Ice Woman Assignment

by Austin Camacho

  “Stark?” The stocky DEA agent sat up. “How the hell should I know?”

  A bored or frustrated sigh came from across the room. “Mister Stark keeps excellent records. His appointment with you is documented, but the assignment is not. I know you represent the Drug Enforcement Agency. I know you refused to communicate when he needed more information. I know he’s gone.”

  That sounded like an accusation to Alvarez. He rolled toward the closet. Paul racked the slide of his automatic. The metal-on-metal sound was loud in the little room. Alvarez sat back, grateful for the darkness. The other man could not see him sweat.

  “Okay, Stark and O’Brien did accept an assignment for us. He’s undercover. Probably they both are. But I couldn’t talk to him because I can’t be linked to it. Same reason I can’t tell you.”

  “I visited this way so you wouldn’t be linked to me,” Paul said. “No one saw me come. No one will see me go. Two men were watching you tonight. Was one of them yours?”

  Was? “Yes, I had a man on lookout.” The room was very stuffy, and Alvarez worried that his visitor might smell his fear now.

  “They are both sleeping comfortably. What are Mister Stark and Ms. O’Brien looking for?”

  “No,” Alvarez said.

  Paul sighed. “Don’t move please.” His pistol’s slide slammed back louder than the silencer-covered blast. Alvarez heard the bullet punch a small hole into the wall three inches from his own mouth.

  “It’s late. I’m tired. If I have to ask someone else, news of your death would make him more cooperative,” Paul said. “What are Mister Stark and Ms. O’Brien looking for?”

  Alvarez took two deep breaths, staring hard into the darkness. How could the other man see him? Or did he shoot based on the sound of Alvarez’s voice? His hands were clammy, his mouth dry. How important was his secret? Not worth his life. Besides, maybe this mystery man could help him do his job.

  “They’re helping with an investigation,” Alvarez said. “Looking for a connection to trace the import of a drug called ice. It’s being imported by a Colombian criminal syndicate called the Escorpionistas. If they’re in trouble, that’s who’s making it.”

  “Thank you. I assure you your security will not be compromised. Now lie down. Close your eyes. Count to fifty. Then, go back to sleep. Tell no one of our meeting and I promise not to come back.”

  The implication of that last remark was clear. Alvarez started counting. He never heard anything but his own voice but by the time he got to thirty-five he was pretty sure he was alone. At forty-five he turned on the bedside lamp. He was alone.

  Still, he kept counting to fifty. He would do everything this Paul told him to. Except one thing.

  He would not be going back to sleep.

  -20-

  A light tap on the door just before midnight snapped Morgan’s eyes open and drove his right hand under his pillow to grip his automatic. Then he relaxed, realizing no enemy would knock before entering. Besides, his danger sense would have awakened him. He slid out of bed and into his pants. At the door he quietly asked who it was.

  “Is it too late to talk?” Mary asked. Morgan smiled and opened the door. “It does get lonely down there,” she said.

  Morgan waved her in and turned on the writing table lamp. Mary took the chair, looking nervous. Morgan recognized these mixed signals: a woman fighting to project an air of experienced worldliness, and simultaneously a feeling of “I’ve never done this kind of thing before.” Morgan guessed the truth was somewhere in between.

  “Did you have any complaints about noise?” Morgan asked, sitting on the bed. “Something scared my friend a while back and she screamed.”

  “Not likely,” Mary said. She tried crossing her legs, uncrossed them, and settled on sitting with her hands between her knees. “You three are the only ones on the second floor.” She smiled, and silence hung thick between them.

  “So you think you’d like California, eh?” Morgan asked after a moment.

  “Well, I’ve been kind of thinking about it for a long time,” Mary said. She was dressed as before, but her shirt’s top three buttons were open. Soft light from the lamp beside her had a dual effect. It washed years away from her face and accented her breasts with heavy black shadows. Morgan’s pulse quickened just enough for him to notice.

