Morgan sat silent for a long moment. "I wonder what happens when he really finds me?"
She meant if he finds her. And if she's alive. He should have waited a few days, even hours before making his announcement. It might not have been necessary. She and Jack still had to get to FBI headquarters. Jack hadn't mentioned anything in the last day or two about their trip, but she knew somehow there was trouble ahead of them, and this time it wouldn't be as easy to get away as stealing a helicopter and flying into the hills.
CHAPTER 12
Benjamin Franklin's exploits with the kite and a key is a story every school child knows. Jack thanked him as he crossed Main Street and walked into the red brick building housing the Clay County Public Library. He liked the place. It smelled of lemon oil and knowledge, but also had what he sought— computer access to the Internet. Jack chose a seat along the side, careful to place himself where he wouldn't be seen by people entering or leaving and where he could research the information he needed.
The computer could pull information from thousands of miles away to this small library, a place where the entire population of the town was in the low three digits.
It had taken him some time to convince Morgan to stay at the camp where he knew she was being protected while he drove into town with Jan. Agent Burton had accompanied them and Jack left the two to return without him. Jack knew Jan couldn't be in better hands. He afforded himself a smile as he thought of them. Then his demeanor changed to all business as he concentrated on the screen.
He found the Korean newspapers with ease. The ring Jan had kept in the safety deposit box of the town's only bank was in the breast pocket of Jack's jacket, zipped closed so he wouldn't lose it. He'd recognized the crest on it immediately. The president of Korea, Morgan had said. He hadn't really believed her when she said it, but he did now. But more than the ring was the paper it had been wrapped in—a torn newspaper. The story in it tripped one of Jack's memory cells. He recognized something about it.
Accessing archived files, he searched under the name of President Ji-Moon Chang. Jack had to go back thirteen years to find the original paper. He read through it quickly, then sent several pages to the printer. He had it, the real reason someone wanted Morgan dead. It was time to get her and get out.
Jack logged out of the Korean area, returning to the library's home page. Then he went into the settings and changed the properties to remove any reference he'd made to the areas he'd visited. Spending another ten minutes, he went to nine sites that were of no interest to him before leaving. If anyone came after him, they wouldn't find the history of his visits to the Korean papers, but to investments in mutual funds, chocolate companies, graphics design and books on fixing a dishwasher.
Moving to the copy machine, he made copies of the newspaper and the other papers Jan had concealed. Then, leaving the library, he returned to the camp. Jack didn't go straight to Morgan's room, but stopped at the camp store. It was only open several hours a day. The campers were in practice sessions and the store was deserted. Hanging on the walls were T-shirts with the camp logo, faces of famous gymnasts, the insignia of the Olympic Games. There were also hats, socks, headbands and wrists bands, leotards, jackets, every form of paraphernalia a gymnast would need.
Jack bought two padded envelopes and left. Sitting down at a deserted table outside the cafeteria, he addressed both of the envelopes to the same person—Forrest Washington. The first had his name and address only, while the second had name and address and a code that meant no one would open that envelope except Forrest Washington himself.
Jack packaged them up, put the ring and papers inside and pulled the sealing strip free, closing the contents of one inside the other. Stamp machines were near the store for people who wanted to send letters and postcards home to their families. He inserted coins, taking more than he thought was the required amount of postage, and affixed it to the top envelope.
The mail truck sat in front of the office when he got there. The uniformed mailman slung a closed canvas bag into the truck as Jack approached.
"Can I get this in today's mail?'' Jack asked with a friendly smile.
"Sure can," the man said. He took the envelope and eyed the stamps. Then he dropped it in a plastic container that was nearly full.
"You've got a full load there," Jack said. "Hope you don't have too many more stops to make."
He smiled. "Always come here last. Lots of packages from the mail order business."
Obviously Jan had a website that sold products through the Internet.
"There used to be plenty of mail from the homesick kids. Now they send e-mail."
Jack nodded. "Progress," he offered as a noncommittal explanation.
"You have a good day." The postal driver climbed into his seat and pulled away.
If anything happened to the package now, Washington would know who had done it and why. Jack watched until the white truck was out of view before heading for Morgan's room. Allie was on the phone when he got there. From the one-sided conversation he heard, she must have been talking to her agent.
"Another week at the most," she was saying. "Jan really needs my help." Her long hair swung about her shoulders as if a camera was photographing its swing for some shampoo commercial.
"Where's Morgan?" he asked.
Allie pointed toward the balcony. "Out there," she mouthed, putting a hand over the phone's mouthpiece.
He went in the direction Allie pointed. Jack's heart beat in anticipation. Each time he thought of Morgan, his blood pressure increased. He knew she hated the confinement of this room, but the consequences outside it were worse. Jan had life-size photos of the Olympic winning team on the walls of the office and in several different gyms. Most of the campers might be too young to remember the Seoul Olympics and not recognize Morgan right away, but it only took one to put her features to the face on the poster, especially if Morgan showed anything like the skills she performed twelve years ago.
