Not good. Not good. Danger Will Robinson.
Morgan moved forward, feeling the nausea hit him, the fog filling his mind, curtains lowering over his eyes. “Tom. ip’
He bent forward, leaning on the dark console, and filmed around when he heard someone move behind him in the dark. A figure in a jumpsuit and a gas mask moved into the green-glimmering light.
Morgan coughed, losing the battle against the animal. “Jo...”
Something metal flashed and he felt a bony hand grab him by the collar and throw him to the ground. “Don’t Ml asleep, Morgan, I want vou to know.”
“Jo...”
“Allow me to reintroduce myself,’.’1 she said, straddling his chest, a razor in her hand, flashing like a geisha fen next to her eyes and the grille-covered mouth. Her voice burst through the mask, muffled and harsh. ‘My real name is Sarah Josef. I believe you knew my father.”
‘What do you mean, I can’t leave yet?” Betty looked at the guard. The tag on his chest said David Selznick.
“Well,” Selznick said, “we got this message about you being some sort of...” he chuckled, as if a bit embarrassed.
“What?”
“Professor Gaynor, you wouldn’t happen to have any identification on you, would you?”
Betty eyed the security guard warily. “I have a class to get to, Mr. Selznick.”
. til understand. If you please.”: He indicated Betty’s handbag.
Betty groused, opening her handbag. “I got in without any problem, sir,” she said, rummaging through her bag.
Sne found her wallet as she heard a tinny voice on a headset next to Selznick: “Selznick, we’re in place here...”
“You know,” said Betty, looking up, “I left my wallet outside with Nadia. I was showing her pictures. I’ll go back for it.”
She turned and began walking fast toward the patio. She heard the security guard call after her. “Ah, that won’t be necessary, Mrs. Banner.”
Betty stopped and turned around. The man was smiling, genuinely smiling. In his hand was a gun.
The patio doors burst open down the hall and Nadia came in, a pair of men on either arm, dragging her as the woman cursed loudly, ‘Let me go! Of all the nerve/’ Nadia saw Betty standing there, backing up, and called out, “Greg! Greg!”
Greg Vranjesevic’s office door opened and his assistant, Krupke, looked out. He stood there in the doorway, in silence, a strange look on his face.
Nadia stopped before him, fighting off the two men who held firmly to her elbows. “Krupke, what in nell is going on?”
Krupke stared at her, blinking. Then, in one long, fluid motion, the man fell forward on his face.
Nadia screamed, dropping to the suited man. There was something metallic and bloody sticking out of his back.
‘There, there, Nadia/' came the voice of the man she knew as Timm. “Don’t mind our friend. Mr. Krupke is just dead.
Timm emerged from the ambassador’s office, one arm around Greg Vranjesevic, a gun to the man’s ribs. The athletic ambassador looked with an ashen face at Nadia and nodded to her as the two men swept out in front of Nadia and began walking down the hallway. “David?” Timm called out to the security guard. “You can play it, now.”
The two URSA agents who had Nadia moved into the lobby near the security desk behind Greg and Timm as Selznick hit a button on the security desk in front of him and a tape began to play.
BaGreetirtgs, comrades,” came the voice of a woman. “This is Sarah Josef of URSA. This tape is being played to inform you of the part you are going to play in URSA’s plans, and, frankly, to pass the time for you as you sit out your last hours. We have taken control of the consulate.” Greg howled in outrage and broke free from Timm, diving for a panic button on Selznick’s console. The consulate erupted in the blaring sound of security alarms, red lights on the walls beginning to whip around. Selznick brought his gun down on Greg’s hand and the man yelped as two more security guards came running up from the east wing. The men reached the lobby, guns drawn, and stopped to regard the security- guard.
As Timm and Selznick wasted no time pumpmg two shots each into the security guards, Betty moved. “Please,” Selznick said to the two corpses, “if you don’t mind, we have a message to listen to.”
Betty heard the ladies’ room door shut behind her and Selznick calling out, almost amused, “All right, shut that alarm off. And someone find the Banner woman. She seems to have run off.”
And blaring across the PA system, the URSA woman droned on.