  “It’s not as laid back as this place,” Morgan said, suddenly realizing how unnatural this setting was. “You know, I’d like to offer you a cup of coffee or something, but I guess you’d have to go get it.” That made her laugh a bit and they both relaxed a little.

  “We both know I didn’t come up here for coffee,” Mary said, standing. Morgan stood also and they met beside the dresser. She had to look up to see his eyes. Morgan slid one arm gently around her, feeling her warmth pressed against him. It was moving quickly, which only increased the intensity.

  “I can’t be gone too long,” Mary said, pulling his mouth down onto hers.

  “How long?” Morgan whispered after their first kiss.

  “An hour maybe,” she said. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, the top of her breast. “Maybe an hour and a half,” she said.

  -21-

  Morgan sat bolt upright, his right hand suddenly filled with his Hi-power. With widened eyes he probed the darkness for any immediate threat. Seeing none, he released his held breath, but did not relax. Over the next ten seconds, he reviewed his most recent memories.

  Mary had lain in his arms, wrapping him in the afterglow of intense, vibrant sex. She was a fully giving partner, sensitive and responsive. At the end, when he could endure the pressure no longer, she had drawn her nails across his back, mewing, almost sobbing, deep in her throat. Afterward she had covered his face and chest with small, soft kisses.

  After a long warm moment she had said “I guess it doesn’t matter now, but…well, are you married or anything?”

  Morgan had chuckled and said, “No, as it happens I’m not attached to anyone. You?”

  “Free, Red and twenty-one,” she answered, giggling at the joke they could share. “Guess that’s why this place is getting me down.”

  “Well, now you know somebody in California,” Morgan had said. He regretted the implication as soon as the words left his mouth, and he knew Mary felt him tense.

  “Hey, I’m not looking for a husband if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said in her soft voice. “But maybe somebody could help me find a job and a place to stay.”

  “That I would be happy to do,” Morgan had said.

  Five minutes later she was looking at her watch and offering energetic apologies. She slipped out of bed, leaving it cooler than before, gathered her clothes and crept to the bathroom. Morgan opened the door for her when she left, giving her a final deep kiss. Then he got back in bed, missing Mary’s warmth, and dropped into a deep sleep…

  Until he was jarred awake, his scalp tingling as it did only when danger approached. Ten seconds after he sat up, the soft purr of the room telephone jolted him. Without turning from the door, he lifted the receiver to his ear.

  “Morgan? Mary. Two guys were here a minute ago asking for you.”

  “For me specifically?” he asked, getting to his feet.

  “Well, no, not by name. They were looking for a young Mexican, a white woman and a black man. I told them you were here and they left. After they were gone I thought, well, they didn’t look right.”

  “Mexican guys?” Morgan asked, starting to sweat in the room’s warmth.

  “What? Yeah, how did…are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “Listen to me very carefully,” Morgan said with an edge in his voice he realized might frighten her. “Those are very bad men, and I don’t want you hurt. When they return…”

  “They’re coming back?”

  “For sure,” Morgan said. “When they do you tell them anything they want to know. Don’t try to lie or fool them. They’re going to want to come upstairs and when they do, you stay behind that counter. You understa
nd?”

  “Yeah. What’s going to happen?”

  “Nothing bad if you do as I say. Just playing a trick on some friends. I’ll be down when I can.” When he hung up, Morgan’s stomach was clenched like a fist. How in hell had they found them? Anaconda must have a better machine than the FBI.

  He rethought it as he dressed. Would it be any different trying to hide from the Mafia in Sicily? Or the Yakuza in Tokyo? He had to remember that in this part of the country he was a foreigner in a foreign land in some ways.

  When Morgan opened his hallway door he was in black jeans and pullover. Holsters hung under his arms, but he held his gun in his fist. When he poked his head into the darkened hallway he made eye contact with Felicity who had looked out at the same time.

  “You felt it too?” she whispered.