Jack stepped onto the balcony and stopped the moment he saw the gun pointed at his chest
***
"What a pleasant surprise, Mr. Temple." An oriental man spoke without an accent. He had his arm around Morgan's neck. Her chin was forced upward so she couldn't move her head. A strip of duct tape covered her mouth and her hands were behind her back, presumably wrapped in the same unforgiving substance. "It is a pleasure to meet you again."
"Sorry I can't return the sentiment, but we have never been friends."
"That is because you insist upon having morals."
"And you work for the highest bidder. Who is it this time?" Jack refused to supply him with any names although he had plenty that came to mind. Since he'd read the paper Morgan had flown home with twelve years ago and seen the ring, he knew the factions in Korea vying for this information were on both sides of the political arena. It could be any of several people.
"No names, Mr. Temple. I must respect my clientele." He spoke like a lawyer defending the rights of a client. His smile showed even, white teeth that could double for a toothpaste ad. But regardless of the smile, his clients were thugs. They might dress in fine clothes and have impeccable manners, but they represented the ruthless in society.
Richard Chung had been born in Korea to a Korean mother and English father. Although educated in England, he scorned his father's heritage. Returning to Korea, he took his mother's name and joined the army. He went into intelligence and eventually found himself part of a network that denied its own existence.
"Let her go, Chung.'' Jack glanced at Morgan. Her face was pale and she looked scared and helpless.
"I can't let her go, Jack. I came all this way to find her. Discovering you makes it doubly rewarding."
Jack wanted to smash the oily smile on Richard Chung's face, but he was holding Morgan. Allie was still on the phone in the next room, unaware that death lay only a few steps away. If she hung up and joined them, Chung would have no reason to keep her alive. And Jan's concern about her school and the ca
mpers who were here would be done no service by having someone killed on the site. The first thing he needed to do was get them off this balcony and away from the camp.
"Chung, these people have nothing to do with what you think Morgan or I know. Why don't we go somewhere and talk?"
"I was thinking that."
Jack took a step forward. Chung raised the gun and he stopped. He could hear Allie continuing her conversation, but she was out of his range of vision.
"Take off the jacket," Chung ordered in a low voice. Jack knew he wouldn't get to keep the gun concealed under the lightweight jacket. Chung hadn't survived this long by making mistakes. He raised his hands. "Slowly," Chung cautioned, raising his arm a bit and letting Jack see Morgan wince in pain. "Any suspicious move on your part and I'll drop her where she stands." Jack and Chung had tangled before and he didn't doubt for a minute the truth of the man's words.
Jack pushed the left sleeve down his arm and pulled it free. The holster under his arm showed the gun he carried. Chung's eyes went to the holster and Jack pushed the tiny button to silence the walkie-talkie in his pocket. The two FBI agents would receive a signal and know there was a problem in progress.
Jack slipped the jacket totally off and lowered it to the floor so the pocketed communication device did not thud against the treated wood.
"The gun now," Chung said. "Two fingers, no more. Use your left hand."
Jack released the snap closure with one finger and lifted the heavy revolver out of its holster using only his thumb and forefinger.
"On the table." Chung waved his own gun at the large umbrella-covered patio table that sat near the corner of the balcony. Jack laid the gun on it. "Back away," he said. Jack did. "Turn around."
Chung had been known to shoot people in the back. He wasn't concerned about the campers, but Jack didn't think he wanted to call attention to himself by firing a gun in these surroundings. He was a man who liked to escape unnoticed, undetected, alone, without a clue left behind. Allie was in the room only steps away. He had to know she was there. Jack could hear her on the phone. He surely could too. Her call seemed to be ending. In seconds she'd hang up and step through the open door.
"I do not kid you, Mr. Temple," Chung said in a voice so menacing Jack knew he meant business. "Turn around." Jack had to do something quickly. He hoped the two FBI agents were closing in, but he couldn't wait for them to arrive.
"If you think I have a backup you're wrong." Usually Jack would have a second gun, a backup revolver, planted somewhere else on his person. He didn't keep it in the same place all the time, but when he embarked on this journey he didn't know he'd need one. When Sam had brought him the SUV in Ohio, he hadn't requested a backup revolver. Sam probably assumed he already had one. But there was something Sam had given him and he was going to have to use it now.
Morgan was in the way. Jack wished she wasn't, but the way Chung held her Jack had no clear way to get to him without going through her. Slowly he began to turn. Chung had to expect him to do something, try something. The two of them had encountered each other before and always on opposite sides of the crisis. Score-wise, Jack held the upper hand. Chung would want to even the boards.
A quarter way through the turn Jack reversed direction, dropping to the floor, rolling over and coming around to face Chung with a gun in his hand. He fired the pulse gun at his enemy. The blast issued from the gun with a strong kick, and hit Chung in the right shoulder, knocking him backward. He released Morgan and she fell to her knees. Burton was on him in an instant, handcuffing the inert body. Jack rushed to Morgan.
The main thrust knocked Chung cold while the reverberation ricocheted into Morgan. She was groggy and incoherent as Jack lifted her.
"What. . . was. . .that?" she asked as her eyes rolled back in her head. Jack carried her into the bedroom and laid her on the bed.
"What happened?" Allie cried. She was heading toward the door when Jack stepped across the threshold.