Ten years ago •
found a coffee shop, entered, bought coffee in a plastic cup and a newspaper from the vendor next to the door. He wandered a few yards down the street and took his place on the stoop, shielded from the rain by the awning of an apartment building.
ean Morgan dropped off of the fire escape and ran
down the street in the rain. He turned a comer and
Paris had just gotten hot again, and it was time to get out. Morgan did not look at his watch, did not wish to appear hurried. He waited for Mickey. The dead courier in the apartment building a stone’s throw away would be discovered within the quarter hour. He had some time, though not much.
Six minutes later, at half past two in the afternoon, a taxicab turned the comer and pulled up in front of the stoop, splashing water onto Morgan’s shoes. Morgan gulped down the remainder of his coffee as a woman got out, walked up the stoop, and rang the bell. Morgan crossed her path as he got into the cab. Morgan slid in, and Darla moved over a bit in the back seat, giving him room.
“My God, you’re soaking,” she said.
“Let’s go. ”
“Really?” Mickey’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror. “You don’t think I should just drive around the block a few times?”
“Fine with me,” Morgan said. “It was clean. Smoothest operation I’ve ever seen,” he lied, as the cab pulled out into traffic and was lost in a sea of nondescript cars.
“You get him?”
“I got him.” Morgan smiled. “I’m tellin’ ya, Mick.
I need a challenge. These guys think running a double game is easy, but man, they’ve never been hustled by the best.”
“Ooh,” Mickey winked at Darla, who was now nuzzling up against Morgan. She was wealing a dashing beret, very underground-chic, presumably on the notion that no one would suspect a person who dressed like a spy of being a spy. “Listen to the man,” said Mickey. “Thinks he’s the Muhammad Ah of mole hunting.”
“Bite your tongue,” Darla laughed, opening her purse. “Jack Dempsey,” she said, “or no one at all.” She pulled out a manila envelope and tore it open, removing a rubber-banded bundle of papers. Mickey reached back as Darla handed him his papers, and she gave Morgan his. ‘All right, gentlemen, this is the drill. Sean and I are married and Mickey’s the little brother.” “Sorry, Mick,^Morgan said.
“I’m used to it by now,”- Mickey said, zipping through a wet intersection, leaning on the horn as he did. “May as well just call me the chauffeur.”
“I promise, next time, you get the girl,” Morgan said. “Oh, Captain Morgan,” Darla clicked her tongue, “trying to get rid of me?”
p?‘Not at all,” Morgan said. “Just trying to spread the wealth around. 1 figure we can dig up a companion to play Mickey’s wife. How about it, Mick?” Morgan sat up, leaning over the front seat. “That new girl, Cecilia. Helluva driver, I hear.”
“No good,” Mickey shook his head. “She’s a driver, what am I gonna do?”
was kinda thinkin’ you’d get promoted,” Morgan said, throwing a glance back at Darla, who winked at him.
Mickey shot around a comer and barely missed a Fiat, the horn of which sang out and disappeared behind them. The driver waited a long time, making eye contact with Morgan, before he said, “You pullin'' my leg, here, Morgan?”
“Hell, no, buddy.” Morgan watched his friend beam. “Or should I say, Captain.”
“What, you ...”
ss~i‘All right then,” Mickey said. “All right then! Let’s celebrate!”
'•"“Fine with me,” Morgan said. “Just get us to the other car. After the switch I figure we can kill a few hours before we make the train.”
Darla smiled again, but a hint of concern showed. ‘Sean, now, don't be cocky. We’re not home free yet.” “Might as well be, ’ Morgan said.
“It’s not in the orders.”
“Come on, ’ Morgan said. “A few hours downtime, they want us to sit in an airport all that time? Doesn’t sound safe to me.” He smiled. “Someone might make us.” .
IPThat’s the spirit,” Mickey said. “Hey, Darla, listen to the master!”
“Yeah, well, they could make us in the local tavern, too. The master could get us killed because he suddenly thinks he’s bulletproof.”