  “They’re here,” Morgan said, tossing his gun to her. “Stay in that room. Point that at the door. If it ain’t me, shoot it.” Felicity nodded and closed her door. Morgan locked his room and crossed the unlit hall. He opened the door opposite his own without a sound, pushing it almost closed behind him. Then he lay prone on the floor, and drew his fighting knife from its scabbard under his right arm. He knew that violence was coming, and he knew it would be a quick, quiet fight, either way it went.

  In hotspots all over the world, Morgan’s long experience as a Special Operations solider and then as a soldier for hire had trained him to lie still for days. That life was far behind him, but the discipline he absorbed in the U.S. Army and as a mercenary remained. To his mind the present situation was close enough to war to count. He breathed slowly through his mouth, silent as a two day old corpse.

  Somehow they found us, he thought. They came into the hotel, but left again. That must mean they needed to report in. Maybe their orders did not include what to do if they got lucky and found their targets. But now they would be ordered to return and finish their assignment. To kill him, maybe rape Felicity and take Frederico back to their mistress for punishment. They would strike hard and fast, not wanting to involve any other hotel patrons.

  The hair on the back of Morgan’s neck tried to leave his skin, and he knew they were back. Cautiously he glanced at his stainless steel Rolex Seamaster. Its luminous dial said five thirty-two. Scant minutes before dawn. The best possible time to strike. The time when most people were their least alert or most soundly asleep. The timing implied that a pair of true professionals was pursuing them.

  They made no sound, but Morgan felt their menace coming up the hall. He drew his legs up under himself, and then withdrew his aura, becoming one with the carpet, just another piece of furniture. In the dark he saw the deeper blackness of a body standing in front of his room door. Then another form joined it. They wore no cologne, so no leading scent would give them away. They would carry automatic pistols, he knew, equipped with silencers. Everyone in the building would hear any shots, but it was such an unfamiliar noise they would assume it was something else.

  Morgan closed his eyes to avoid any possibility of a reflection from his pupils, or of his attackers feeling they were being watched. One stepped toward him, then quickly away. He heard the sound of a heavy shoulder hitting a door, popping its flimsy lock loose from the frame.

  As the door to his room burst open, Morgan sprang to his feet behind the two men. He dived into the darkness, even as he heard the first coughing sound of a silenced shot fired into his empty bed. Then his right shoulder hit a broad back and he slid his fighting knife’s razor honed blade into the man’s kidney. They continued forward, falling onto the bed.

  In movies, when somebody gets stabbed they stiffen, groan and collapse. Real life is not so simple. A deep stab wound does not paralyze or shock a healthy man. He fights violently, thrashing and kicking, until he loses a lot of blood, which might take thirty seconds or more.

  Morgan got his right arm around the shoulder of the man under him and heaved. Still thrashing, the stabbed man actually helped Morgan turn him. Morgan rolled back, facing the door, in time to hear two more coughs and feel heavy lead punches thrown into the man who now shielded him. His wet, slippery hand pulled his knife free. Then with a grunt, he heaved the body forward.

  The standing gunman, struck by his partner’s body, staggered backward until his back hit the edge of the open door. Morgan crashed into him an instant later, reaching around the dead man to grab his live enemy’s neck. The gun rose to point toward Morgan’s ribs. Morgan slashed downward across the man’s wrist. The gun dropped to the carpet with a dull thud. The man stifled a scream. A pro, Morgan thought again.

  Then Morgan stepped to one side, spinning to get behind his still living foe. The man managed to catch Morgan’s head with an elbow just before Morgan got a grip on his enemy’s chin.

  The sun peeked over the edge of the horizon, staring through the open window. Just as the first rays of light filled the room, Morgan drew his knife’s edge across the unknown man’s throat.

  Six seconds later, Felicity tensed, then lowered the pistol as Morgan stepped through her door. In the near total darkness Frederico gasped. Felicity turned the gun around to hand it over to her partner.

  “How did you know it was him?” Frederico asked.

  “I always know it’s him. Just like I sense danger, we sense each other. Comes in handy.” Then the sun crept up another inch and it was Felicity’s turn to gasp. “Jesus,” she said through clenched teeth and turned away.

