do you suppose you could have some coffee ready when we get back?”

“Sure, and some of those sticky buns Mrs. Cassidy brought by yesterday. And maybe an egg cream, like you used to like.”

“Egg cream?” Morgan asked. “Like with seltzer and chocolate syrup like I used to get when I was a kid?”

“That's New York,” Felicity said. “Here, it's breakfast. Trust me, you'll love it. Thanks, Uncle Sean.”

“Glad to, girl, but how'll you know when two miles go by out here. There's not much for landmarks.”

“Morgan will tell me. He's as good with distances and directions as I am with time.”

“You do make a pair, don't you?” Sean said, shaking his head. Felicity called another start and they took off at what Sean considered a sprint.