Morgan grinned sheepishly, but he knew some of the hurt reflected in his eyes. “What, you don’t trust me?” “It’s not that,’ she said. “But you’ve been cutting it a little close. I mean, that thing with Mansfield in London, you took a few extra risks there, Sean. ’ Darla’s brown eyes locked onto Morgan’s, and he failed to hold his grin.
Mansfield had been a CIA man, a loose cannon who had started hiring out to all the wrong people. Morgan had spent four days hunting him through the streets of London. Frankly, it had been fun, even if Mansfield had nearly killed him two or three times. It had become a game, for real. Mansfield was a clown, really, a joker in a baseball cap who killed without remorse and bragged openly about his ability to disappear. See how I can disappear, even in this silly Yankees :ap? And he could. Plainest face you ever saw. Just sucked the light from around him and he disappeared. Morgan had finally settled on foiling Mansfield’s London hit and taking out a couple of the double’s contacts. And it had been fun.
Only Darla had frowned at the report. The brass had answered his cockiness with a commendation. Okay, he wanted to say. Okay, tell me the rest. Tell me how I’m taking too many risks because it’s all I have now. Margaret had been gone for, what, a year and a half? Her and David, off to Chicago or someplace, so Margaret could work on a doctorate. At first she had come home on weekends, but when was he ever home on weekends? The work took its toll; who wouldn’t play the game a little closer when the game was all you had? But let’s face it, it was true what Mickey said. He was the best. The best in a long time, anyway. Yeah, that Berlin thing went bad five years ago, but since then? Smooth. Clockwork. Why not have a little fun?
“Yeah, well,” Morgan recovered, moving his hand through his blond hair. “Yeah, okay.” He looked at Mickey. “Tell ya what, Mick. We’ll get a drink at the airport, celebrate there.”
Mickey grinned, but there was a twist on the end, as if he felt uncomfortable seeing his buddy lose a minor battle. The taxi turned another comer and suddenly the world was a dark wasteland of warehouses.
“Car’s at loading dock seventy-three,” Morgan said. Darla’s hand was on his lap and he took it, looking at her. There was a coldness in the air. She had dressed him down as much as anyone dared, and she wasn’t sure how to proceed. He wasn’t either.
The rain poured down on the taxicab in waves, dumping gray and dirty against the windshield, and Mickey slowed down noticeably as he maneuvered between parked trucks and dumpsters and the occasional truck backing out of the loading docks. The light was low, the sun blocked by heavy black clouds, what little daylight there was sinking into the gray stone and concrete and disappearing.
Morgan held Darla’s hand, feeling stupid. This was silly. He was acting like a kid. It wasn’t him. Darla and him acting like teenagers hunting moles and zipping around with Mickey at the wheel. What the hell was he doing? Something in the back of his head told him Margaret might still take him back. She might, you know. She might. No offense, Darla, but there 's a place I’m supposed to be. He reached out his empty left hand and swatted the idea aside. That was the danger in getting serious, you think crazy, idle thoughts. Stay loose.
Darla nuzzled against him as the taxi whipped around a dumpster and entered the seventy block. ‘Hey, Sean ’
“hm.”
“How about a little vacation? You know, a little fun in the sun?” she whispered. “Cancun'.’ You’ve got some time saved up, surely.” ;.
“Surely,” he said idly. On the left a Mercedes flatbed truck was approaching, signalling to pass in the narrow lane between the loading docks. The truck roared up close, flashing, blaring it’s horn. ‘But I like the rain,” Morgan said.
Mickey swore. “All right, all right,” be muttered, bearing to the right as the truck passed.
“I’m sure they have rain in Cancun.”
Morgan smiled. “Yeah/ He watched the waves of gray rain pound against the window as the flatbed passed. Through the drizzle he saw four or five men on the back, workmen getting soaked in the Paris rain. Each of them had a parcel. One of them wore a baseball cap.
“Maybe you’re right,” Morgan yawned. “I’m sorry, maybe you’re right. I have been pushing a little hard.”
A baseball cap. ‘ ‘Mickey...” Through the tidal wave on the windshield Morgan saw the brake lights on the flatbed flare and loom towards the taxi.
Mickey cursed, hit the brakes, and swerved to the right.