"She'll be fine," he answered. "She just needs a little sleep."
"You know I told her we should have gone to bed early last night, but would she? Nooo." Allie exaggerated the word as she continued, heedless of the danger they had all been in moments ago.
Jack laid her down, his heart thumping so loudly in his chest he was surprised Allie didn't comment on it. He smoothed Morgan's hair away from her face. She looked so defenseless. Her face was still pale and her breath shallow. Jack needed to wake her up.
"Get me some ammonia," he nearly ordered Allie. She didn't question his motives, but ran into the hall and came back with a first-aid kit. She remembered Jan kept them everywhere for accidents and emergencies. Jack found the vial. It was encased in a knitted fabric to prevent cuts. He broke it and waved it under Morgan's nose.
"What's wrong with her?" Allie asked again. This time there was concern in her voice.
Jack had never been so scared in his life. Chung had no idea how much power he held over Jack with his arm around Morgan's neck. Jack would have done anything Chung asked. When he stepped onto the balcony and found Chung holding Morgan hostage, Jack was more concerned about her safety than the gun that was pointed at him.
At that moment, he knew he was in love with her.
***
"Hart Lewiston, have you completely lost your mind?" Carla turned angrily and glared at him. She had been pacing the floor, clenching and unclenching her hands, since Hart got back to the hotel room.
This was routine for Carla when she felt helpless, when things got out of her control. He knew her reaction would be volatile over his decision to go public with the news of Morgan Kirk wood's relationship to himself, but he hadn't expected her explosion to go on this long. She was like a Fourth of July starburst that kept exploding.
"Have you looked at the polls?" she continued. "Do you have any idea what your standing is now that you've gone on national television and told the nation you have an illegitimate daughter?"
"Black daughter, Carla. Let's not forget that point of contention. I have an illegitimate black daughter. And she's older than our marriage. When she was born her mother didn't tell me and I didn't know you. So none of this smears you."
"You're wrong. All of it smears me. We're a team, Hart, or at least we're supposed to be. Yet you do this without my consent."
"Carla, as I have said for the last three days, I had no choice in the matter. If I didn't do it and try to contain the situation, someone else would have and we'd lose not only control, but whatever credibility we could salvage."
"It wouldn't have made a difference, would it Hart? If you had a choice, you'd have done the same thing."
Hart combed his hair back with both hands. He was tired of fighting with his wife and fighting with his campaign manager, and his head felt like it had a pressure cooker inside it. It seemed as if he were fighting with everyone. "Carla, she is my child."
"Stop calling her a child," Carla snapped. "She's a thirty-year-old woman."
Hart sighed. He wanted this to end. He'd try reason one more time. "Carla, would you want me to turn my back if you were the woman I got pregnant and only found out we had a daughter now?"
Carla faced him squarely, lowered her chin and looked at him over the rim of glasses she only wore in the privacy of their home. "That would never be us, Hart."
A few days ago Hart would have sworn he'd seen every mood his wife had, knew her completely, how she would react in any situation, but she'd surprised him with her dislike of the current state. Carla had once worked for the Children's Relief Organization. She'd traveled the world over, even to many third-world countries, on behalf of children. To think that this child, his child, could cause such an explosive reaction in her was beyond his belief.
"Carla, we'll weather this." Hart took her hand, but fell short of pulling her to him. "The polls will return to favor us. They have in the past. The country will recover from the shock and we'll win this election."
"What planet are you living on?" She pulled he
r hand free. "You go on television before we have time to find out what this person or persons want and"—she paused, swallowing— "make an announcement that has such far-reaching implications, I can't phantom them." She spread her hands. "What were we supposed to do? What were we supposed to say?"
"It was painfully obvious to the national television audience, Carla, that you didn't stand with me. You weren't even at the press conference. And the press noticed."
She turned away from him.
"If anything lowered the polls it was the fact that we didn't present a united front. More time on the evening news went to the fact that you didn't attend the announcement than the fact of the daughter."
"So this is my fault?"
"Carla, I'm not trying to lay blame anywhere. I'm trying to understand what it is that has you so upset."
"You can't figure it out?"
"No, Carla, I can't. If this has to do with you being the First Lady, we haven't lost yet." Hart walked up behind her. There was a time when she would have turned into his arms. "I'm sure Morgan Kirkwood will not cost me the election. Trust me, you'll have your chance."
Hart placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back. Then he leaned his chin on her shoulder and slipped his arms around her. "We'll make it, Carla. As long as we're together."
***
The six of them sat around one of the coaches' dining tables looking as if they were about to leave for a funeral. Only Jim Burton and Jack seemed to have appetites. Allie ate only a few spoonfuls of her grapefruit, excusing herself, saying she had to make up for all the fattening foods Jan had made her eat over the last few days. Jan said she had to do tumbling later and she was too old to do it on a full stomach. Jim Burton challenged her remark, saying she wasn't too old for anything. He completed his full breakfast and was drinking a large glass of orange juice. Next to Jack's empty plate were two sugar packets with the torn-off tops stuffed inside, indicating the number of cups of coffee he'd consumed.
More Than Gold (Capitol Chronicles Book 3) Page 22