  Morgan’s face showed confusion for a moment, but then he looked down at himself. His left arm was solid red from the elbow down, dripping someone’s warm life on the carpet.

  Felicity’s face contorted in a rictus of fear, and a shiver shot through her. She knew her reaction was irrational, but she could not turn her mind away from the fact that one of Morgan’s knives, honed by that very same fist, had so recently tasted her own blood. Now, seeing Morgan himself holding one of his blades, covered with evidence of its ultimate use, chilled her like death’s breath on her neck.

  Morgan didn’t know why Felicity would react so strongly, but her expression was enough to prompt him to race into the bathroom and pull off his shirt. He scrubbed himself quickly in the sink. While he was lathering his arm it struck him that he had never seen either man’s face. He had no idea who he just killed. He wondered if that fact should bother him, but he had more pressing concerns. Time was escaping like the night, but he had to make sure he would not draw attention when they left.

  “We’re ready,” Felicity said when he returned to the room, her voice just a bit shaky. “Pull on one of my tee shirts for now. Have you got a backup plan?”

  “I think so,” Morgan said, dropping his shoulder rig and forcing himself into the tee shirt. It was too tight, but made of some sort of stretch cotton fabric that clung to him like a second skin. He had only seen men in shirts this tight in Cirque do Soleil performances, and he knew that under other circumstances Felicity would crack wise about his appearance. As it was he though the did catch the shadow of a smirk on her face.

  “Not a word, miss. This was your idea, and maybe it’s get-back for the times you’ve borrowed one of my tee shirts. I can never wear them again after the way you stretch them out in front.”

  He left Felicity and Frederico in the hall long enough to pull on his jacket and pick up their suitcase. Then all three moved, as quickly as possible without running, down the hall and down the stairs to the big reception room.

  Pale and shaken, Mary stood behind the counter, her knuckles white from gripping it. She appeared to have held her breath for the last five minutes. When she saw Morgan she released it, deflating slowly. Morgan went to her, grasping her arm.

  “I need some help,” Morgan said. “Do you really want to see California?”

  “I…yes. Yes.”

  “Do you have a car?”

  “Didn’t you drive here?”

  “Do you have a car?” he asked again.

  “Yes. Well, a Bronco out back.”

  “A four by four? O
kay.” Morgan glanced at Felicity who somehow understood and began writing on a piece of hotel paper. “I’m going to give you the key to the car we came in. It’s now yours. It ain’t no prize but it’s yours. Felicity will give you money.”

  “Five hundred dollars?” Felicity asked, opening her small purse.

  “Should do,” Morgan said. “I need you to take that car and drive to Los Angeles. There’s the address and phone number. Go there and tell Miss Fox, the office manager who you are. We’ll call her today so she’ll be expecting you. She’ll put you up until we get back, probably in a couple of days. Right now we need to get moving. If we can use your Bronco we’ll return it when we get back. Okay?”

  “I guess so, but what about those two men?” Mary asked.

  “Just don’t go upstairs,” Morgan said. “Eventually someone may question you, but you’re in no danger with what you know now.”

  Mary gulped and handed Morgan her keys. He pulled her over the counter and kissed her hard on the mouth.

  “Just enjoy the drive,” he told her, “and be there when I get back.”

  -22-

  Morgan put on his sunglasses as they climbed into Mary’s black Bronco. Although he was most comfortable driving a four wheeler, he wished for any other vehicle because even a casual glance at this one revealed all the occupants, and they were a combination that would stand out anywhere.

  “Think they’ll follow her?” Felicity asked after a time.

  “Hope so.” Morgan’s jaw muscles were working, clenching his teeth.

  “How long?”

  “At least until the first stop,” Morgan said. “Until they can get a good look at her. No one was watching the hotel. When they come looking for their boys, they’ll find quite a mess. Or if they’re slow, they might find the police. Either way, they’ll look for the car.”