Slow motion, now, as Morgan looked at Darla and saw the inch-wide perforations pushing through the roof of the taxicab. Morgan felt himself looking around, dumbstruck, paralyzed, head swivelling to look at the gang of four on the back of the flatbed, pumping bullets into the top of the car. Something in the front seat burst, and Morgan felt himself doubling over in the back seat, warm sticky wetness pouring red over his hands, something that may have been one of Darla’s teeth grazing his cheek.
Bullets hailing in, Morgan reaching for his gun, less than a second having passed since the first shots, and his arm sluggish, moving through quicksand, his shoulder a mess. Something collided dully with his shoulder and Morgan gasped in shock.
Cutting it a little close. Thinking of yourself. Not paying attention. Nothing left, who the hell cares, Margaret gone, David gone, what do I care?
Darla’s teeth and Mickey’s blood were in Morgan’s hair and his own blood oozed out of him like a beer tap, running and soaking and bringing the cold and sluggish sleep to him
Squiggles of red and black swarmed over Morgan’s eyes and blotted out what was left of the sun.
Morgan opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was the glint of steel, a razor high in Jo Carlin’s right hand, a muscular, thin arm pulled back, ready to swipe down, fingernails and cold steel glinting in the glimmering green light.
Morgan blinked, fighting the paralyzing gas that still crept through his system, giving sleep free reign. Move! Respond!
And sometimes response was not possible, just as the
Hulk could not respond in time to save David and he could not respond in time to save Darla and Mickey and he stood there and looked stupid. But even if you had moved, you would have failed.
Not this time. Move!
Jo Carlin’s hand was dropping, now, in slow motion, sweeping down in a glistening arc, Jo’s eyes aflame with triumph.
Jo was Sarah Josef. Sarah Josef was KGB. He’d read the dossier, but she’d managed to escape being photographed. Jo Carlin had been a very deep cover. Very well done.
That was no excuse at all. Morgan watched the hand come down and felt the blood flow back into his limbs and felt his brain start talking to his muscles again and he moved his arm.
And caught Jo’s wrist.
Jo’s whole body fell forward an inch as Morgan interrupted the force of her slicing blow. As Jo lost her balance he looked in her eyes, which came close to his, their faces nearly touching, his hand around her razor-wielding wrist, off to the side, her knees pressing his ribs, a
nd now that the feeling was coming back his ribs were starting to hurt...
Her eyes were on fire and he saw the hatred there. It’s true, Jo. I did kill him.
Right aim thrusting up against Jo’s sternum lifting her up, now bringing his forehead up against her nose. Blood flew down ovei Morgan’s eyes as she moved back, her left hand tearing at his face, his left hand still on her right wrist, bending her wrist back as Morgan rolled to the right, their outstretched arms coming up and around, Jo rolling under him, and as her right hand hit the deck Morgan felt the fingers loosen, and the razor bounce away.
It’s what I do.
“So you’re Sarah Josef,” Morgan grunted. “I’ve heard about you.”
“You’re a fool.”
“And you’re also my mole. So what just hit us like a ton of bricks, I take it that was Blonsky? You two have it in for me?”
She laughed. “Emil Blonsky and I have business with URSA. I have it in for you.” Morgan let go of the agent’s wrist as Jo Carlin brought in her legs and kicked him, hard and rapid, in the face and then the chest, sending him back against the wall.
The Hulk looked up from his keyboard. He had not heard from Betty. She was supposed to call after the visit with Nadia.
Hold on, there. She has a class. Hell, the other night you didn’t call and didn't come home until the morning, buddy.
But still.
Bruce stood up and stretched, scraping flecks of ceiling into the air with his knuckles as he did so. He turned around and picked up the telephone, dialing Sean Morgan’s number.
The phone rang seven times before he got voicemail, of all things. Funny that SAFE would have voicemail. Press one if you want to send a box of hands. Press two if there is an exploding airplane involved.
Bruce clicked off the phone and looked at the clock, then recalled the headset Morgan had given him on the trip underground. He sat down in his gigantic chair and swivelled around, facing the window. The extra-large headset fit snugly against his head and Banner felt the mike rubbing between his lower lip and chin. He bent it outward a little bit, wondering what to say.
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